To Mine Inspirations [Open/Abel]

[Deleted]

Inspirations came even from the weirdest source possible. Maybe this one wasn't weird, just unusual. When her fellow designers at the company announced that they had to look for an inspiration source for their upcoming exhibition, Nesia decided to look in the Underground. The theme was 'people of Archadia'. Surely the ones who lived in the Underground were counted as people. right?

Right?

Much to her surprise, her coworkers complained about her decision. "Take another inspiration," some tried to advise her. "No sane people would want to use them in their designs," another said. Nonsense. Nesia had seen one of them up close and he was fascinating, to say the least. Mutants had stories to tell; their powers, their lives--oh, how different their life was compared to hers. It's an unlimited source of ideas! Besides, Nesia had been wanting to look what it's like in the Underground since the last festival. This would be an interesting and fun trip. She could get materials for her job and satisfy her curiosity at the same time. Two birds, one stone.

But once she arrived at the Underground, a tall and muscular guard immediately insisted to take her on a tour around the place. Nesia grudgingly accepted. She didn't know the layout of this place, so she might get lost easily. Still, the designer listened to the guard's explanations about the Underground. Apparently he thought she was just a tourist. Nesia didn't try to prove that his assumption was wrong; the guard was quite talkative as a tour guide and happily explained stuff to her. But after walking around for a while, she felt bored. His presence restrained her movement. Nesia wanted to explore the Underground by herself, that way she could gather ideas easier. Finally, she was able to do so when they were close to a 'Fighting Arena' because he was called to stop a fighting in one of the holding cells.

Grinning, Nesia looked at the Arena. It was empty as far as she could see. No mutants or guards in sight. The woman walked further until she spotted a door with words 'Waiting Room' written on the plaque. She slowly turned the knob and peeked inside. Hopefully there was a mutant that she could talk to.

[Deleted]

Fresh blood trickled down on the white floor of the waiting room, slowly yet seemingly endlessly. The bench the tall Dutch man was sitting on was stained as well, his slightly trembling, bloodied hand pressed palm-first against the furniture's surface, nails digging into the material in a silent, suppressed display of anger. His breathing came out in short growls, and every now and again a curse word escaped past his lips.

Godverdomme. Godverdomme. God...

Abel fixed his sitting position, pressing his bare back against the cold wall behind in search for support to his weight. Slowly, he raised his only properly working hand off the bench and continued the daunting task of wrapping up his injuries. He wasn't given any particular time limit as to when he had to be done resting and needed to return, but he still wanted to get the job done and over with as fast as he possibly could; perhaps once he got all his wounds all covered up, he could try and forget what had happened in the arena tonight.

Holding the loose end of the gauze between his teeth, the Dutch man started to wrap his right hand up with the aid of his left. His eyes were focused and his hand surprisingly steady despite the earlier trembling, yet his work wasn't quite on the level he'd hoped. Because even if his hand was steadier than one'd expect, it was still trembling enough to make a mess.

But it wasn't pain that made him so careless.

Sure, mending himself like this hurt; but Abel was no stranger to pain. He'd sustained so many injuries during both his orphan and teenage days that a bloody nose was an everyday thing and a few scratches and cuts more tickled than stung. Indeed, it wasn't the fact that he was wounded that drove him as mad as he was now, nor was it the fact that he was made to duke it out against another one of his kind - hell, he picked fights with his fellow mutants even outside the ring. No, rather, what infuriated him so was the simple fact that today, he had lost a match.

Losing came neither easily nor frequently for Abel, and it had been a while since he'd last found himself having to lick his wounds after a match. But today... yeah, today, here he was, doing just that with broken bones as proof. But then, he never stood a chance in the first place; after all, he was set up to lose from the very start, possibly as a punishment for his violent behaviour towards some of his cellmates. If not, why else would they have decided to announce an arena match mere hours after he'd recovered from a previous fight he'd started with some of his arch-rivals in the place? Why would they have picked him when he was clearly bleeding as things were?

They wanted to teach him a lesson. They wanted to teach him that he was such a low form of life that he wasn't even allowed to fight when he felt like it. He wasn't allowed to win, to lose or to get injured on his own terms; no, it all had to happen when they decided it fit their schedule. When they could bring in a crowd to watch it occur. Fucking sadistic bastards.

