The trip up the stairs had gone far more smoothly than Cat would have anticipated. Her sleek little phone had lit their path with little enough trouble, and despite whatever afflicted him, he seemed to have a good sense of where she was and followed her without trouble. The interior of his apartment was only dimly lit by the moon-and-street light that filtered in through the windows, but she could appreciate the decor, though it was a bit spare for her tastes. As he set down his mail, she looked for a place for his keys, then noticed the piece by the door, which seemed a logical enough place to put them, and Elias Sandoa seemed to her the type to whom logic might be the only law -- or at least, the most important one.
She was taken a bit aback by the low, musical greeting they were receiving, but before she could comment on it, he was thanking her.
"You're welcome, of course," she said.
"I don't see how you could cause me discomfort, though, unless you plan to kick me. I shouldn't like that at all," she said before she took his hand again and drew him toward the couch. One there, she gently nudged him to sit, then found herself at a loss as to what to do.
"Do you think aspirin might help? Or some water?" she cast a glance toward the kitchen, then toward the hall that most likely led to the bathroom and his bedroom. The layout was a bit different than from her own apartment, and it was on the opposite side of the building, but she didn't imagine it'd be too difficult. Pursing her lips, she thought of the pills that sat in her medicine cabinet: a small, emergency supply of Vicodin and Valium that helped with migraines and nights gone too wild. This, she imagined, was certainly worthy of the Vicodin, though she didn't relish the thought of climbing eight flights of stairs in her wedges. Taking another look at him, she decided that if eight flights it must be, eight flights it must be. He looked awful.
"I have a prescription in my apartment. If you'd like, I could go get it."