Re: Hell's Kitchen, Marvel, Clem & Matt
[He heard her move, and reoriented slightly as she did so, not bothering to pretend that he could not sense her in a great number of ways, working pupils or no. His balance wasn't the best, but he wasn't stumbling around with brain damage, and he could hear the blood working in her heart. The smell of the blood and the cotton softened his voice into concern, and he limped again back the way he had come, attempting to hold his bones together as he did so.
When he sat next to her, it was stiffly, holding as much of himself from bending as possible. He tried not to breathe too deeply. The impact into the soft mattress was accompanied by an unhindered groan of additional pain. He swore under his breath, a profusion of Irish slipping syllables that sounded like "murrenont."]
'Twas a fire. [It was not a question, but he prompted for more. One of his hands came up, slowly so she didn't jerk backward or away, to indicate his own forehead in approximation of the bandage she wore.] An attack, you say. Marauders agin' from the sky? [Matt had been listening to a lot of radio news programs. It would have been difficult to miss this bit of recent history.]