Kaisel
Don't need a sign, nothing divine's gonna save me
"They cheated right back, so the score is even." He took her teasing equally in stride, even throwing in a dramatic eye roll. "All for the crowd effect," he assured her, a blatant lie regarding the slum's surgery he experienced. "Maybe now I could get a cool stage name. Like, Ironside... or the UNeviscerated. UNeviscerator? Anti-eviscerate?" he mused. "Well, I'll think on it."
As she slipped into the crook of his arm, he steered her with the easy familiarity of those raised in the city. They wouldn't be ambling out of the Silk Houses just yet though; he wasn't dressed well enough for any finer establishments, but they could at least escape the din of the pits. "I can't remember the last time we drank. So I'm guessing I didn't fare very well against you and everyone else. Then again, I was what, sixteen? I didn't realize your ego needed such a boost that you had to brag about beating children."
He found a barrel of water in an alleyway as they walked by and took a moment to wash the grime from his face. His wound had since begun to dry, thanks to her talents, but he still cupped some water in his palm and rubbed at the laceration. The motion reopened the wound—exactly what he wanted—to let the water flush it out. He didn’t have time to skip training over an infection. Not to mention, that'd raise questions he didn't want to answer. He needed to keep testing his limits and the coin was a nice return. His formal trainer certainly never paid him—cheapskate.
"See anything that looks promising yet?" he asked as he shook the water from his hands. Much as he enjoyed their moonlit stroll, the seedy taverns were calling—and a drink sounded pretty good right about now. Besides, he really needed something to disinfect the cut because he was pretty sure that water had horse spit in it.
As she slipped into the crook of his arm, he steered her with the easy familiarity of those raised in the city. They wouldn't be ambling out of the Silk Houses just yet though; he wasn't dressed well enough for any finer establishments, but they could at least escape the din of the pits. "I can't remember the last time we drank. So I'm guessing I didn't fare very well against you and everyone else. Then again, I was what, sixteen? I didn't realize your ego needed such a boost that you had to brag about beating children."
He found a barrel of water in an alleyway as they walked by and took a moment to wash the grime from his face. His wound had since begun to dry, thanks to her talents, but he still cupped some water in his palm and rubbed at the laceration. The motion reopened the wound—exactly what he wanted—to let the water flush it out. He didn’t have time to skip training over an infection. Not to mention, that'd raise questions he didn't want to answer. He needed to keep testing his limits and the coin was a nice return. His formal trainer certainly never paid him—cheapskate.
"See anything that looks promising yet?" he asked as he shook the water from his hands. Much as he enjoyed their moonlit stroll, the seedy taverns were calling—and a drink sounded pretty good right about now. Besides, he really needed something to disinfect the cut because he was pretty sure that water had horse spit in it.
Here only the strong survive
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