Abel grunted as the haphazardly bound gauze around his arm tightened. Yes, they had left him with the equipment to fix himself up, but he hardly considered that a show of kindness; he wasn't naive enough to mistake necessity for their business with compassion. Of course they wanted him patched, how else could he return to the arena to fight another day as the humans' fool?

Using a strand of hair he'd turned into a diamond sometime earlier, Abel cut the gauze and got to working on tying a knot with his teeth and free arm. It wasn't easy, and part of him urged him to use his powers instead. Turning the fabric into a diamond would not only make it last, it would apply enough pressure to close the wound faster. But then, it would also mean he'd have to face the painstaking task of cutting off the diamond around his arm later, and that was not something he particularly enjoyed doing.

Allowing himself a sigh, Abel let go of the gauze and turned to the next problematic spot; his back, and the wound there, beyond his reach. Face in a scowl, the Dutch had to admit that it wasn't in a place he could fix by himself, particularly not one-handed. But hell would need to freeze over before he'd go and beg the help of the guards.

And it was that very second that the door opened as if on cue and a head peeked inside. A young girl with bright features and dark complexion, she seemed equal parts lost and curious - which meant that she was not a mutant. No mutant could look that healthy and full of life in these circumstances. Then, what was she doing here?

Well, who cared. The least he needed right now was another human looking down on him for his defeat.

"Lost?" Abel asked, disdain and condescension clear in his voice. He turned his glare to brush over the girl before focusing back on the gauze and untying the mess he'd made with it."This is not a place for a pretty little human to wander about. Scram."

[Deleted]

When Nesia arrived just moments ago, what she expected to see was mutants in their cages; mutants whom she could converse with. The designer imagined it would be a pleasant experience, something that she would enjoy.

She didn't expect she was going to see a bleeding man trying to bandage himself. Compared to her imagination, this was more... brutal. Barbaric. There was blood everywhere, dripping from the open wound onto the bench. Until this day, Nesia never witnessed a human being bled this much. Sure she had seen some on movies or TV, but never she saw it with her own eyes. The worst wound she ever had was when she fell from her bike fifteen years ago. And it was just a scratch on her knee.

The sight and scent of blood startled her, but Nesia kept her grip on the door handle tight. Perhaps too tight, because her fingers ached and colors disappeared from her nails. She must have gasped too loudly, because the man noticed her and bluntly told her to leave.

"Scram."

Part of her wanted to step back, close the door and leave to explore other places in the Underground. There must be more interesting places to see anyway. But another part of her couldn't ignore the fact that the man was bleeding. She glanced at her back. No guards were within her sight. No one to ask for help. Looking back at the bleeding blond, Nesia realized he was struggling to bandage his own wound. The woman cringed, but she didn't look away. His wound looked... that's certainly more than just a scratch.

So why no one helped him? Surely, since this was a Fighting Arena, someone would always be ready to assist the wounded mutants, right? No, this was just too cruel. Inhuman. From her talks with several Archadians, she was told that the mutants live quite an easy life in the Underground. They didn't have to worry about food, clothing or shelter. Not to mention that they were gifted - cursed? - with so many unique abilities. To be honest. Nesia envied them a little. But considering they had to surrender their freedom... nah.

Her attention returned to the man. She opened the door wide and stepped inside. "Um, excuse me. Are you alright?" She scolded herself mentally. Of course he wasn't alright, duh. "You seem struggling with the gauze, so... I can help you with that," she added, smiling a little.

He might had been rude to her, but Nesia would not leave him just like that. The least she could do was offering her help. Not that she had any idea how to bandage a wound. Anything that is more than a scratch should be handed over to a doctor.

Closing the door behind her, Nesia approached him. Her gaze was fixed to the floor, then to the bench before moving to the wound. Faint blush appeared on her cheeks when she realized that she was alone with a shirtless man here. He was quite handsome too, even though he was scowling.

Taking a clean roll of gauze, Nesia spoke, "or I could just call a guard or someone else to help you with the bandage. I'm not... I'm not that good with first aid, mister."

[Deleted]

At the sound of the door moving, Abel assumed the girl had done as instructed and fled the room to find greener pastures in her privileged home somewhere. He didn't see there to be any reason for her to stick around, and he doubted she did, either. Most humans, particularly rich ones, weren't used to seeing disobeying mutants - let alone ones giving them commands. She was probably shocked and about to tell on him to the guards. Wouldn't be the first time, and most likely not the last.

