a shattered surface, so imperfect, is all that you believe Who: Damia and Altair What:Men Are Pigs & Other Tales Where: Damia's tower apartment When: tonight, after this Rating: PG-13? Status: In Progress
Whatever Altair had been expecting when Damia had reached out to him via the network and asked—ordered was perhaps the more accurate term—him to her place for drinks, he had not expected what he saw when she answered the door. Fresh wounds, if he was any judge, and marks that would soon become bruises. Rather like the last time he'd seen her, actually: weeks ago, when he'd accompanied her to a clinic after she was injured fighting a suit of armor controlled with dark magic.
"Well," he said, after what felt like an eternity. "Either you're the slowest-healing hume in the city, or I should have brought something stronger." He placed the bottle he carried with him into her hands. "Kerwonian Fire Whiskey," he explained. "Perhaps you ought to put some on your face."