She clearly was on edge. The flirtatious and blithe woman was now cautious and distressed (but she was trying to hide it from him, or at least he thinks she is). Her confidence was still very present, just in a different form now. He didn't even know her and he could tell she was a survivor. A fighter, stronger than he could possibly imagine and something he already admired greatly. She was injured, yes, but it did nothing to retract from her warrior aura.

It always tug on his heart to see anyone in pain and alone. She was alone, else she wouldn't be covered in blood and stuck with Darien. And that's exactly what was the case now; she was stuck with him. He was in this with her the moment she bumped into him, and he didn't really mind now. Sure, he was still stressed that Hunters were probably out there doing what they do best, but he wasn't going to abandon her. He gives a sincere smile, trying to make this uncomfortable situation a little less uncomfortable. "You know, I just woke up one day and there I was, a Fairy. I kind of hate that word though; fairy. I got called Tinkerbell one time." He sees her poor job of wiping her face, but he doesn't say anything. I'll help her with that later. "Don't get any ideas, either. My name isn't Tinkerbell."

Whatever light-hearted atmosphere he was trying to make quickly disappears when he sees the full extent of the cut on her arm. He grimaces at the sight, nauseous straightaway and he fights back the urge to gag. Darien didn't realize how weak his stomach was. It was gory and brutal. Something he'd never forget that's for sure.

He carefully inspects it when she lets him, but really he just skims over it. He feels lightheaded and fights back wanting to pass out himself. This was way out of his league and he knows she knew it. "Holy fuck." He looks at her with a serious and uneasy expression on his face as she explains that her suit needed to be removed. He's not even going to question it, though he feels very troubled. What the hell am I gonna do?! He nods in agreement. "Right, okay." He waits for her lead. "Do not touch anywhere on the suit where I don't tell you or you will not be leaving this bathroom alive," his eyes widening at her threat. Well, it sounded like a threat to him. He believed her completely and now wouldn't even blink without her permission. He felt slightly offended though. Like he'd really do such a thing.

He does give a small smirk though at it, amused by her words for some reason.

If he thought the dancing was a thing of grace, this was going to be the ultimate test. He helps her in anyway possible, to keep her steady. He doesn't object to her pointing and putting his hands where they needed to be, his attention carefully watching and taking notes. Right, the zippers only and the .. clasps? Right, right, okay. His heartbeat increases and his hands begin to tremble ever so slightly from the anxiety, carefully taking his right hand and slowly undoing the zipper down the length of her back. He undoes the clasps when they presented themselves; he is careful and soft in his every touch, unable to imagine the pain she must be in.

He doesn't find it odd that she comments on her body not being beautiful. She emanated self-assurance and beauty to him, so it was heartbreaking to hear such words. He doesn't say anything and just brushes it off.

Then she sees what she spoke of. The scars. They are clearly lashes and Darien can't help but feel instantly sad. The pain she was feeling now couldn't possibly compare to everything else she must have been through. He felt intense sympathy for her, and he wonders if maybe it was from an abusive parent (something he knew well). The Fae couldn't possibly know the truth. The real horror of how she got them and why.

He helps her turn around and sit back on the ground, his gaze already trying to stay down and give her privacy. She is modest and covers herself the best she can. Not that it mattered. Nothing he had never seen before and he wasn't an immature juvenile about a pair of breasts. He was more embarrassed than she possibly could be though. He takes off his denim jacket and quietly offers it to her, wrapping it around her shoulders and noting how cold it was in here. He looks at the cut, seeing how truly deep it was now without her suit and the blood loss was not slowing. This is bad. "We need to get the bleeding under control, here." He takes off the belt from his jeans, and carefully lifts up her arm to place it inside. He puts it just above the cut, tightening it and staring at her facial expressions for any sign that he had made it too tight or too loose.

Darien is quick to look at the glass she was pointing at that he never noticed before when he was finished. Wasting no time to go and check, he smells the rim of the glass, inspecting it. "There is defiantely booze in it but I don't ... No, not going to risk it. I'm going to get a bottle, okay? I'll be right back, I promise." He pours out the drink in the sink and puts it back and then he practically runs out of the bathroom, racing to the bar. There was no bartenders even close and all were preoccupied. So, Darien quickly looks around .. and slowly reaches over the counter and grabs a bottle of clear vodka. He even notices some clean white towels there just in case of spills and he snatches those as well.

She needed stitches and medicine, something they wouldn't find here. This would have to do.

Returning to the bathroom (and locking it again). He grabs the empty glass before he rushes over beside her, basically sliding on his knees and opening the bottle as quickly as possible. He pours a large amount in the glass, offering it to her. "Drink." He then gently grabs her arm, biting his lip and waiting for her to drink while her inspects the cut better. "This is gonna hurt and if you wanna punch me, go ahead. And here, take this towel and bite on it if you need to. But first, I'm going to do something to make you feel .. relaxed, okay? " He speaks of his gift, which required touch. He stares into her eyes as he begins to use it, the air around them becoming unusually quiet even with the music just outside the doors. It would soothe her, but it would drain him of his own tranquility. When Darien thinks he sees calmness in her eyes, he then pours the alcohol on her cut, his grip becoming firm to hold onto her. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

If there was an eavesdropper outside, they'd think something kinky was going on inside here.