But then, Abel heard the sound of a shoe pressing against the floor, followed by another creak from the door. He turned his head slightly, green eyes sharp and suspicious as their gaze landed on the girl he thought long gone. Girl who, judging by the way she spoke, was either extremely vile and sarcastic, or not the sharpest tool in the shed, asking if he was okay while he was bleeding profusely from half a dozen places.

Considering the lack of apparent sarcasm and any further jabs, Abel assumed she was probably just the latter. For a superior species, humans could be surprisingly idiotic when it came to the simplest things - her staying alone in a room with a wounded and possibly aggressive mutant was but one example of it.

Before Abel could come up with a snarky enough comment to compliment her stupid question however, she spoke again, the words that flowed from her lips bringing a slight look of surprise to the Dutch's face. Was this a case of a strange language barrier due to accents, or was she actually offering him her help?

Abel wasn't sure whether to be perplexed or angry. It was the first time anyone - let alone a human - had extended him a helping hand without seemingly any demand for a reward. It was strange. Suspicious, and that's how it led to anger. Why was she doing this, if not to either profit or mock him? 'You poor little thing, let me patch you up, so you can owe me later'... was that what she was thinking? Hell, he would take the beatings of the guards over a little human girl's sympathy and schemes, endearing as her features were.

Regardless of her reason though, she seemed resolute in her decision. She closed the door and walked up to him, the intent glare Abel kept on her not seeming to deter her any. What was up with this girl? What was she planning? She couldn't be naively friendly enough to help a dangerous, wounded, bleeding mutant. For all she knew, his blood could have been contaminated, and she was wearing no protective gear whatsoever.

Speaking of one's clothing - or in this case lack, thereof - the girl seemed to take special note in his lack of upper body attire. If Abel hadn't known better, he would have sworn he saw her blush, of all things. Blushing to a mutant, hadn't she been taught that they were basically animals? And what, had she not seen a man without a shirt before? That was strange. Weren't all humans all about pleasure and enjoyment?

"I'm not struggling in particular," Abel mumbled coldly regardless, watching warily as she picked up a yet untouched gauze and he recalled her earlier words. "And definitely not enough to need your help."

Or anyone's, for that matter.

"Or I could just call a guard or someone else to help you with the bandage. I'm not... I'm not that good with first aid, mister."

Abel's eyes flared.

"No," he stated so abruptly and firmly that despite his normal volume, it carried the power of a shout. "I'd rather bleed out my intestines right here than take any help from them."He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing him pleading their help, not now, not ever, and if this girl intended to act against that wish, well, his blood may soon not be the only thing to dye the floor red.

And then her words played over in his mind again, and anger made room for momentary confusion; had she just... called him a 'mister'? What was up with that? Wasn't that a title reserved to be used for those higher in status than you? Mutants to humans, youngsters to elders? He recalled that was what he was taught in 'school' - and he also recalled being told it wasn't a term a mutant should ever expect to hear. Yet, lo.

Perhaps she wasn't scheming. Perhaps she truly was just naive.

"Don't care," he finally grumbled in answer to her mention of not being good with first aid, not even sure why he was entertaining her with any answer except get the fuck away from my face. "Neither am I."

Abel caught himself after that, realizing the confusion he'd felt might have made himself sound a bit too agreeable. He wasn't and so, with a stubborn grunt, he threw his back against the wall and continued with a cold, matter-of-factly: "And you aren't touching me with the gauze anyway, human."

His tone reeked of distrust, of wariness. And still, his face distorted in pain for a split second mere moments later when he realized that smashing an injured body against cold hard stone wall might not have been his best ideas.

Godverdomme, indeed.

[Deleted]

Nesia flinched and jumped a little when the mutant flat-out denied her request. No one ever talked to her like that in her life until this very second. Her smile faltered, then faded completely. What did he think he is? He's barely alive and still as stubborn as a mule. While mutants looked physically similar as humans, Nesia still believed that there was a clear line that separated them. A line that he just crossed very badly.

"I'd rather bleed out my intestines right here than take any help from them."

