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K a n e x N y g u y e n
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o f x c h e s h i r e
#000000 || Outfit || ronin
#000000 || Outfit || ronin
Kane was lowkey glad that she didn't ask him any questions because he didn't have any answers for her. He gave her a gentle tug, folding his fingers over hers with a gentleness that looked quite odd coming from a man who had blood dripping from his face after choking out a beast of a man. He still didn't speak. Naturally.
However, his grip over her tightened and he was prepared to pull her behind him when Foggy came bumbling into his field of vision. He couldn't help but be under high alert, and for some reason, a bit on the over-protective side. Fingers relaxed, and she eventually withdrew her hand from his. Not that he was paying too much attention to their physical touch.
He stepped back, allowing Foggy to check Myla out. Kane wasn't going to say anything, but she looked just as messed up as he felt. The pair would have their conversation without the assassin's interjections; standing beside her statuesquely with little to no interest in the topic at hand. At least, that would be the impression that he gave off. He tucked in the little bits of information that he could glean from their words and tucked them away just in case they would be necessary later.
He didn't react much to being told to look after Myla, but he accepted the handshake with the subtle bow of his head. He watched as Foggy left, seeing him all the way to the door until there was no trace of him left in his field of vision. Just then, "Come on," she commanded him, and he did as bade. He kept a couple of small paces behind her and watched as she stumbled. His arms and hands were doing these weird gestures like flailing out in a bracing motion without actually touching her, just in case. He even grimaced a little. She was a real mess, and she wasn't good at hiding it.
Then they entered the bathroom and Myla locked the door. Now, any other guy might have been a little more concerned - or maybe even have a few bad jokes about the situation. Kane, however, just wasn't sure what was about to happen, but he didn't feel like he had anything to worry about. He's a pretty good judge of character, but his job requires him to normally ignore all of that and get things done.
"Sit" she commanded again, and he did. He plopped his ass right on the toilet and watched her rummage through the cabinet beneath the sink. When she verbally sought his permission to clean up his wounds, he rested his arms on his thighs and leaned forward and down some for her.
Still, he didn't say anything. He looked her directly in the eyes, and whether or not she knew was no concern to him. The fact that she couldn't physically see made looking at her less uncomfortable than it would be for others. Aside from split lips, a few abrasions, and maybe some bruising - she might also happen upon some older scarring along his jawline and even his right cheek. It wouldn't be an assassin's life if there wasn't horrid marring riddling his person.
"So... Do you think I could know your name?" He blinked at her, the question taking him back for a few long seconds. A name is no big deal for a normal person with a normal life and nothing to hide. A name made a man like him vulnerable to a lot of things - a relationship of some kind, an eventual cracking of his enigmatic facade, or at worse - exposes him to his enemies.
He snared her wrist with his hand and coiled his fingers around it to pull her away from further medical attention. It felt wrong to sit here when she's bleeding, and the pain didn't really bother him. What did bother him, though, was that he had a rather stereotypical manliness when it came to certain things. While he wouldn't baby her because of visual impairment, it didn't feel good, as a man, to have a hurt woman take care of him. It felt backward.
It seemed like maybe she had asked him the wrong question, and that maybe he was going to get up, unlock the door, and leave without giving her an answer. Instead, he picked himself off of the toilet while still having her wrist trapped in his hand. He pulled the towel out of her fist, tossed it in the sink, and sought a clean one. He was quick with going through her medkit, and he took things like physical health pretty seriously. A pretty girl shouldn't have the kind of scarring on her face that such ugly wounds might leave. A new scar for him wouldn't make him any less unattractive than his burdens did anyway.
He gently turned her away from the sink and very gently pressed her against the counter so that she couldn't make many protesting movements to wriggle away from him. He grabbed an alcohol swab, moved a palm to the back of her head with his fingers combing through her hair, and leaned down and in toward her. He first swiped it over the wound at the side of her head, lifting his own head just slightly enough to blow some gentle cool air at what would otherwise be a very harsh burning sensation. He'd do the same for her lips, but he's not going to breathe all over her mouth. Hard pass on that one.
He applied some ointment to the side of her head, "Kane," he finally answered her while applying a bandaid. He left the lip wound bare, though, only dabbing a little ointment so that she doesn't infect it. Mouths are dirty.
Since he was working on her already, he decided to make sure that he hadn't left anything else out that required his attention. The wound to her side was noted immediately. He unzipped her jacket and pulled it apart, sliding only one shoulder down enough so that he could tend to the wound. He pulled up her shirt, just barely, and sifted through the medkit once more. He decided against alcohol to spare her the pain and opted to just clean it with water for now. She could get proper care when they get back. After it was sort of cleaned, he used his teeth to peel the plastic off of a bandage. He could have used something to seal the wound, but without a good cleaning, it sounded like a bad idea. He's not a doctor. He wrapped it up; coiling the bandage around her abdomen and making it taut, but not uncomfortable.
When that was done, he figured the rest could be dealt with back at the Academy. For now, he knew that he had to get her back, and it was looking like there's a strong possibility he'd end up claiming his room after all. "Get what you need. We'll take a taxi."
It appeared that he was done at that point, the sound of him unlocking the door would be enough to let her know that he didn't need medical attention and that they should leave. He didn't grab anything on the way out, but he did wait for Myla to do so if she wanted to. When they decided to move on, he slid the duffel she packed off of her shoulders and just carried it himself. Kane walked down the steps in front of her just in case she got a little dizzy or something. He wasn't feeling too great himself, but he wasn't blind.
They stopped at his motorcycle and he unlatched a long, slender compartment that almost blended seamlessly into the matte black on the side. It was his weapon, and he tucked that into her duffel bag because he couldn't just explain that away to a taxi driver.
