There was a weightlessness to her body as she could feel the blackness swarming in around the edge of her vision. Vhalla groans, faintly aware of the faerie slinging her arm across his shoulder and grabbing her by the waist. If she wasn't in the predicament she was now, the assassin would be burning at his touch, strong steady hands holding the majority of her weight, head lolling to his shoulder, right hand dangling at her side, her silver blood dripping from her fingertips to leave a trail in their wake.

If she hadn't put on such an indifferent front, perhaps Vhal would have noticed the loss of blood yet adrenaline had coursed through her body for several hours. She was just thankful it wasn't poisoned, however she was still at a loss. At the rate she was going, the assassin wouldn't be making it home anytime soon. Dragging her incoherent thoughts back to the present, she vaguely notes the crowd doing a poor job at parting for the faerie and the witch. None, of which, have really noticed the wounded assassin, everyone has just played it off as a drunken woman who couldn't handle her alcohol. For that, Vhalla is thankful, she didn't need to be drawing any more attention than necessary.

The assassin leans heavily on him as he pushes through the throng of people to drag her to the bathrooms in the back. Cringing inwardly at the nastiness of a bathroom's bar and before she can object he shoves them into the handicapped bathroom. It must have been still early in the night considering that the restroom had yet to be trashed. Letting him lead her to the toilet, she takes one glance at it, realizing there was no cover, and opts for the wall. Grunting she struggles from his grip and slumps to the ground, back against the wall. Closing her eyes, her breaths come in shallow gasps, her arms limp at her sides.

Chest heaving, her face is drawn and pale, the edges of her eyes tightening in pain. Vhal had not had any time to inspect the wound prior to entering the bar and wasn't certain what type of measures she would need to take. Hearing the slide of the lock, she flutters her eyes open, taking a moment to lock on to the man a few steps away from her. Warily she watches him approach with damp paper towels and offers them to her to wipe her face. The assassin can feel amusement bubbling in her chest threatening to pour out of her lungs but she swallows the urge.

She was surprised to find the man still in the bathroom with her when clearly the blood on her face did not belong to her. With a shaky hand she takes the towels gently and drags it across her face. Without a mirror she was unable to see where the blood is exactly and only managing to smear it across her face rather than clean it. Sighing she sets the towels on the ground and takes a moment to inspect him in the light. He is older than her by several years but is clearly handsome in an almost delicate way. Interrupted by the faerie of her inspection, she lets her blue gaze travel to his as he crouches in front of her.

Narrowing her gaze at the faerie's perceptiveness she shrugs and looks away, "You could say that," her voice ragged. Turning her eyes back to him she changes the subject, "And you're a faerie," she states rather than question him. With semi introductions done, Vhalla follows his gaze to her arm, the blood had completely soaked through the towel. Stiffening at his question she searches his gaze for any ill intent; finding none she reluctantly agrees. Vhalla had come to the conclusion she wouldn't be leaving this bar without the help of a stranger.

Cursing to herself at the situation she had put herself in the assassin lets him unwrap the towel from her arm, dropping it to the floor. Before he has a chance to check her wound, she draws her arm away from him to look first. It was deep, running from the inside of her forearm and curving several inches above her elbow, gouged to the bone in some places and had severed several veins. By some miracle no tendons had been severed but her heart had managed to pump a lot of blood from her.

Returning her arm to his care she looks up through long lashes, her face schooled into a neutral expression with the exception of a wince of pain every now and then. "It can't be cleaned through the suit, I need to take it off," she comments, "I'll need your help," she states knowing full well that most people would just cut the fabric off, however, if she returned with a partial suit her master would skin her alive and use her hide as floor decoration.

Struggling to a kneeling position she latches onto the faerie's biceps to steady herself. Wobbling dangerously, her head was spinning and she knew she needed to clean the wound and stitch it soon or she would pass out. The wound was not bad enough to kill her but it could fester and kill her slowly that way. Clutching his arms again, she gazes up at him through hooded eyes, dark circles forming below, "Do not touch anywhere on the suit where I don't tell you or you will not be leaving this bathroom alive," she commands in a raspy tone referring to the many weapons and poisons she carried throughout her body, of course, he wouldn't know that.

Turning sluggishly to face the wall, her back towards the man, she tugs his left hand to her hip to steady her, patting it to assure him it was a safe place, she then reaches up with her good arm and unclasps the suit at the base of her neck. Pointing to the multiple hidden clasps that ran the length of her back to the top of her bottom. Vhalla calls over her shoulder, "Only touch the zippers and the clasps and do not stray from them," pausing, she adds as an afterthought, "I should warn you, my body is not beautiful," she mutters with self-loathing.

Feeling his hands work on the intricate clasps behind her she stiffens when he reaches the final zipper and the cool air caresses her back. Waiting for the faerie to take in the multiple scars that run the entirety of her back, they were clearly old wounds made by a whip. Seven lashes total crisscrossed her backside, a few of them sneaking up over her shoulders. Giving him only a moment to take in the grotesque sight, she shrugs the sleek material off her shoulders and pushes it down her arms, gasping when she reaches her wound.

Turning around slowly, she grasps the material to in her left hand to pull to her chest to prevent the faerie from feeling uncomfortable at her naked upper half. Succeeding in covering her breasts, she falls back to her bottom and slouches again against the wall. Not meeting his eyes, Vhalla did not want to see the look of disgust that was surely shown there. A gift from her master so that no one would find her beautiful. Gesturing towards the sink with her head, "Let's hope that, that forgotten glass over there is vodka and not water," she mumbles quietly.