Eyes narrowing, Nesia's fingernails dug into the gauze. She took a deep breath. "Would you?" the designer snapped at him, her tone losing its previous warmth and politeness. The hand that wasn't holding a gauze was resting on her hips. She raised her chin up a little, showing him that she was the one who had more power and authority in this room. Her words didn't form a question; she deliberately challenged him. I wanted to see if you would really prefer bleeding to death rather than receiving my help. Of course she didn't directly say it to him, but the silence that grew heavier between them implied it enough.

Her lips parted slightly, silently speaking I dare you to die.

He's just a mutant. Disposable, like her father once said. Worthless. Alive only to serve and be obedient to humans. Mutants were like ants; no one would pay attention to one dying ant. Thousands of them were out there, moving on with their life. Lots of mutants died all the time for humans' amusement. Nesia never saw it herself, but it's a common knowledge among the people. No one would miss him if he died anyway.

No one. Pity.

But as she watched his breath became shorter and his face turned even paler, the anger that rose earlier began to diminish. Nesia exhaled loudly, shoving the hair on her forehead to the side. She held the gauze with both hands and her composure began to return to its previous state. Why did she think... all those bad thoughts? Didn't she always disagree with her father's view regarding mutants? Now that she calmed down, the blond mutant appeared to be harmless and miserable. Had she met him in any other places without knowing that he's a mutant...

She shook her head, leaving her thoughts unfinished. There'd be more time to daydream later. The woman took her phone out, feeling thankful that at least she still get a signal down here, even though it wasn't much. Ten seconds later, her phone screen showed her how to do first aid properly. "Look," she began, her voice soft. "I did say I don't know how to use this. But now I know," Nesia glanced at her phone. "And since you don't want guards here, I'm the only one who can help you."

He's really full of pride, wasn't he? Nesia puffed her cheeks, swallowing her annoyance from being called 'human' by him. She bet his grades in the mutant school were so awful, especially in manners. She should be addressed by a proper title, but the woman let it slide this once. Nesia cringed seeing his wound worsened by such a little movement. If he's still being stubborn and Nesia being doubtful, he'd really bleed to death. He looked so human and Nesia couldn't bear seeing a human died before her. He was disrespectful to her, yet for Nesia it did not make any difference at all. Besides, this was her first meeting. Maybe he would not be as hostile in later meetings? Her intention - as she liked to believe - was solely wanting to help him after all.

"Stay still," Nesia commanded and began to wrap his injuries as best as she could, using the instruction displayed on her phone as her guide. Living with mutant servants made her familiar with commands and how to use them. Even the most stubborn mutant would not dare to disobey her. Sure they could grumble or complain, but Nesia would get what she wanted anyway. Whatever he said to protest her action went unheeded.

She undid the gauze on his arm, it was already soaked heavily with blood and - oh my God, is that a bone sticking out? Shock clearly had overtaken her because her hands stopped working for a moment. When she managed to get past it, her hands weren't as steady as before. They were shaking, but Nesia stubbornly pushed herself to finish that tedious task. The pungent smell of blood would forever implanted in her memory from today on.

When she was finally done, Nesia took a step backward, then glanced down at her hands. The blood on them had begun to dry, just like the red spots on her dress. So what made a man like him, who seemed strong, bled so much? Nesia knew - or at least, she thought she knew - that mutants were treated nicely here. Reminded of the sign that she saw before entering this room, Nesia gasped.

There must be a reason why this place had a Fighting Arena. But... but that still didn't make sense. Nesia heard from other people that in the arena, they only showed off their abilities in order to attract potential buyers. No one would be interested to buy a bleeding mutant, right? A voice in the back of her mind nudged her. There were people who would love to buy a mutant who made his opponent bleed.

There were people who loved cruelty and would pay a lot just to watch it over and over again.

Nesia looked away and sniffled into her arm, smearing blood on her nose and cheeks. Goodness, this is embarrassing.

[[ look I rambled |D ]]

[Deleted]

Abel had been sure that his final, strict refusal of help would have done its job in chasing away the overly eager human girl, or at the very least made her give up on her stupid plan to try and fix a mutant unwilling to be fixed before she got herself hurt in the process. He knew how humans were; they acted all brave and mighty until the possibility of injury came into question - then their true nature showed, and that nature was far from pretty. He'd seen it all too often. Humans were controlled by fear, and it was fear that drove them into oppressing mutants in the first place. Humans were all weak at their core. Cowardly. Selfish. And while he couldn't claim he knew this particular human at all, he was certain she was the same. She wouldn't argue with danger, not play with fire. She'd flee.

