you could rattle the stars.
you could do anything,
if only you dared

Honestly, Vhalla is surprised he follows her towards the bathroom, giving him a sultry look before they lock themselves within that filthy room. It was small, but it would do for now. Probably not the best place to treat a wound but she needed to wash it before an infection could set in. Why couldn't she be gifted with healing abilities instead? Grimacing inwardly, she tosses him a look, explaining she was playing hide and seek. Lazarus's response draws a humorless chuckle from her, "It really is so much better. Keeps things entertaining," she croaks out before taking a swig of that alcohol and dumping half the bottle on her side. She can't stop that moan of pain that escapes her luscious lips, seeing stars in her vision.

Releasing that cracked porcelain sink, she stumbles backwards, unable to catch herself before her back falls into Laz's chest, his warmth engulfing her. At that moment, she knew she had lost a bit too much blood if she were feeling cold. The fire within her always helped keep her warm. There's a bit of surprise that flickers in the back of her mind that he doesn't move away from her, instead his strong hands come up to steady the assassin, a hand on her shoulder and the other on her waist, carefully avoiding that wound. Normally, she would have flinched out of his grasp but she was far too tired to care, at least right now. Those icy eyes flutter open briefly, murmuring to him. She fully expected the man to leave her at any given moment, yet, here he was, practically holding her up.

Laz's response has her head turning slightly towards him, brows arching in astonishment. "Trust me, I've had much worse than this," she gestures to the wound at her side, feeling the heat radiate off him, "Plus, he wouldn't let me die anyways," she mumbles almost to herself, thoughts going back to Ivan. Oh, she had tried to off herself once before, probably the biggest mistake of her life. Ivan had beaten her within an inch of her life, healed her and did it again. Vhalla was certain to never invoke that wrath of her master again. Her eyes darken with such hatred, it takes a moment before Lazarus's voice can pull her out of those dark memories. Eyes narrowing at him, she outright scoffs at him, "You help me?" she sniffs at him, taking a step away from him.

What a mistake she had made. Her leg gives out from beneath her as she's rocked backwards into Laz again. Scowling heavily, "God dammit," she breathes heavily as his hands steady her once more. "Fine," she concedes to him as he slips an arm underneath her and helps her from the bathroom, "No promises on me not swinging at you though," she mutters, wincing as the movement jostles that slash in her side. Damn, it hurt like hell. Of course, the asshole would use a serrated blade. Scowling, she labors after Laz as he shoves open the back door and they spill into the alleyway. Staggering outside, that cool air sweeps at her white locks, entirely forgetting to draw that hood back over her head. As they pause in the alleyway to catch their breath, the man from inside the bar slams open the back entrance, the door swinging until it hits the bricks.

Her assassin senses has Vhalla gripping Laz's jacket and pulling him down with her until the hit the ground, avoiding that swinging fist. Pushing herself away from Laz, "Stay down," she snarls at him, her face holding nothing familiar in it. Bending down, she grasps the hilts of the two hunting daggers she stores in her boots and whips them out, twirling around with a dancer's grace towards their attacker. Seeing a flash of metal, she dodges out of the way as the man pulls a gun and fires the damn thing. Cursing to herself, she darts towards him, quickly disabling the gun, the metal weapon clattering to the pavement as she guts the man. Blood splatters her black suit, droplets sneaking their way into her stark white hair. When she turns back to Laz, her eyes are cold, hard, dead. The face of a killer. It takes a moment before she can return herself to normal, sheathing those daggers in her boots and stalking over to Laz still on the ground.

Gripping his arm, she tugs him to a standing position, "We have to go. Now," she says quietly, her burst of adrenaline gone as she can feel that pain in her side once more. "The asshole brought a gun and he used it, cops will be swarming this place in two minutes," she explains quickly, though her breathing is labored. Tugging him along, she stumbles once before finding her balance, her bloody hand grasping Laz's as they sprint down the alleyway. In the process, she draws that hood over her head, hiding her blood marked face as they turn onto an abandoned street. She ignores any questions Laz might have at the moment as they race down street after street. It doesn't take long before they reach her abandoned warehouse, the building looking like it had seen better days, the door and outside so graffitied there was hardly any room left to mark.

Slamming into that door, she shoves it open and pulls Laz inside before shutting it roughly behind them. Breathing heavily, she doesn't realize she still is hanging onto Lazarus's hand until he shifts behind her. Immediately releasing him, she turns to look at him, her expression wiped clean. Tugging back her hood once more, she reaches over to flip on the light switch, the fluorescents lighting the lower half of the warehouse up to reveal a reinforced steel structure and a massive training area, which involved moving obstacle courses, dummies, a range and so much more, there was even a sleek black Lamborghini sitting in the corner of the warehouse. Without glancing at Laz, she turns and limps towards the stairs, leading up to another landing, "Two things, first, you are never going to be able to go back to that club and two, you have to stay the night here; the police will be swarming this side of town until morning," she calls over her shoulder as she slowly climbs the stairs, her hand going to grip at her wound.

It takes her a little longer than necessary to reach the top but when she does, she grasps the handle of the door and pushes it up, leaving a bloodied stain on the door. She would clean it later. Stepping inside, she leaves the door open for Laz as she flicks on a light switch revealing a luxurious apartment. A grand piano sits next to a massive window, a sitting area adorns the other side, an open kitchen that is entirely spotless, as if it had never been used is attached. There is a hallway that leads off to several other rooms, though many of the doors are shut. On top of that, there are weapons littering just about every surface of the dining area, between guns and knives, even the makings of bombs. Making her way to that table, she begins to strip the weapons from her, the bloodied daggers coming first as she disposes of them on the table, and several smaller weapons from her suit.

All the while, she ignores Laz as she pulls a chair out and flops into it, leaning down to unlace her boots, she kicks them off before she works on that full bodied suit, reaching back and undoing the buttons. Not caring that Lazarus was still in the room, she shimmies out of the suit, tossing it on the ground to reveal her bloodied white tank top and a tight pair of boxer underwear. She was half naked in front of a man she hardly knew, yet, she didn't care. Men had seen her in far less and if Laz hated her as much as he said he did, well, it wouldn't really matter, now would it? Her feet are bare, as her long pale legs carry her over to the kitchen, rummaging through a few drawers until she can find a few towels, she runs them both under the sink. Returning back to the dining area, she throws a damp rag at Laz, revealing that bruise that so surrounded her upper arm, as if someone had wrapped their hand around her arm and squeezed painfully hard. "Here," she croaks out before lifting her shirt halfway, revealing a toned stomach as she inspects that wound.

It was far worse than she had initially thought. Frowning at it, she begins to wipe up the blood, wincing as she brushes against the more tender spots on the wound. "What?" she finally asks, feeling Laz's eyes on her.

Vhalla Solarn

To the stars who listen- and the dreams that are answered