forum "'Kindness of your heart?' For a bum freak like me? You must be kidding." | Closed OxO, Modern Fantasy, Dark/High Fantasy

Started Feb 16 by @Null-Gravity language

tune

Okay, so I have a new character. Ish. Really, she's just an old character that I overhauled quite recently. Her name is Janine Montague and she's. . . a bit unusual, but she means well. Usually. As long as it's a day that doesn't end with -y. Otherwise, she's just trying to get by, with any means possible.

Basically, the concept of this roleplay is one I've been rolling around since I overhauled her entire powerset, personality and appearance, as well as backstory. The basics are: shitty childhood, lost a lot of friends, became homeless, travelled across the country, found a home, fucky shit happened and now she's homeless again, and has been for about 3-4 years now.

The concept of this roleplay picks up after she's been homeless and self-sufficient for about 5 years now. She hasn't been able to eat all too well for the past couple months and it's winter in Manhattan. That means snow and rain. Lots of snow and rain.

Janine is scavenging around in a donation bin for scarves, gloves, hats. jackets - anything really. Not finding anything, she kinda just leaves. Or tries to.

The thing about being homeless in big cities is that if someone doesn't like you, for any reason, you can suddenly disappear. So, when Janine tries to leave the alleyway donation bin to go back to the meager shelter she had, she finds a knife in her back. Quite literally.

People are afraid of things they can't understand, and it just so happens that Janine's appearance is very. . . not understandable. After all, why is a human that tall, or that thins, or have fingers that long?

So, she's been stabbed. What now?

Well obviously there's two choices: bleed out quietly, or bleed out loudly.

She opts for the second choice and with a rapidly fading voice she calls out for help. (Plot armor is a wonderful thing, and you'll see why.)

That's when your character comes in. Slowly walking down the street from which the alley Janine is in branches off is your character. Out of the sheer kindness of their heart (or not, who knows) they save Janine. It's obvious that a hospital would be a bit much, so they call some friends who are in med school (or something, plot holes are fine, we love them) who patch up Janine. Of course, it would happen at the kind stranger's place, because why not right?

So from there, Janine wakes up and yeah. The roleplay goes from scripted to "what the fuck is happening" really fast, most likely.

---

Rules

andrew (Our Supreme Lord and Overseer)'s Rules.

Please, at least one response a day.

Keep it PG at least. If there's any romance, if it progresses past kissing or anything, fade it to black. Not too fond of writing smut.

Cursing is allowed, but if any slurs are used I will kick you. No tolerance.

Asshole characters are fine. Asshole writers are not. (Falls partly in line with the no slurs as well: you can have an asshole, but the instant I see a slur I will end you.)

At least 2 sentences. Don't kill this by always giving me one word or one line, it ruins the fun.

Please, please use proper spelling, capitalization and punctuation.

Provide at least a short character sheet. Give me their name, age, race, nicknames, appearance and a short personality at the very least. Don't link a full Notebook page, I don't the the patience or energy for that. (My character sheets are long but yours don't have to be. I keep mine shorter than a full Notebook page but provide ample detail regarding personality and appearance, though.)

If I don't know your style, I will ask for a sample. I don't want to be mean, but there are certain styles I don't work well with. Nothing against you if I say no, you may just be better suited for another roleplay

At least notify me if you want to join. This is in conjunction with the last rule. If I already know your style, and you're someone whom I've roleplayed with before, I will generally say yes to joining. I just want this place to be drama free and friendly.

(Sorry for the wall of text.)

(Alright. I’ll do my best. I’ve been wanting to get a bit more active anyway, so this’ll probably help a lot lol)
(Here’s the sample)

---

Phalakros glanced out the window of his cottage. He was at the edge of the city, and on the edge of the floating island. It didn’t bother him though, he was actually quite fond of heights.

As he admired the distant green land below, pondering what hid within it, a knock sounded on the door. He jumped up with a gasp, looking to the door.

Cautiously moving to the window next to the door, he peeked out. He didn’t recognize the woman waiting for him.

She knocked again, and he jumped once more. Phalakros took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Yes?”

