Asking A Lot

[The Cedar Witch]

Her face betrayed the flicker of something else, almost as though she hasn't heard him.  When it registered that he spoke, she met his eyes quickly. 

"No need."  The last thing she wanted was to watch him clean her floor.  He was likely still a little weak. 

She reached for his hand, both to guide him down and because she wanted his warmth against her palm again.

"Why did you take this job?"  There was hesitation in her voice, an unwillingness to pry.  But she didn't want a repeat of this situation.  It was a close call.

[Trillian]

Decker complied, eager to share his hand with her, especially now it was clean. He could smell his blood in the air, metallic and heavy, and wondered how she could be so composed. He fancied he could see there was something more primal in her than usual, but it could be because he was looking for that. She'd always struck him as wild.

He slid off the surface and found his feet. He wasn't weak or fatigued anymore. He'd experienced a surge of adrenalin. He'd already accepted that the gunshot(s?) were healed. Evidenced by the fact there wasn't even a scar.

He gave a soft scoffing breath, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. His composure was rattled. "Money," he said, the truth coming out because he could neither think of an acceptable lie nor did he want to dish out anything but truth to her. "It was a setup." He frowned, remembering that one of their group had slunk away before the firefight started. Maybe this amateurish group had done everything right. Maybe they'd been betrayed. It didn't matter.

[The Cedar Witch]

His hand in hers stilled enough of the possessiveness for her to be able to examine the feeling.  She disliked how easily she leaned toward a growing attachment.  Something told her it was a familiar battle.

Anna frowned.  Of course, money.  It hadn't occurred to her that he was in a position of needing it enough to take a risky job.  She wouldn't chastise him for it, or prod for more details.  At his offered elaboration she'd narrowed her eyes and looked down at their hands, thinking.

The need to see that he was kept safe was still too strong to ignore, and she fought with distancing herself from it.  It wasn't like her to involve herself that heavily in the life of a--

What, donor?  Lover?  None of the terms that came to mind seemed to adequately describe this, and dwelling on the phrasing only made her uncomfortable for reasons she couldn't quite place.  A glint of something beneath the dark churning waters of her mind.

She walked with him into the great room with her piano and the canvas she was working on.  He wouldn't have seen any of her in progress works before, especially not one with an undersketch visible.  But she didn't bring him here for that, she needed distance from the distracting puddle on the table.  She glanced at the ashtray atop the piano near her silvery cigarette case, thinking that the taste of smoke would  settle her better, but she didn't make a move for it.

Damien was on her mind.  Specifically his issue with finding someone qualified to take an important job.  Her gaze moved back to Decker, lingering over his bare abdomen where the wound had been gaping not ten minutes ago.

"I have a friend in need of a capable hand,"  She spoke slowly, as if uncomfortable with offering solutions to him.  Up to this point they'd mostly kept out of each others personal dealings beyond a surface level.  "Clean work." She added, aware that it had sounded like she would throw him back into something illegal and unsafe.  Though she wasn't entirely sure the job wouldn't be the latter.

[Trillian]

He didn't want to roam her house in the state he was in, pungent and disgraceful. He was normally immaculate in her presence, grooming and tending himself for her. He was currently at his worst and while she didn't seem to mind, he did. The room she led him to was expansive and sophisticated. He didn't look around for he'd taken it in once already and he considered her more interesting to look at anyway. The half-finished painting earned a bit of side-eye but that was all.

He stared at her as she assessed his body. His muscles tensed beneath her gaze, part of the adrenalin hit from her blood. It had seeped further into him and he felt strong. His breaths were taken quicker than usual, like he'd been working out and she'd interrupted halfway. There was a distinct quality of something primal going on with him.

She spoke of a friend. He wouldn't ordinarily trust a friend of a friend (and he'd been shot tonight as proof it wasn't a good idea) but she was different. He trusted that she would know the right person to help. He was glad she hadn't suggested he work for her. He would do it, but he couldn't see her retaining interest in him if he was constantly in her face. Too much of anything would tire anybody.

"Sounds good," he said, not really needing to know more. He'd consented to her connecting the two of them. "Thank you," he said, the words heavy with the weight behind them. Not just thanks for the potential employment, but also for taking care of him tonight. Standing here as he was, this had gone a lot better than he'd expected. "I'd like to clean up," he said, expressing his wish instead of asking if he could. His statement was still seeking permission.

[The Cedar Witch]

It gave her satisfaction to solve two problems at once.  She would contact Damien later.  Her eyes softened at the edges at his thanks, feeling the weight behind his voice as though it were tangible.  Instead of replying to it, she tightened the grip on his hand. 

Mine.

She'd never shared this quantity of blood with a human not destined to be her fledge, and the effect it had on her was unexpected.  Already in tune with his heartbeat and breathing, she wondered at the change she detected.  There was an invisible wall preventing her from examining the situation further, and she was eager to get back to a more familiar feeling.

Automatically she released his hand when he voiced his desire, and gave him a nod.  He would know enough where to go, for they'd spent time together in one of the upstairs rooms. 

Anna watched until he turned to leave, and looked down at her own clothing with a frown.  At least this wasn't a favorite shirt since she'd worn it to paint.  The majority of the mess on her had been on her bare arms, only a transferring of blood to her shirt when she'd carried him in.  She slipped her hand into the front pocket of her jeans for her cell to send a quick text.  Her cleaner lived a little over five minutes away and would be finished with the mess in the dining room before Decker came out of the shower.  Unless he was rushing to finish.

Fresh blood didn't take as long to clean from hard surfaces, and this wasn't the first time she needed it done.

As for her soiled shirt, that went up over her head into the outstretched hand of the cleaner who stuffed it into the bag full of wads of red paper towel.  To dispose of properly elsewhere.  Her nudity was of no consequence and there were no moments of awkwardness passed between them. 

Topless and pensive, she returned to the unfinished painting with a clove cigarette.