Joe was in a dangerous line of work, and sometimes got himself a little hurt. Not that he was willing to show Kristia, who'd probably mush all over him.
He'd stumbled into one of the spare "guest" parts of the house, trying to find a location where he could properly dress and clean his wounds while having a bit of privacy. He tried to deal with his own wounds privately. That, and open blood in a vampire household often brought extra attention.
He'd found the spare bathroom fast enough, and had stripped his armor almost as fast, along with the cotton underclothes he wore with them. Along his upper left thigh was a blue cloth, tied tight, which bore a few different colors: a dark crimson from old, dried blood; brown from the dirt and grime of battle soaking through his dark brown leather armor, and a dark evergreen color from the herbs he'd been supplied to initially dress the wound.
He reached up and started drawing a bath, hot water gushing into the tub so he could both properly clean and redress the wound, and relax from the last week's skirmishes and battle.
Nude, he propped a leg up on the side of the tub as it continued to fill, fingers reaching for the ends of the dressing... and paused, his head lifting. His powers were still flowing through him; the essence of pure life ran through his veins and arteries, in addition to his own blood, which, by itself, he knew to be a little extra enticing to the undead. It had to do with some of the modifications made to his living body and the extreme conditioning his body had gone through, but with the Force running through him, the scent of his blood might carry farther than he'd want. And no doubt it would most likely be intoxicating.
Biting his lip, he slowly undid the dressing... and even he caught the scent of fresh blood as it oozed out of the arrow wound he'd taken. It ran down his leg and into the tub before he could get a towel on it. "F*ck." He commented, the white of the towel staining a bright crimson. Joe shot a glance to the still-open door and cursed again, his hand motioning towards it and Forcing it closed, before turning his inner eye on one of his most trusted weapons, ready to pull it to him should the need arise. And there he waited, staring intently upon the door as he applied pressure on his wound, and using those powers of his to try and seal it shut; trying to heal himself.
He'd stumbled into one of the spare "guest" parts of the house, trying to find a location where he could properly dress and clean his wounds while having a bit of privacy. He tried to deal with his own wounds privately. That, and open blood in a vampire household often brought extra attention.
He'd found the spare bathroom fast enough, and had stripped his armor almost as fast, along with the cotton underclothes he wore with them. Along his upper left thigh was a blue cloth, tied tight, which bore a few different colors: a dark crimson from old, dried blood; brown from the dirt and grime of battle soaking through his dark brown leather armor, and a dark evergreen color from the herbs he'd been supplied to initially dress the wound.
He reached up and started drawing a bath, hot water gushing into the tub so he could both properly clean and redress the wound, and relax from the last week's skirmishes and battle.
Nude, he propped a leg up on the side of the tub as it continued to fill, fingers reaching for the ends of the dressing... and paused, his head lifting. His powers were still flowing through him; the essence of pure life ran through his veins and arteries, in addition to his own blood, which, by itself, he knew to be a little extra enticing to the undead. It had to do with some of the modifications made to his living body and the extreme conditioning his body had gone through, but with the Force running through him, the scent of his blood might carry farther than he'd want. And no doubt it would most likely be intoxicating.
Biting his lip, he slowly undid the dressing... and even he caught the scent of fresh blood as it oozed out of the arrow wound he'd taken. It ran down his leg and into the tub before he could get a towel on it. "F*ck." He commented, the white of the towel staining a bright crimson. Joe shot a glance to the still-open door and cursed again, his hand motioning towards it and Forcing it closed, before turning his inner eye on one of his most trusted weapons, ready to pull it to him should the need arise. And there he waited, staring intently upon the door as he applied pressure on his wound, and using those powers of his to try and seal it shut; trying to heal himself.