“Are you Phalakros, an initiate in the Guild of Exploration?”the woman asked.

“Y… yes.”

“Good. Here is a letter from the Guildmasters. Read it and reply within a day’s time,”the woman said, handing him a sealed note.

Phalakros took the letter and nodded. The woman left without another word.

He gently shut the door and breathed deeply again, trying hard to avoid thinking about his shaking hands. He slowly calmed down, then sat down and opened the letter.

It was indeed from the Guildmasters. They were offering him his first expedition. The expedition would be searching for a legendary treasure hidden on the surface, a lost relic from ages ago.

Phalakros breathed deeply once again, but this time to contain his excitement. He had done it! He had finally earned a place on an expedition! He wondered if Lucitius, wherever he was, would be proud.

Phalakros quickly packed his supplies, which honestly wasn’t much, and headed for the Guild’s headquarters.

(This will be J before all of her weird powers awoke and made her life a bit more hellish. And twisted her appearance. . . further.)

Basic Info

Name: Janine (juh-NEEN) Montague
Nicknames (Optional): Jane, J
Age: 18
Gender (Biological): Female
Gender Identity: Non-binary
Pronouns: She/they

Appearance

Skin Tone: Very pale, just barely on the cusp on looking healthy. (Hex Color FFF3DD)
Height: 7'4 13/16" (Needs to duck a considerable distance to fit into conventional doorways.)
Weight: 301 lbs.
Eye Color: Her left eye is a dark reddish brown, and her right is a deep, ashy purple but they glow strangely when in the dark, with a crimson light. (Hex color #7B2910)
Hair Color: Ash grey (#B2BEB5)
Hair Style: She keeps her hair cut in a rough, choppy shag-like haircut, but not layered. She cuts it every couple months herself.
Body Type: Legs and arms very long in proportion to her torso, very slim shouldered and not much meat on her bones. She has almost creepily long fingers that have extra joints, so that her thumbs have three joints (the base, the normal second and then an added third, making it just a bit shorter than a normal index finger) and each other finger is stretched to add a fourth joint. Her body is very slim and lithe, and the muscles that are visible beneath her skin are like rubber bands pulled taut, ready to snap and send her flying at any moment. As for her facial structure, it's very slim and sharp, all angles and planes, almost wild and feral in appearance, her eyes bright and alert despite a severe lack of food and proper rest. Her incisors are sharper than a normal human's, and the bite force of her jaw is well known in the areas she usually jaunts.
Identifying Marks (tattoos, scars, birthmarks, etc.): A strange birthmark just above the left side of her hip vaguely resembles a horn, maybe an antler.
Usual Outfit: A very oversized black hoodie with a large hood, a black beanie, baggy grey sweatpants and a pair of beat up classic Vans.

Personality

Basic Personality (descriptive terms, such as "calm" and "kind" can work instead of a full personality description): Despite all appearances, Jane is a very outgoing and carefree spirit, though she, of course, isn't without her flaws. However, rather than letting her flaws be who she is, she chooses to simply act in a way that makes her feel good. Though all this doesn't mean she has a particularly good moral compass. In the end, she only really looks out for herself. If something doesn't interest her, she won't take part or anything like that. After all, when you're treated like a freak, you tend to start being a little. . . freak-y. But she cares strongly for her friends, and one thing she doesn't like is when someone she cares about is being treated in a shitty manner.
Sexuality: Bi. . . herself.
Fears: Nothing, really. After all, peering into the void is just about the worst it gets. (Or so she says. Deep down inside she's terrified of being forgotten or left behind, but she'll never admit that to anybody, least of all herself.)
Hopes: To be able to eat good food and live life the way she wants.
Motivations/Goals: Motivations? Goals? Who cares? She has a long time, she doesn't need to worry about that yet.
Hobbies: Eating, sleeping and playing video games, and tinkering with electronics.
Talents: Electronics and gaming. Eating large amounts of food. Whenever she has a home, at least.
Other: Some latent powers rest within her, long dormant blood of a strange creature held back only by ignorance of the Other that exists.

