Darien notices the weapons. And there is a shitload of them. Why he hadn't before was probably due to the mild buzz he still had from the Whiskey Sours and her unusual skill at putting them in her suit. He's not quite sure what to make of it besides the obvious. How the hell did she hide all that? It was curious but not surprising. She was wild and desperate; a force to reckon with. The Fae believed this was something he shouldn't even ask or comment on. Like it was something that he knew less about the better.

He wanted to know more and it pained him inside, but he manages to keep silent. For now at least.

Only after the fact does he realize how close they are. He can feel her every breath across his lips and chin, and her unwavering gaze. He can only look for a few seconds at a time directly back, lacking any courage to stare as equally intense as she was. Was she .. flirting? I can't tell. He was usually very good at reading people, but her? He thought he had her figured out and the next she was pulling out daggers and strange looking things from places he wasn't even sure. Was he helping someone who just committed some horrible crime? It had never crossed his mind. All along she seemed the victim, but now he wasn't so sure. He clears his throat and bites his lip, thankful she breaks the tension and finally drinks.

And then it starts.

She thrashes about, bucking like a mustang and screaming into the towel. She tries to pull away as he expected but he holds tight, pouring more vodka and then more in short but fast spurts. "Almost done, I promise! I know, I know!" He glances up at her, seeing she wasn't flailing around as intensely seconds later. He thinks the pain and alcohol was starting to numb her but no, she was blacking out! "No, no, no! Oh shit!" He puts the bottle down with a loud clank to catch her (almost spilling it everywhere). He gently lays her on her side, looking at her and hunched over. Scared, he doesn't know what to do. Here he was in some gross bathroom in a club with a half naked woman now passed out and with a serious wound on her arm. "This is bad. This is really bad." He mumbles to himself.

Okay, focus. She's out .. clean it as best I can and wrap it. She needs stitches and medicine. I got painkillers at my motel and I can get a first aid kit. No, first things first. Clean it, bandage it. With the precious few moments he has, he takes one of the towels and soaks it in the vodka, cleaning the cut better. The bleeding was slowing and it was actually starting to coagulate, but damn it was deep. With the last towel he ties it tightly around the cut. It'll have to do for now. The smeared blood on her face was still there, and Darien decides to help her with that and gently takes the paper towels he had before and wetting them in the sink he wipes her cheeks and forehead. She mumbles something during this, Good, she's coming back.

"Thank you, master, thank you."

Okay, that was definitely strange. It doesn't mean anything to him. It's just feverish, pain induced nonsense. Creepy, but still nonsense. She must have some fucked up life. He sits beside her, patiently waiting. He whispers softly, still caressing her face with the cool wet towel. "Hey you, come back. Not the time to fall asleep on the job." He had noticed her .. exposure, but it wasn't a thing of importance. In fact, as she started to wake up and he hears her laugh, he wraps his jacket that was still around her shoulders to cover her politely. He's tries not to touch her, but he briefly does brush her left nipple with his fingers. He shoots a worried look to her, completely sure she was gonna think he was some pervert.

He sighs relief when she sits back up. Smiling and laughing as she calls him Tinkerbell. Her saying it was kind of cute and tolerable. "Funny." He then moves to sit beside her, his back leaning up against the cold wall. He grabs the bottle of vodka he had placed down, taking a few quick sips and then offering it to her. Now what? He looks at his hands and sees on his jeans that her silver blood had gotten on him. As he inspects his now shiny grayish-white hands, her question next seems so random compared to their current situation. "Um, well .. It's not every day I get to kiss someone pretty. Why wouldn't I be disappointed?" He reaches for the vodka, feeling so confused and ruffled. Looking at her pile of weapons, he comments, "So, what is going on? Are Hunters after you?"

More flashbacks of being hunted in the forest by that blonde prick and Darien takes another drink. There is a knock on the door and the handle jiggles. It scares the shit out of him and he yells an obscenity. They stop and seem to leave after hearing him. "You're not safe here. And you need someone who actually knows what they are doing take care of that cut. Do you have somewhere to go?" He stands up, brushing his ass off any nasty crumbs and dirt and God knows what else from his jeans. He offers his hand to help her up. "My name is Darien, not Tinkerbell." He smiles, somehow a little ... mischievous in his manner. Or was it frisky?