Creed entered the small living room with a towel in one (clawless) hand, drying his longish blonde hair, almost as nude as LeBeau except for the drawstring pajama bottoms riding low on his hips. He was freshly showered and looked a hell of a lot better than the kid, who he realized was now awake. Tossing the towel over onto the love seat (the apartment had come furnished with all matching dark leather love seat, recliner, couch and assorted nick nacks that Creed didn’t give a damn about), Creed crouched about a foot away from the battered and bruised kid, smirking and stroking his stubbled jaw line thoughtfully. “So you’re finally awake then… You’ve been out for over an hour. Thought I had finally killed ya.”