(You’re welcome! Lol, I get the Jupiter size. I’ve got several characters like that. I only have a few short folk, and they’re still more like average human height lol. I honestly have no idea why my characters are so tall, but it’s kind of funny regardless)
(And, here he is. If you need me to adjust anything or get his backstory, just let me know)

---

Name: Jonathan Rykethil
(His real name is Theron Ronathil)

Aliases/Nicknames, if any: Jonathan, Jon
(Ron, Ronnie. Though, he doesn’t like either)

Race: Ahkrethian
(Tall, carnivorous reptilian humanoids with elf-like heads. Males have horns on the back of their heads)

Age: Approx. 3,500-5,250 years
(As a human, he appears to be 32 years old)

Gender/Sexuality: Male (he/him), Heterosexual

Appearance: Human Form~ Dark hazel eyes. Golden, long, straight hair. 6’9” tall, 186 lbs. Lean, lanky, and robust physique with suntanned white skin. Handsome, angular facial features. His canine teeth are slightly larger than usual for a human. He has faint battle scars across his arms, neck, and face. He has one prominent set of scars though, and he doesn’t like to talk about it. The scars are dark scratch marks on his feet up to his shins, and they’re the reason why he mainly wears boots. Typically wears a black tunic with matching pants and thick, dark brown boots.
Heroforge Pic

True Form~ Pearlescent dark hazel eyes. Brown hair with streaks of black, shoulder-length and thick. 7’3” tall, 317 lbs. Lean and robust physique. Brown/Bronze scales with green highlights from the breastbone down. Breastbone and up is pale white skin. Clawed hands and feet. A mouthful of pointed teeth with three pairs of fangs and a blue forked tongue. Long, pointed ears that are slightly curved upward. A pair of light brown horns on the back of his head that curve downward. Bronze and gold wings with a 28’ wingspan that he can magically ‘sheathe and unsheathe’ into his back. Same scars as his human form. Facial features are similar to his human form, except his face is longer and his jaw has an odd curved shape that allows him to open his mouth considerably more than one would expect. Typically wears a long, black robe.
Heroforge Pic

Dragon Form~ A robust, gold and bronze dragon with dark brown eyes. He is a bit more squat than most of his tribe, with a blocky and triangular head.
—He has three-toed front feet and four-toed back feet. His tail tapers to a point.
—25’ long from snout to tail-tip. 12’ tall at the withers. 75’ wingspan.
Pic

Personality: Typically, he’s a very calm, quiet, and observant individual. He’s also very loyal, empathetic, and charismatic, and tries his absolute best to always be a gentleman. However, because of past experiences, he’s very cautious and blunt, and can be quite twitchy/skittish at times. He’s also a natural leader.
—He does his absolute best to help other ‘outcasts’ like himself. He helps shelter magic-users and other non-humans from the often harsh society of humanity.
—He is, secretly, very lonely. He misses his family and tribe, and their absence has left a massive whole in his heart. He also tends to bottle up his stress and negative emotions, but tries to counteract it with various calming habits and productive activities.
—He loves black coffee, chamomile tea, and medieval style things.

Powers: He is innately pretty powerful with Metal Elemental magic (like others of his tribe). His other innate abilities are limited shapeshifting (only has three forms) and teleportation (only to places he’s been). He can also summon a specific weapon (and its ammunition if needed) to his hands (in his case, it’s an old, black wooden bow covered in runes that he crafted himself. The quiver of arrows matches the bow).

Skills: Archery, metal-working, weapon-crafting (particularly bows), horse-riding, gardening/herbalist. Can makes clothes from scratch, particularly if they’re made of cloth or leather. He’s a survivalist and an ex-soldier. Has studied real estate, is a good salesman and landlord, and can maintain money pretty well.

