[ He justifies it only because he's not bringing hounds to the man's door — the only kindness he can afford. It's this or limp halfway across town, his spaces in Wyver have dwindled to the minimal, and if Ana finds him like this it will be a Conversation, ("Hi, I got fucked up by a bear." "There aren't any bears in Wyver." Yikes.) There is a long, ugly gash across the thigh, from a set of vicious claws. Shallow, but bleeding — other cuts and slashes in the clothes, on the skin. He's got spares in his bag, but hasn't changed out of the blood-soaked ones. The cut on his forehead has been hurriedly but precisely taped up to keep his vision clear and the rest — are courtesy Jim's first aid kit. ]
[ Well he's about to find out what Jim Kirk keeps in his first aid kit. He lets himself in silently, gets to work as quietly as possible, sparing only a glance for when the occupant comes up and opens his mouth presumably to say what the hell. ]
JIM KIRK;
[ Well he's about to find out what Jim Kirk keeps in his first aid kit. He lets himself in silently, gets to work as quietly as possible, sparing only a glance for when the occupant comes up and opens his mouth presumably to say what the hell. ]
[ Blandly, ]
Nice place.