[A reasonable man would maybe pause and give more consideration to that offer of magic than Alec, because a Cure materia in the hands of the right person would staunch the eking flow of blood faster and more efficiently than a first-aid kit. But Rufus is tied up by his pride, not caring for excess aid if he can get by with the bare minimum. Alec is that bare minimum, apparently, and Rufus doesn’t say or do anything more than follow, waving the guard aside as if to decline his offer.
He doesn’t miss Alec’s admission of being poor with magic, but he isn’t inclined to question it, having no real reason to. Rufus follows, pushing his pace to save face, ice-eyes fixed ahead, too stubborn to fall too far behind, and too unwilling to accept the fact that the other man is probably slowing his step for his sake.]
So was this the day you were expecting to— [He bites back a wince.] —have? I’m nothing if not exciting.
[ Alec doesn't need this kind of excitement in his life. That's why he's happy to do most of his work behind a monitor and pass the information off to other people who will use it to get themselves or someone else in deep shit. After he does a job, it's usually out of his hands from there - until Rufus decided to drag him back into one that was long over from his perspective.
Once they reach their destination, the first aid kit is easy enough to spot, being a big red metal box and all, and Alec motions Rufus to a well-worn stool nearby. ]
Sit your ass down and take your shirt off so we can get this over with and get home.
dusts this off...no obligation to continue if you don't wanna!
[He's almost too tired to balk against the command. Almost. Maybe Rufus stands just a moment too long, a hair too delayed, before the pain shooting through his nerve-endings informs him to play the part of nice, congenial patient. He finds himself seated on a rickety old stool with unbalanced legs, and he begins the slow process of removing shirt by pulling it up over his head.
Hard to do, really, when you're sporting a still-oozing wound. Give him a slow, methodical moment.]
You should work on your bedside- [wince] -manner, "doctor.
[ Alec is too busy rummaging through the first aid kit, fishing out gauze and bandages and sterile wipes, to witness the last stand of Rufus Shinra’s pride. Just as well because Alec would have most assuredly given him shit about it.
On the upside - as far as Rufus’ attempts to disrobe are concerned - the shirt is already slashed open, and the simple material tears even further as he tries to remove it. It makes the process easier, at least, even if it renders Alec’s poor shirt entirely unsalvageable. ]
Only if you work on your everything manner, Reeve.
[ Alec spares the ruined remains of his clothes a quick glance, but doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he simply moves behind Rufus, an alcohol-soaked pad in hand. ]
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finalflight2020-04-22 12:49 pm
no subject
He doesn’t miss Alec’s admission of being poor with magic, but he isn’t inclined to question it, having no real reason to. Rufus follows, pushing his pace to save face, ice-eyes fixed ahead, too stubborn to fall too far behind, and too unwilling to accept the fact that the other man is probably slowing his step for his sake.]
So was this the day you were expecting to— [He bites back a wince.] —have? I’m nothing if not exciting.
no subject
[ Alec doesn't need this kind of excitement in his life. That's why he's happy to do most of his work behind a monitor and pass the information off to other people who will use it to get themselves or someone else in deep shit. After he does a job, it's usually out of his hands from there - until Rufus decided to drag him back into one that was long over from his perspective.
Once they reach their destination, the first aid kit is easy enough to spot, being a big red metal box and all, and Alec motions Rufus to a well-worn stool nearby. ]
Sit your ass down and take your shirt off so we can get this over with and get home.
dusts this off...no obligation to continue if you don't wanna!
Hard to do, really, when you're sporting a still-oozing wound. Give him a slow, methodical moment.]
You should work on your bedside- [wince] -manner, "doctor.
no subject
On the upside - as far as Rufus’ attempts to disrobe are concerned - the shirt is already slashed open, and the simple material tears even further as he tries to remove it. It makes the process easier, at least, even if it renders Alec’s poor shirt entirely unsalvageable. ]
Only if you work on your everything manner, Reeve.
[ Alec spares the ruined remains of his clothes a quick glance, but doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he simply moves behind Rufus, an alcohol-soaked pad in hand. ]
This is gonna sting.
[ That’s all the warning he’s going to get. ]