Other: Occasionally has ‘trances’. He doesn’t know why they happen, but they seem influenced by stress. (Possibly a form of undiagnosed epilepsy, but I’m still researching)
—His eyesight is unusually keen, even for his kin.
—Somewhat obsessed with his native language’s rune for ‘hearth’. He carves it on almost everything he owns/touches, and will even draw it in his coffee (or other drink) at least a dozen times.
—He is lactose intolerant, has a moderate latex allergy (though he can somewhat eat apples), and his diet usually consists of a lot of meat and protein.
—He either walks or rides on a bicycle. He can’t drive, and he’s quite wary of being inside a car.
—He is actually quite wealthy, though he doesn’t often show it

Something I forgot to mention in the first post:

Major trigger warnings for this roleplay.

Blood, mentions of abuse, homelessness, some amounts of homophobia (correlating to backstory), blackmail and other triggering topics ahead. This is not everything, as I'm still working on Janine's backstory, and there's also an ex-soldier being played by my partner here, Serpentess. Be wary of stalking. This is your first and only warning.

Car exhaust, piss and stale beer. That's all Janine could smell as she rummaged through the donation bin in the alley, put there for hobos like her.

I know what you're thinking dear reader: is that a joke or insult? I answer, "Neither. It's the truth." Janine, aged 18 and three quarters, was homeless. Had been for about 5 years now. Ever since the accidents.

Presently, the hobo comes back up for a fresh breath of air, fresh here meaning that instead of human piss she was smelling, it was cat piss. Only marginally better. She sighs wearily, rubbing some grime off her fingers but only succeeding in making it look worse than it really was. She gave up pretty quickly.

She takes a moment to study her fingers. Still the same. Cracked skin from the cold, the pain only mad worse from the weeks of nonstop rain, hail and snow she had to live through. Gods, she hated winter.

Looking closer, you could begin to trace out old roadmaps of scars and burns, not just from 5 years of homeless living but from before then as well, from kitchen accidents to soldering iron mishaps to the burn on the heel of her left hand from trying to take a casserole out of the oven when she was 13.

The same four joints on each finger. The same three on her thumbs. The fingers that had always gotten her bullied, harassed and sometimes even beaten. She hated them. But they'd served her well, so she couldn't just. . . let them go. Release her tight grip on them, as it were.

She shakes her head violently to distract herself from her not so distant childhood.

Janine slowly retracts herself from the bin, having found nothing good or of any remote value. Unsurprising, really, considering it was a back alley in the middle of Manhattan, in the middle of one of the worst winters in years. As she straightened, another reason why she was an outcast became clear: she was a freakish size, towering a bit above 7 feet tall, and unnaturally thin, almost unhealthily so. She starts to turn, then pauses, her instincts seeming to warn her of something.

A rustle behind her.

She starts to turn and then she feels something at first cold, then searing hot, in her side, right at about kidney level. She collapses, in shock, trying to comprehend.

She tries to look behind her but cant. She can't lift her head. Or move her back. Speaking feels like such an effort already. All she can do is listen as the object clatters to the ground and the assailant runs off, away from his or her crime.

Slowly, she starts to drag herself towards the entrance of the alley, each movement painful and sending spikes of pain through her lower back to every limb in her body as she pushes herself to try and seek help.

Summoning her last vestiges of strength - she was near passing out from the pain - she cries out for help.

Then, darkness as she succumbs to the alluring call of sleep.

The freezing sprinkle of rain that had steadily fallen all day didn’t bother Jonathan. Nor did the snow, or even the cold. He only wore a light fur coat for the sake of blending in. Though he looked human, he was far from it. His true nature as a member of a draconic race allowed him to tolerate extreme temperatures more easily than humans.

Though, he still preferred the temperate hills and plains of his homeland. The less volatile weather and the horizon to horizon view was something he craved for, but didn’t have the heart to find. Hell, he was a landlord in a tiny, secluded town in the middle of a forest. And, now, he was on vacation in a metal forest, Manhattan.

He was hiding. He wouldn’t deny it. Though he couldn’t tell what he was hiding from. Maybe it was guilt from his youth, the bloodthirsty actions that led him to living on Earth. Maybe it was shame due to the odd ‘trances’ he had dealt with all his life. Regardless, he didn’t feel worthy of the hills anymore.

