(Untitled)

[fn_rebel]

Characters: fn_rebel, deadlydebutante
When: Post-event.
Where: Queen Anne's Row.
Rating: PG. Might go up for Jet's psycho.
Summary: Jet managed to fight himself into unconsciousness with Mai as his caretaker, much to his distaste.

Comments

[deadlydebutante]

Mai wasn't usually all that readable, but it was clear when Jet opened the door and approached her that she was at least mildly surprised

[fn_rebel]

“No kidding.” There was still a good amount of snark in his tone. His dark eyes lingered on her, scanning for something, anything, that might tell him why she was here. She didn’t belong, he’d warned her. his thoughts raced through his mind, breaking only when she stepped by him. Roughly, he bumped his shoulder to hers, feeling weak. That was the most he could do? It made him feel disgusted with himself, and he stubbornly folded his arms over his chest.

Because he was going to stand his ground

[deadlydebutante]

"Where do you think?" Mai tried not to sound resentful in her response. But she didn't try to hide her annoyance. She ignored the bump of the shoulder. Odds are it hurt him more than it hurt her, regardless of how bony she was. She continued inside and set down the clean bandages on a table before glancing at him over her shoulder.

"She's out healing the poor people who are worse off than you." With an internal sigh, she walked over to Jet but stopped short of trying to catch Jet before falling.

Sure, this could be a step towards a diplomatically savvy gesture, but it wouldn't be well-met if she didn't respect his space. Instead, she went back to the table and pulled out a chair, letting it screech unceremoniously before completely lifting it off the floor. She brought it over to Jet and set it down in front of him.

"You're stuck with me. This can be quick and I can leave, or you can fight it and hurt yourself in the process."

[fn_rebel]

He stared indignantly at her, wondering how much chaos the city was in before he slipped out of consciousness. The bump did hurt him, but so did everything else. His arms, his legs, his abdomen; he didn’t need her help though. Adstring had shown him no mercy in the past, the last thing he needed her seeing were the numerous scars that covered his chest and arms, and the hideous ones across his palms. She was, after all, still the enemy, and that wasn’t about to change anytime soon.

“I’ll fight and hurt myself in the process before you lay a hand on me.” His tone was finally starting to feel more demanding, more confident. If he was lucky, she’d catch the hint. He’d tend his own wounds later, or maybe have someone he trusted to do it. Not her. injured as he may be, Jet would always be defiant