Taregs whole leg twitched as he caught the very sore spot, jerking back towards his body after the aborted kick at Cremsden. “Sorry sorry.” He tensed, eying the healer for any reaction before making himself relax, the scissors now in his hand and very visible.
"It's fine, it's fine, I poke something that hurts I expect--" Cremsden's voice was a reassuring murmur until he finally glanced up and caught sight of the scissors. For a moment he stopped, hands stilling on Tareg's ankle.
"Put those down, there's a good lad," he said, voice very calm. "Next to you is fine, where you can reach 'em is fine, but you wave anything sharp around when I'm setting off your reflexes like this and you're as liable to hurt yourself as someone else."
Blackadder: I mean, what about the people that do all the work?
Baldrick: The servants.
Blackadder: No, me; *I'm* the people who do all the work.