As such, Abel hadn't seen the need to grace her with eye contact ever since he'd defiantly thrown his back against the wall, and had opted to focus back on the gauze he'd yet to manage to wrap around all his bleeding parts instead. He could see that the woman was still standing next to him for the time being, but her slowly changing expression was too far away from the reaches of his peripheral vision for him to catch. Not that he tried, anyway. He was convinced that if his words didn't suffice to make the girl leave, ignoring her for long enough most certainly would.

But then an audible inhale caught Abel's ears and he turned just enough to throw a quick glance her way, more curious than anything else - only to be sternly greeted by a sight he hadn't in a million years expected to see; the girl, previously so timid and naively joyous was now glaring daggers at him, her eyes narrowed and smile turned into an upside down frown. Abel barely had the time to register the sudden change when she'd already opened her mouth.

And the words she spewed out made Abel's curiosity quickly twist into something akin to shock.

"Would you?" She snapped, and although those were the only words she spoke, her tone and expression continued from where the words she vocalized ended into a silent challenge. It took Abel a second to understand what she was even referring to, but as he finally did, he understood that she wasn't merely questioning his choice of pride over life.

She was daring him to die.

Abel didn't have words to offer in response, and even his face seemed to have a hard time conveying what he felt over her sudden burst and, by extension, the realization that he'd seemed to have terribly misjudged the human. He had expected her to be a coward, yet here she was staring down a man fully capable of crushing her skull, he had expected her to be naive and meek, yet here she was speaking with a tone that demanded respect, standing with her head held high to force him to look up at her tiny form. It was humiliating, he realized once the confusion gave enough way for other emotions to take root. Humiliating and frustrating. She had called him a mister a second ago, but that slight amount of respect towards him, wherever it had come from, seemed to have all but vanished now.

Of course it had, Abel bitterly told himself. She was a human, after all.

The Dutchman's thoughts didn't clear enough to allow him to answer her for the longest time, and once he found the words to speak, his body was already too weak to bring them out from his throat. He was losing blood more and more each passing second, and the adrenaline suddenly rushing his heart to beat faster didn't help his situation any. His breathing turned into short, raspy breaths that bled into grunts the more he attempted to get his body under proper control.

He was injured, and he started to grow increasingly aware of the fact that he wasn't capable of fixing himself anymore. And yet, defying that knowledge, he tried. He attempted to move a hand he couldn't feel, and he tried to focus his eyes despite the blur that framed his vision. Because no matter how prideful he was, he was far greedier than he was proud. He was unwilling to give up his life just to save his face. He didn't want to give up on all his ambitions, hopes and dreams, didn't want to exchange them for a few seconds of honor in the eyes of humans.

He didn't want to die.

And as utterly infuriating as it was, the human girl knew that full well. She challenged him knowing he couldn't stand behind his words of brave defiance. She must have known that to a mutant, their life was the only thing they really had. The only thing they could truly lose, after their freedom and free will had been stripped from them. And those willing to lose their lives didn't fight in the arena matches, didn't try to patch up their injuries to have to fight another day. No, they took their own lives on their own and set themselves free before humans could turn them into their toys. He knew, because he'd witnessed it before.

Abel's world started to slowly spin and blur, and he could only barely make out the girl still in front of him, gauze in hand and words only barely reaching the mutant's ears. He saw the light of her cell phone flicker in the darkness of his vision, and he heard her mention the lack of guards and the fact that none could help him now but her. Only her.

It made a thought push its way into the man's tired mind and force his heart to skip a beat in realization.

... Was that... Could that be why she was so insistent on helping him, then? Because she was the only one who could? Was that why she'd snapped at him? Because she wanted to save him, and his wish was irrelevant in that equation?

A sarcastic, dry smile chased away the thought as quickly as it'd come, and an equally joyless chuckle made him feel almost foolish for having thought of something like that in the first place.

As if.

He didn't need her help, anyway. Sure, it was difficult to exactly focus right now, but all he had to do was wrap a few injuries more to stop any further bleeding and then take a few minutes' rest to regain blood, energy and oxygen. He had a clear-cut plan all organized in his head, and as long as he could focus on that simple string of events and carry them out in a timely manner, he'd survive. He'd done it before; lived through moments many would have thought to be his last. All he had to do was focus. Take one step at a time. So with that in mind, he shifted, pushing his back from the wall and forcing his lips shut when a groan of pain threatened to escape and reach his ears. He didn't need to hear how much it hurt. He already knew. He just had to-

"Stay still."

