ketterdamn: (words are hard)

[personal profile] ketterdamn 2021-05-02 03:04 pm (UTC)(link)
Maybe. [ His answer is amused, as he pulls a shirt out and sets his cane aside to pull it on. He can feel her eyes on his back, though he's attempting to ignore the stare in favor of getting dressed.

It's a slow process, since he lifts his arm up too quickly on the first go, inhaling sharply at the sudden pain along his side. The second try is slightly better, though the aggravated bruises are throbbing under the bandage. Eventually, he gets both shirtsleeves on and is bracing himself to straighten the collar out.

Inej solves that for him, instead, her small fingers sliding under the collar to make it lie flat. She tugs the front straight, palms smoothing over the material to rid it of creases. He wants nothing more than to lean into it, feeling a sudden and dizzy rush of warmth. Instead, he remains still, letting her finish with the buttons. ]


In a minute. [ The final touch, after he makes sure he's at least presentable with his clothes. At the moment, he's a bit distracted thinking about how this resembles something out of a dream.

When his shirt's buttoned, he ticks the tails in carefully and then pulls on a coat with the same measured pace. It would be relatively easy to get a healer to deal with this, but he needs people to believe the fight happened here. ]
ketterdamn: (wh–)

[personal profile] ketterdamn 2021-10-20 03:28 am (UTC)(link)
[ She steps into his space again when she tugs his coat straight, making sure the lapels laid flat and the shoulders weren't bunched up. It's harder to feel the warmth of her hands through two layers but the pressure is enough. Really, he shouldn't like it, not after the beating he took—everything aches.

He craves it, though, despite everything. Feels that same urge to let her keep going, to fold himself in towards her and shut out the rest of everything.

There's work to be done, however. And Kaz Brekker does not leave loose ends. ]


I'll take the alleys. [ Now that the Dregs are squared away, he won't have to dodge Haskell's ire. There are other gangs but he and Inej know the paths that will circumvent their territories. Or will at least let them pass mostly unnoticed.

At her sharp reminder, he nearly sighs, going to pick the jar of salve back up again. Limping over to the small mirror near his dresser, he carefully applies some of the balm to his face, wincing occasionally when his fingers pass over a cut. It stings worse than the ones on his chest—face wounds always did. ]