The shower was lulling her into a much needed slumber, but those violent images refused to fade from her mind. The dark elf stood leaned against the warm tile, tears still streaming freely, hidden by the rushing water. This was her fault. This was all because of her. Xeifolnae may be permanently disfigured because of her arrogance. It was a hard lesson to learn, but one that was needed. It had been a rough night.
She had just now violated every bit of privacy and likely self-perceived dignity that the drow male possessed. He was unconscious from the pain, the shock, all of it. Apparently, having one's tongue ripped clean was quite traumatic. Who knew"
She had found his room key, and managed to get him up the stairs with the help of Talis. Also with the baelnorn's aid, she had disarmed him fully, laying the weaponry aside neatly. It was amazing to her how much weaponry the drow could pack onto that lithe little body. He wasn't the smallest she'd seen, but he also was nowhere near as large as, say, Xavril.
Talis had made a run to the apothecary where Faerran was waiting with medicines and pain killers to help. During this time, the dark elf had stripped the bloodied clothing from the male and managed to wash him, careful to keep the water temperature warm as to not shock him further.
And now" Now, Talis sat in a chair in his room, beside the bed, a hypodermic slid beneath the male's dark skin, a powerful dose of pain killer administered to ensure his rest. She would remain there until the dark elf could come back and take up the mantle of responsibility.
When morning broke or consciousness allowed, the drow would find himself in quite a normal manner when waking; Meticulously clean, covered with a generous amount of sheet and blanket, and safe in his own familiar bed. He might notice a pile of filthy clothing, both his and hers by the door. It would likely take him no time at all to remember the evening before and all of it's horror. When he looked to the side table, he would find a glass of water and a small packet of powder with a note: Drital uns'aa. Whol l'jiv'undus. -A.
But if he listened closely, or moved any little bit at all, he would hear breathing, soft high-toned breathing, synced, but not quite exact, with his. If he went further to sit up, he would find the dark elf, her slight form clad only in brief examples women's undergarments, now slumbering and curled beneath another blanket alongside his feet, at the bottom of the bed.
She had just now violated every bit of privacy and likely self-perceived dignity that the drow male possessed. He was unconscious from the pain, the shock, all of it. Apparently, having one's tongue ripped clean was quite traumatic. Who knew"
She had found his room key, and managed to get him up the stairs with the help of Talis. Also with the baelnorn's aid, she had disarmed him fully, laying the weaponry aside neatly. It was amazing to her how much weaponry the drow could pack onto that lithe little body. He wasn't the smallest she'd seen, but he also was nowhere near as large as, say, Xavril.
Talis had made a run to the apothecary where Faerran was waiting with medicines and pain killers to help. During this time, the dark elf had stripped the bloodied clothing from the male and managed to wash him, careful to keep the water temperature warm as to not shock him further.
And now" Now, Talis sat in a chair in his room, beside the bed, a hypodermic slid beneath the male's dark skin, a powerful dose of pain killer administered to ensure his rest. She would remain there until the dark elf could come back and take up the mantle of responsibility.
When morning broke or consciousness allowed, the drow would find himself in quite a normal manner when waking; Meticulously clean, covered with a generous amount of sheet and blanket, and safe in his own familiar bed. He might notice a pile of filthy clothing, both his and hers by the door. It would likely take him no time at all to remember the evening before and all of it's horror. When he looked to the side table, he would find a glass of water and a small packet of powder with a note: Drital uns'aa. Whol l'jiv'undus. -A.
But if he listened closely, or moved any little bit at all, he would hear breathing, soft high-toned breathing, synced, but not quite exact, with his. If he went further to sit up, he would find the dark elf, her slight form clad only in brief examples women's undergarments, now slumbering and curled beneath another blanket alongside his feet, at the bottom of the bed.