Abel froze. He didn't want to freeze, but the sudden order made him lose his focus and his body to tense as if on instinct.

"Shut..." The man growled in response, managing to direct his hazy gaze at her and turn it into a glare. But he didn't manage to move. He didn't know if it was because of the authority in her voice and his tired, mutant body reflexively obeying as if by muscle memory, or just his body breaking down at the worst possible moment, but he didn't move. Only spoke, if barely. "...up..."

She did, but Abel wasn't sure if it was because of his command or just the fact that she had nothing left to say, but for the sake of his own pride, he told himself it was the former. It was the best he could do to maintain some form of autonomy in the situation, because he sure as hell couldn't chase her away from gauzing up his wounds anymore. He didn't have the strength - nor the will. He wanted to live. He was greedy.

The gauze rubbing against his wounds and her hands - no matter how tiny and soft they were, Abel noted - pressing against areas of injury hurt, and there was no point in denying it. He was bleeding, hurting, and he couldn't open his eyes for the fear that he'd lose the rhythm he'd adapted to his breathing and start gasping for air. All he could do was sit there, allowing the human to help him. He was at her mercy, and yet for whatever reason, he wasn't really scared. He was annoyed, of course he was, but he didn't have the urge to slap her hand away, for whatever reason.

And then slowly sense and feeling started to return, and as Abel blinked open his eyes, he saw the girl had stepped away from his patched up body and was now standing a little bit further away from him, not looking his way anymore. Her face was burrowed on her arm, face, hands and dress now tainted with the same red that Abel had seen flow past the broken bones of his arm. A human drenched in mutant blood. She must have felt disgusted.

Was that why she seemed to almost... cry?

For whatever reason, the Dutch mutant suddenly felt the need to say something. Maybe not... thank her per se, because she had forced unwanted help on him and he was in no way obligated to show any gratitude for that, but just... something to show he was alive. That she had succeeded. That she had been of help, as annoying as it was to admit.

"... You were right," Abel spoke calmly, a little more strength in his voice than a while ago. His vision was still blurry and his sides ached, but his breathing was slowly returning to its previous pacing and his blood stayed inside him more than it gushed outside. He was inspecting his body now, head the only thing that really moved.

He cocked his brows, looking back at her once his inspection was done and continuing what he'd started: "You really aren't good with first-aid. Never seen such sloppy work."

He really wanted to leave it at that, to look away and wait for her to leave now that he couldn't fathom any reason for her to stay, but he never was good at leaving crying girls be, particularly if the tears were his fault. His sister would know.

"But..." He began, eyes cast elsewhere and body lightly shifting to allow him to sit more upright. If he was going to offer her words of thanks, he at least wanted to do it with his back straight and head held high, not with his form slumped and pathetic. He wasn't showing his gratitude towards a being superior to him. He was thanking an equal for offering help. "The gauzes hold and the bleeding slowed."

He glanced at her, glare a tad less intense than before, shoulders visiting a brief shrug as he offered the best thanks his pride allowed him to offer: "It does the job."

So don't cry, he added in the safety of his mind, far from the girl's ears.

--

[ I rambled too I'm sorry orz First I didn't have muse for Neddy, and then muse suddenly took over and splattered all this on the page I- ]

[Deleted]

Her vision was blurry. She vaguely tasted the salty tears and bitter make-up on her tongue, making her cough. No, no, this isn't an appropriate reaction fitting for a lady. Nesia had to control herself; at least, getting her tears to stop flowing down her cheeks. So she turned and walked away, glancing to the side in each step so she would not bump into something and embarrassed herself more. The woman finally found a bench, and with great relief she sat herself down. Nesia then took a mirror from her bag, checking the damage she had done to her dress and make-up.

