It could be said that Sorcha is a person who had very few insecurities. She did not think herself overly grand, not in the least bit, and she knew she was passably pretty but she was never one to worry about her looks. In fact, more often than not her hair would end up frazzled and curly, a bitter rival to her hairbrush if she let it, but she try to maintain a somewhat stylish appearance with her clothing if only because most people wouldn't want to buy her products if she looked as if she had come straight from a garden. Not that there were many of those in a city like this, unfortunately. So when she touches him Sorcha is more distracted by the circumstances that have brought them together than by his good looks, for Booker was indeed a looker. When she had time she would survey him most likely and compliment his good looks both aloud and in her head.

Course, she can't help grinning at him as he assures her of his aid in the event that she had been attacked and she assumes that he feels somewhat guilty for even putting her in such a position. "I believe you," she says with a smile that seems to house a secret. Was he the kind of man to suffer for his own flaws but letting external forces dictate his life? The kind that would let these kids attack him but would stick up for a complete stranger? It was a noble thing, she thinks, and thus she begins to learn things about this strange human she had saved. "Plus, I know a little about self defense. This city is overrun, like you said, so it was in my best interest to gain some skills."

Normal people might ask the other "hey, do you wanna go back to my place?" but Sorcha doesn't always follow social norms. She just tells him to come with her and leads him there, only realizing at the last moment that he might be one of those men who thought she was a tramp or even worse, maybe he was married. Not that she was PLANNING to hit on him except, well, he was pretty attractive. Honestly her mind was a bit frazzled as she led him to her apartment building, eyes sweeping up and down repeatedly as a wave of exhaustion seemed to swamp her, demanding calories and some black coffee. She even had a potion that would revitalize her but she wanted to have the other things first.

Her smile falters for a moment when he answers her and she is sure he is going to refuse and leave. It was a brash thing to bring him here and her cheeks color slightly in her first wave of embarrassment, as if he will think she is insinuating something, but then her lips part on a sigh of relief when he agrees, smile immediately reforming. It is only as he keeps talking in a rambling sort of fashion that she realizes Booker is nervous and that in itself sends a rush of amusement through her, eyes twinkling at him in a mischievous manner because Sorcha cannot help the desire to see just HOW nervous she could make him. "I'm very good at fights, you know, you can call me anytime. It is what I do for amusement around this time of the day," she says with a wave of her hand and a chuckle, turning now as he walks past her to open the door. "Thank you," she says, beaming at him and feeling pleased that Booker is a modern day gentleman. Very few of them were left, that was for sure.

"Once I get you cleaned up you will look just as attractive as ever, I'm sure," she says, giving him another wink just to see how he would react because really, that blush looked fetching on his face. "And this, Booker, is my apartment studio complex. Not the greatest but it is a decent price and I'm pretty frugal when it comes to such things," she answers him, now feeling a bit nervousness as she leads him to the elevator that will take them to her floor. It wasn't a grand place and from the outside it might seem bare and not so very impressive. It seemed that the nervousness was now a bug being passed back and forth between them and her face softens as he stares hard at the ground, practically gibing her an out should she desire it, and she lays a hand gently upon his upper arm to get his attention. "If I didn't feel like having drinks with you I would have left you to find a bar yourself, Booker. I want you here and I want to take a look at those wounds. Plus you seem like a nice man and there are very few nice men in this city. So, if you are still up for it, I would like to get you a drink, clean you up, and have a good conversation in dry clothes with a handsome stranger." With pink cheeks she tells him this, her boldness coming out once more as those mossy eyes stare into his face, with bated breath as she eases back onto the elevator, and hopefully with him.

Assuming he steps into the elevator, she presses the button to the fifth floor, listening to the metal groan and creek as it rises and when it opens there is a short hallway, poorly lit, and her door is just off to the left. She opens it quickly, glancing back at Booker as she eases it open and waves him in. It is a wide space with hardwood that looked as if it had not seen polish or lacquer in several years and the space was decorated with a miss-mash of furniture. A maroon couch, a black recliner, a wooden coffee table with a fake plant nestled in the middle of it. Everything was open from one end to the other - the kitchen and long, cheap counter top on the right, living space in the middle, and her bed and dressers to the left. She ignores the mess on her bed, the rumpled covers and clothing littering the floor next to it, although her neck seems to turn red when she looks away and sets her bag gently on the coffee table. "It isn't the greatest," she mumbles, studiously not looking at him lest she find some look of contempt on his face as she gestures for him to sit on the couch. "Lets take a look at your face."