Wade's continual demands for Mao to shut his mouth went unheeded, in fact, they only seemed to inspire him to further his theatrics. And that was exactly what the whole thing was. Theatrics. Mao's ankle was indeed sprained, but the boy had spent two years fighting in the pits, a sprained ankle was nothing. Even so, he really did honestly hate getting hurt. He considered annoying the fuck out of Wade on the way to getting fixed up as compensation. Mao just wanted to make him feel guilty. Getting whapped on the ass produced some more squalling and more attempts at retaliation.
He was plopped down, quiet now, and the scowl that on had been on his face was quickly fading. He was too busy checking out the healer lady to think about being a brat. Mao grabbed onto the offered hand, squeezing it hard just to be a jerk. He was a strong little bugger.
"Yes, this big, sexist Neanderthal made me mess up!" Laying the blame on Wade, but it was most likely the shoes Mao had been wearing. He was used to the ankle support of his big combat boots, but today he had been wearing low top converse.
"So you can fix me up, right?"
When the woman leaned down to check out his injury, Mao grinned, tugging on Wade's hand and gesturing silently downward. Mao was trying to look down her shirt.