Dark lines down her cheeks indicated that she should have picked waterproof mascara this morning. On the right cheek, it was mixed with dried blood - his blood; mutant blood. Red, black and golden brown mixed together, strangely in a nice color scheme hadn't it happened to be on her face. At least her lips weren't badly smeared. Her dress sleeves and chest part had blood on them, but she could cover it with her coat until she reached home. There's no way Nesia could give this to a cleaning service to take care of; they would ask questions. Her decision to visit the Underground itself had been regarded as strange by her coworker, and having mutant blood on her surely would raise suspicion. People would think that a mutant had deliberately splattered all of their blood on her. It wasn't a hard task to find out who she saw during her visit, which would bring more trouble to this male mutant.

Nesia closed her eyes and pushed her body until her back touched the wall. She had a mutant blood on her. She was accustomed with blood, being a very active girl she was. Nesia had fallen from trees, scraped her knees on paved road, injured herself with the tools in the workshop and seeing others got injured as well. But nothing was as bad as this. None of those injuries left this much blood on her or involved a mutant's blood. She knew some people regarded them as filthy, bacteria-laden and scum. Yet his blood was as red as her own. It smelled like blood, metallic, and dried like human blood. Nesia rose her hand, blocking the lamp from her vision to observe her blood drenched skin.

There was no difference she could find between his blood and hers. She should have felt disgusted, yet strangely, there was no reason that could make her feel that way.

Straightening her back, Nesia took her mirror and several tissues from her bag. The only way to save her ruined face was by erasing as much make-up as possible. She wiped her eyes and cheeks as best as she could, momentarily forgetting the mutant in the room until he spoke.

"... You were right."

Nesia rose her gaze from the mirror, fully realizing that her eyes were still red and puffy from crying. She stared at the man, noting that he looked slightly better. But... What did he mean by saying that she was right? Nesia didn't remember anything about saying something to him, so all she could muster amidst the confusion and shock was, "...huh?"

The mutant looked at his bandage-wrapped injury, then back to her. "You really aren't good with first-aid. Never seen such sloppy work."

Even before he finished his comment, Nesia knew her work was terrible. it looked nothing close to what the guide showed her from her phone. It was too loose in her opinion. She looked away, mumbling, "I told you already, right? I know it looks bad, no need to tell me." The used tissue papers were crushed in her fists. Such an ungrateful comment. He better stayed silent--

"But..."

"But...?" Nesia quickly responded, then scolded herself mentally. Just ignore him. This mutant clearly didn't pass manner class in mutant school. Until this very day, all mutants she had met in her life always had a smile on their faces. The smile was so good that she couldn't tell that it was faked or not. But he... he bluntly told her to leave. Her presence was unwanted, her help was not desired. Why would she bother to...

Then the woman saw the blood on her dress again and the reason settled itself back in her mind. Leaving him bleed to death wasn't something she would do. Her father would, but probably he would call whoever had the job to dispose dying mutants away. That wouldn't be a pretty sight, she was sure about it.

He looked helpless, so unlike mutants. Maybe her father could watch mutants fighting to death, but Nesia couldn't. She simply can't.

"The gauzes hold and the bleeding slowed."

She blinked, Did he just said that the gauze hold? Nesia leaned forward a little, focusing her eyes on his injured arm. It looked sloppy, as he had said, but if the bleeding slowed...

"It does the job."

"Oh thank god..." The woman leaned back, running her hands through her hair - no longer care about the bloodstain. She took a slow breath, filling herself with relief. When she looked back at him, Nesia noticed that his body language changed... perhaps not drastically, but it wasn't a slight change either. He looked less intimidating, definitely. "So... so you will not bleed to death?" Oh god, why she asked such a stupid question in this situation?

"Your bone is broken, though." Nesia put her belongings back in her bag. "I don't think my gauze will hold for that long and you'll need proper treatment before it gets worse." She paused, thinking about what to say next. "So, er... would the guards let me stay while they treat your wound?" Nesia wanted to add so they would really give you proper treatment instead of letting you suffer some more, but she canceled the idea. He had denied her help at first, and now that he seemed more... grateful, best not to remind him of his stubbornness.

"B-by the way..." Now that the dire situation had passed, she couldn't help to be curious on this mutant. How he got that wound, for example, but such question was still too sensitive for now. So Nesia opted for another one. "What is your power?"

And then, a thought jumped in her head, quickly blossoming into a tempting idea. It seems that the treatment he received from the Underground guards were not nice, to say the least. He had no option but to take it all, so...

"I want to buy you. How much is your price, mister...?"

Nesia wanted to buy him, but first, she needed his name.