It would be so easy for Sorcha to heal the man who rested beneath her fingertips. A mere thought and her power would flood into him, scouring through his veins and blood vessels and undoing any damage done to them. It would leave her tired but it could do nothing for the scars that were likely on his psyche. Not to mention pride - for she had found most men did not know how to suffer the loss of pride. While she does not know him, she acknowledges the possibility that once the kids flee she may be met with hostility from their victim for the very fact that she has stepped in. She refrains from such a healing sport, however, because she is already feeling the aftermath of such a force of power as the rain. Her muscles seem to flag and her legs feel a bit shaky - it has been so long since she has practiced such elemental magic, preferring to stick to her chants over her potions and feeling the inexorable pulse of the earth. Earth magic was her forte, it was strong and unrelenting, timeless and infinite, but she preferred basking in it versus using it. Water and air were, to her, more difficult to manipulate and together it sapped more than she figured.

While she is focused on the man's tormentors, she doesn't miss the fact that he does not turn to look at her. Yet her presence is not ignored for his hands relax and the glass topples from his grip with a satisfying scratch to the pavement below. She did not realize just how worried she had been until that moment, air passing her lips in a near inaudible sign of relief. Murder was not a thing that could go unnoticed and after having been cornered by a Dark Hunter recently she preferred staying under the radar as much as she could. Well, when she could considering her profession.

The healer in Sorcha dislikes the screams of the kids, their fear and pain palpable, and her fingers press down a fraction harder than they should on the shoulder of Booker to remind herself why she has done this. There would be no lasting damage, she assured herself. Maybe a sore eye, bruised lips, and some equally sore muscles. It was not as if she was drowning them in rain or sucking their breath away. Just a scare to send them on their way. Finally, after what seemed a lifetime, they flee and she relaxes next to the man until he turns his face around and up towards her and they, for a moment, remain like that with her hand on his shoulder and the rain sluicing away the blood from his upper lip with her looking on.

She is ready for the deluge of curse words that she would receive, shoulders rising as he opens his mouth, but then he begins to thank her. In fact he seems as if he is awfully cold but more likely the shock of the situation was getting to him, and she smiles in a soft way. "You are welcome," she answers calmly, leaning down to grab his arm and help steady him as he stands despite the fact that he is larger than her. She grimaces at his words, nodding. "Well they certainly were not taught any manners. Where I come from they would have gotten a strap from their parents for such behavior." Indeed, and all the kids would have to watch as they were punished as a means of deterring such behavior.

He moves away from her now to collect his possessions, now regrettably water logged, and she stands in her spot watching him, feeling a pang of regret that his things were likely destroyed. Which reminds her! She turns her gaze now to the bag she had set off to the side that is filled with her vials, picking it up and running a possessive hand down the bag in an unconscious manner that she does often to make sure all is still well. Once he turns back to her, with her bag now slung over her back, she places her smaller hand in his, eyes scouring down his face and pausing on the blood and on the stained clothing before flicking back up to his eyes. "I am Sorcha," she replies before grinning at him, despite the circumstances. After all, he was being a polite gentleman and there were so few of them around anymore. "Doesn't matter what time it is, I think I could use one myself. I thought I was going to get jumped myself there for a second," she jests, although one hand nervously brushes down the front of her wet blouse as an outward sign she was being serious.

She doesn't notice his distraction or the strange look he gives her because she is looking about as well before striding out the direction the boys had went, glancing back at him and the blood on his hand. "It's not like you can get it to stop bleeding by wishing it," she says, winking at him. "Come on, I know just the place. I have some stuff in my bag that can fix you up, although I'm not sure I can do anything about your clothes." She waits for him to follow her, not really assuming that HE might decline, and begins to lead him down away from the alley and across a crosswalk towards a more residential side of town. "I hope you don't mind," she says suddenly, pausing at some steps that lead up and into an apartment filled with studios, her own being on the fifth floor. "I have some drinks and I don't know about you, but these wet clothes are becoming mighty uncomfortable."

(YAY :D Booker is so cute and I love this thread already!)