Vhalla laughs weakly at his attempt to lighten the mood, her voice raspy as if she hadn't used it in a long time. "I can't make any promises," she retorts back in an attempt to return the verbal play. Heaving a breath at his instant queasiness of her arm, she peeks an eye open at him, studying him again. Clearly the fae wasn't used to blood, or at least, this amount. Hearing him curse, a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips. Vhalla couldn't agree more. When he begins to help her undress, she has a moment where she almost feels inclined to explain her suit but the thought vanishes as he unsteadily unclasps her backside and works on the zippers.

Waiting for the gasp of disgust, it doesn't come. Surprised, she scrunches her eyes at the wall before turning her indifferent gaze back to the man. He attempts to give her as much privacy as possible and she can see the embarrassment crawl up his skin in the form of a blush. She was worried that if she hadn't attempted to be modest he would be fleeing the bathroom. Vhal watches the man shrug out of his jacket to place around her shoulders, she had thought the chill was from lack of blood.

Perhaps it was both. Letting him take her arm gently in his hand, he points out the obvious but it's comforting to her ears. The faerie had controlled his nausea and was now treating her as a patient. She was disappointed she wasn't able to take care of herself but the assassin was more likely to hurt her body more in this state. Grunting in pain as he wraps his belt tightly around her arm she motions down to it, "Good call," she praises him, "It needs to be tighter though," she comments and adjusts herself so that he can tighten it more.

Vhalla is in complete control considering her situation and it is clear that this isn't the first wound that she has had to perform doctor duties on. When Darien wanders over to the sink to inspect the glass, Vhal attempts to interrupt him before he's out the door. Gazing at the closed door, she slips the dagger from her boot and grasps it tightly in her left hand. Just because she was wounded did not mean she wasn't capable of defending herself. The assassin assumed adrenaline would push her through any sort of danger that may happen while Darien was gone.

She was left in peace though while the faerie returned with clean rags and a bottle of booze. Relaxing her grip on her dagger she slides it away, out of her reach. Taking the towel, she motions him to wait as she disarms herself. A small pile of deadly looking weapons, ranging from small knives, to needles, to even a few self-made bombs. It's amazing the things she was able to store in her suit. Carefully, she slides them all out of her reach and sits up, not realizing how close the faerie is to her. His face is only but an inch or two away from hers and she locks eyes with him, lips parting she breathes across his mouth.

She's curious to see if he moves away from her heated gaze and while she holds his eyes, she begins to disengage the mechanisms in her legs and her boots so that blades wouldn't spring free by accident. Leaning back against the wall, she's almost thankful for the loss of blood so her neck and cheeks wouldn't flush with the closeness of the man. It had been a longtime since she had felt the attraction towards anyone, her master had ruined that part of her life.

Raising the booze to her lips, she takes several swigs with no wincing or gagging, Vhalla was no stranger to booze and she tended to let alcohol be her constant companion in her life. "I'm not going to punch you," she pauses, "Well, I'll try not to," she attempts a tired joke. Clamping her teeth down on the towel, she braces herself but then feels the faerie's hands on her. Tilting her head, she can feel the subtle shift in the air and feels a tranquility like never before caress her like a lover. Of course, it was pointless to have the man calm her, this wasn't her first rodeo. Still, she accepts it with a nod of gratitude.

The first splash of booze on her arm was intense. Screaming into the towel, she bucks wildly underneath him, suddenly thankful that she disarmed herself with all her weapons, she shakes her head back and forth and attempts to rip her arm out of his hand, but the faerie is holding strong and true. She can vaguely hear him apologizing profusely before she blacks out, slumping to her side. If Darien wasn't holding onto her, she would be on the ground with a hard thump.

Sometime in her unconscious state, she mumbles aloud, "Thank you, master, thank you." Obviously, her master had disgusting sense of humor. He enjoyed hurting her and making Vhalla thank him for doing this, he would be disappointed in not binding this wound. When Vhalla was brought back to reality, she wasn't aware on how long she had been out, in reality it had only been about ten minutes. Focusing her eyes, she remembers where she is as she glances back down at Darien. Sweat has drenched her body and at some point she had released her hold on her suit, revealing firm breasts.

Glancing down, a bubble of hysteria begins to form and it releases in a form of a raspy laugh, ending in a cough. She was so tired. Unable to find the energy to reach down and tug the suit to cover herself, she just leans her head against the wall and closes her eyes. "Thank you," she breaks the silence, "Tinkerbell," she adds as an afterthought, a tired smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, "Tell me, why did you look so disappointed when I stopped kissing you?" She changes the subject to distract herself from the pain on her arm.

Waiting for a reply, her head lolls to the side to see her pile of weapons in the corner, she would have to put those back on her suit before she left the bar, "Do you see now why I told you not to stray from the zippers?" She gestures to the pile to her left. "Tell me your name," she commands. The least she could do was know the name of the faerie who helped save her.