He flagged a taxi down, opened the door for Myla, slid himself in there with the duffle on the floor, and gave the cab driver the address.
"Get some sleep." He just didn't want to suffer through the social niceties of small talk. His personality was very hot and cold like that.
However, his grip over her tightened and he was prepared to pull her behind him when Foggy came bumbling into his field of vision. He couldn't help but be under high alert, and for some reason, a bit on the over-protective side. Fingers relaxed, and she eventually withdrew her hand from his. Not that he was paying too much attention to their physical touch.
He stepped back, allowing Foggy to check Myla out. Kane wasn't going to say anything, but she looked just as messed up as he felt. The pair would have their conversation without the assassin's interjections; standing beside her statuesquely with little to no interest in the topic at hand. At least, that would be the impression that he gave off. He tucked in the little bits of information that he could glean from their words and tucked them away just in case they would be necessary later.
He didn't react much to being told to look after Myla, but he accepted the handshake with the subtle bow of his head. He watched as Foggy left, seeing him all the way to the door until there was no trace of him left in his field of vision. Just then, "Come on," she commanded him, and he did as bade. He kept a couple of small paces behind her and watched as she stumbled. His arms and hands were doing these weird gestures like flailing out in a bracing motion without actually touching her, just in case. He even grimaced a little. She was a real mess, and she wasn't good at hiding it.
Then they entered the bathroom and Myla locked the door. Now, any other guy might have been a little more concerned - or maybe even have a few bad jokes about the situation. Kane, however, just wasn't sure what was about to happen, but he didn't feel like he had anything to worry about. He's a pretty good judge of character, but his job requires him to normally ignore all of that and get things done.
"Sit" she commanded again, and he did. He plopped his ass right on the toilet and watched her rummage through the cabinet beneath the sink. When she verbally sought his permission to clean up his wounds, he rested his arms on his thighs and leaned forward and down some for her.
Still, he didn't say anything. He looked her directly in the eyes, and whether or not she knew was no concern to him. The fact that she couldn't physically see made looking at her less uncomfortable than it would be for others. Aside from split lips, a few abrasions, and maybe some bruising - she might also happen upon some older scarring along his jawline and even his right cheek. It wouldn't be an assassin's life if there wasn't horrid marring riddling his person.
"So... Do you think I could know your name?" He blinked at her, the question taking him back for a few long seconds. A name is no big deal for a normal person with a normal life and nothing to hide. A name made a man like him vulnerable to a lot of things - a relationship of some kind, an eventual cracking of his enigmatic facade, or at worse - exposes him to his enemies.
He snared her wrist with his hand and coiled his fingers around it to pull her away from further medical attention. It felt wrong to sit here when she's bleeding, and the pain didn't really bother him. What did bother him, though, was that he had a rather stereotypical manliness when it came to certain things. While he wouldn't baby her because of visual impairment, it didn't feel good, as a man, to have a hurt woman take care of him. It felt backward.
It seemed like maybe she had asked him the wrong question, and that maybe he was going to get up, unlock the door, and leave without giving her an answer. Instead, he picked himself off of the toilet while still having her wrist trapped in his hand. He pulled the towel out of her fist, tossed it in the sink, and sought a clean one. He was quick with going through her medkit, and he took things like physical health pretty seriously. A pretty girl shouldn't have the kind of scarring on her face that such ugly wounds might leave. A new scar for him wouldn't make him any less unattractive than his burdens did anyway.
He gently turned her away from the sink and very gently pressed her against the counter so that she couldn't make many protesting movements to wriggle away from him. He grabbed an alcohol swab, moved a palm to the back of her head with his fingers combing through her hair, and leaned down and in toward her. He first swiped it over the wound at the side of her head, lifting his own head just slightly enough to blow some gentle cool air at what would otherwise be a very harsh burning sensation. He'd do the same for her lips, but he's not going to breathe all over her mouth. Hard pass on that one.
He applied some ointment to the side of her head, "Kane," he finally answered her while applying a bandaid. He left the lip wound bare, though, only dabbing a little ointment so that she doesn't infect it. Mouths are dirty.
Since he was working on her already, he decided to make sure that he hadn't left anything else out that required his attention. The wound to her side was noted immediately. He unzipped her jacket and pulled it apart, sliding only one shoulder down enough so that he could tend to the wound. He pulled up her shirt, just barely, and sifted through the medkit once more. He decided against alcohol to spare her the pain and opted to just clean it with water for now. She could get proper care when they get back. After it was sort of cleaned, he used his teeth to peel the plastic off of a bandage. He could have used something to seal the wound, but without a good cleaning, it sounded like a bad idea. He's not a doctor. He wrapped it up; coiling the bandage around her abdomen and making it taut, but not uncomfortable.
When that was done, he figured the rest could be dealt with back at the Academy. For now, he knew that he had to get her back, and it was looking like there's a strong possibility he'd end up claiming his room after all. "Get what you need. We'll take a taxi."
It appeared that he was done at that point, the sound of him unlocking the door would be enough to let her know that he didn't need medical attention and that they should leave. He didn't grab anything on the way out, but he did wait for Myla to do so if she wanted to. When they decided to move on, he slid the duffel she packed off of her shoulders and just carried it himself. Kane walked down the steps in front of her just in case she got a little dizzy or something. He wasn't feeling too great himself, but he wasn't blind.
They stopped at his motorcycle and he unlatched a long, slender compartment that almost blended seamlessly into the matte black on the side. It was his weapon, and he tucked that into her duffel bag because he couldn't just explain that away to a taxi driver.
He flagged a taxi down, opened the door for Myla, slid himself in there with the duffle on the floor, and gave the cab driver the address.
"Get some sleep." He just didn't want to suffer through the social niceties of small talk. His personality was very hot and cold like that.