Loras laughed and sat on the edge of the sofa. He reached underneath it and pulled out a first aid kit which he set on the coffee table and opened. "I don't know how noble I am," he admitted. He liked to take it up the ass. How noble could that be?
"I think we better keep some of this a secret," he said in good humour. "Wouldn't want people to think they can fight just because they had a dream they could." He selected some cleaning pads, ointment, and butterfly sutchers. If the nose was broken, the ER would give stitches, but Loras didn't think a hospital was needed. Then again, he was a young man who was used to being stitched up on the side of a boxing ring.
"How are you feeling, old man?" he asked as he began to clean off the area more than a shirt could do.