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

Honestly, Vhal is surprised when he doesn't hurl his guts up at the sight of the dead man on the ground. Not only was there a growing pool of red liquid on the ground, she was thoroughly splattered with it, that redness soaking into her hair and fully splattering her features. Though, there is a part of her that wasn't surprised either. Ellie had mentioned her family were Dark Hunters, just because Ellie wasn't necessarily a hunter, her brother clearly was at the way he was managing to keep himself together. Reaching down, she yanks him into a standing position, grateful he doesn't argue with her as they race towards her warehouse, the minutes passing by as her breathing becomes even more labored. Slamming into that door, she yanks it open, dragging him inside and shutting the door, locking the many deadbolts that so line the steel door.

When she rattles off her next set of words between panting breaths, she hardly glances at him as he responds, though she's very aware at the way he takes in the lower half of the warehouse. Brushing it off, she would explain as necessary, the assassin wouldn't allow any information past her lips unless he asked her straight forward. It was only fair, considering the nightmare she had just dragged the man into. Making her way to those stairs, she carefully climbs them, gripping the stairwell as she drags herself up, Laz close behind her. She only glances at the man once, her icy eyes taking in his reaction to her apartment, noting the way his green gaze immediately finds the assortment of weapons littering the dining room table. If they were in any other situation, she might have laughed, might have told him to take a picture or something. Yet, teasing words were far from her mind at the moment, considering she needed to take care of that wound that so lingered at her side.

It takes her all but a moment to strip out of her suit and retrieve those two damp towels as she begins to work on cleaning the dried silver blood at her side. Feeling his eyes boring into her, she merely questions him, knowing that she might have unleashed the beast. It was true, had she been quiet she very well might have slipped the interrogation, yet, she truly did owe it to the man, even if she disliked him. Turning those eyes on Laz, her features are wiped clean of emotion as his voice drops, growling at her like some raging animal. "That was my job for the night and these are mine," she sweeps a hand out across the table casually, as if she were showcasing a dog or something. Shrugging at him, she returns her attention to the wound, prodding it gently. "Hand me those," she gestures to the linens that littered the hutch with the skulls.

Waiting until the man either brought them to her or threw them at her, when she does finally have them in hand, she begins to wrap her waist with expert skill. It was clear it had not been the first time she had to bind her own wounds; there was even a matching scar on the opposite side. Ironically enough, it was when she had been in a brawl with Sebastian at a local bar when rogue Dark Hunters had decided to pick a fight the wrong night. Shrugging at the memory, she glances at that old scar briefly before covering it up along with the most recent wound she had sustained tonight. As his next question comes roaring out of his mouth, Vhalla flicks her gaze up to Laz still standing in the doorway. "Why can't it be considered customer service? I'm assigned a target, I take care of that target and I get paid for it," she says tiredly, leaning back into the chair as she finishes that makeshift bandage.

"I don't traffic anything so need to worry about that there," she wiggles her fingers at him jokingly. Depositing the linen on the table, she reaches for those bloodied daggers and begins to clean them, wearing nothing but a tank top and boxer shorts, her long pale legs crossing one over the other. It doesn't take long for her to wipe the two blades down before she gently places them back on the table. "Come one, let's find you some clothes to change into, I'm sure I can find you at least a pair of sweats," she states, pulling herself to her feet. She has to pause a moment, her hand reaching out to steady herself as she grips the back of the chair, only to reveal that vividly bright bruise that so encircles her upper arm. Turning to walk away from him, there are three scars that peek out the top of her shirt, though most of the damaged is covered, she leads him down the hallway and into a luxurious bedroom that clearly had not been touched, with the exception of the closet and the bathroom.

Stepping into the room, she bends down and digs through the drawer, finding a pair of suitable sweatpants that would suit Lazarus. Turning, she tosses the fabric to him before gesturing to the bathroom, "You can get cleaned up in there if you want to, you can also sleep in here if you want some privacy, I normally sleep on the couch but I doubt I'll be sleeping much tonight," she admits, her thoughts returning to the man she had gutted not terribly long ago. She never did sleep well after she was assigned a job. The bastard knew what he was doing. Blinking away the thought of Ivan, she digs through the drawer to produce a clean white shirt for herself, and a new pair of tight boxer underwear. Leaving him standing there, she exits the room and proceeds to make her way to the hallway bathroom, locking herself inside and turning on the water before she hurls her guts up in the toilet.

Wiping the vomit from her face with the back of her hand, she flushes it quickly before she continues to clean herself. Let the man think she was being a generous host, he didn't need to know the real reason why she refused to sleep in that bed. It doesn't take long before she finishes changing, washing the blood from her hair and sponging the rest of her own blood form her body. Finally, she exits the bathroom in her clean clothes, though she's nearly half naked once more as she pads down the hallway and pushes open the double doors to the small library that she has. Keeping the doors partially opened if Laz decided to question her more, she flops into a well-worn chair, the only worn piece of furniture in the entire apartment, her legs hanging over the armrest as she curls up into the chair. Head tilted back, she gazes at the ceiling, that dead look engulfing her features once more.

Vhalla Solarn

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