A car noisily passing by ripped him from his thoughts. Jonathan looked up from the snow-covered sidewalk, noting that he was almost at his apartment. He could’ve gotten a hotel room for his vacation, he knew, but he decided that a more permanent residence would suit him better. After all, he was fascinated by the sheer size of the city, and the rich source of metal and people in it.

Though, as he walked past an alleyway, he caught a whiff of blood. Moments later, he heard a cry for help. That made him pause. He backed up a few steps and looked into the alley, confused when he didn’t initially see anything. But, after letting his eyes adjust to the dim light, he saw a body near a donation box.

Alarmed, Jonathan quickly headed into the alley to investigate. He kept a cautious eye on his surroundings, aware that city alleys weren’t very safe places to be. As he got closer to the body though, his attention became more fixed on it, on her.

She was clearly an oddity, probably not even fully human just from her extremely lanky appearance. But, she was also, without a doubt, homeless. And, dying.

Jonathan kneeled down next to her, picking apart what had happened as he examined her. Somebody had stabbed her and run off deeper into the alley, leaving her to die. Either she had an enemy or two, or she was targeted simply for her odd looks. Considering the blood trail and the wound itself, Jonathan would’ve said that the attack had succeeded, except that he had shown up barely minutes later.

A rough plan formed in Jonathan’s head and he slid his hands underneath the woman, scooping her up fairly easily despite her surprisingly heavy weight. Then, with a quick glance and sniff to make sure no one was around, Jonathan focused his mind on his apartment and vanished in a light cloud of smoke.

Moments later, he appeared in his apartment, exactly where he’d imagined, which was right in front of his couch. He kicked off the bearskin blanket he’d spread across the simple couch and gently laid the woman down.

After making sure the woman was settled, Jonathan rushed to one of his cabinets and pulled out a stash of bandages he kept. He did a cursory wrap around her wound, as he only had very basic medical knowledge. Then, Jonathan hurried out of his apartment to grab his neighbor Emily, who, luckily, was a nurse.

He didn’t give her a bunch of detail, only asking for her help and warning her that the patient was odd. Emily grabbed her medical bag and followed him back to the woman, then almost immediately turned away to leave. Jonathan was quick to grab her before she could leave and alert any authorities, pleading with her to not let the woman die without, at least, trying to help. With some convincing, Emily begrudgingly approached the woman and went to work stitching her up.

After a bit, Emily finished up and left Jonathan with some painkillers and instructions on caring for the wound. She also chided him for having too good of a heart, then left. All Jonathan could do now was cover the woman with the bearskin blanket from earlier, sit, and wait.

J cries out softly when she's lifted up, blood seeping into her clothes through them, and starting to touch Jonathan's jacket.

She didn't feel any movement but became vaguely aware through the haze of just barely being on the edge between conscious and unconscious that it was warm and bright. So they weren't outside.

She was also vaguely aware that the one who brought her here had set her down and was gone again, before fading out once more.

---

It couldn't have been more than a few minutes since the last time she was on the edge of awake and asleep, but it felt like eternity. Now, there were voices: a man's, rich, deep and commanding. And a woman's, fearful yet business-like.

Shortly after this the pain became to much and she slipped off into the depths of the deep ocean known as sleep and memory, and knew no more.

---

This is a bit much.

That was Janine's first thought upon opening her eyes. Clearly, this was meant to be her her birthday party, set up and ready. She was 12.

The cake was chocolate, with the words "Happy 12 J!" written on the electric blue icing in mint green frosting. Streamers and baubles hung from the ceiling and banisters on the second floor, reading much the same as the cake. A table in the corner held a few wrapped gifts, all labeled to be from her mom and stepdad.

But nobody was there besides her mom. Not that that wasn't what she'd expected.

Her mother looks shocked and sad, then pleading with Janine as the poor child slowly tries to turn to lave, grabbing J's shoulder and looking desperate to try and please her daughter. But all Janine wants to do is go to her room and sleep. Before her not-dad comes home.

The memory darkens on a scene of the front door opening and both heads whipping towards it as someone walks through. . .

---

Janine opens her eyes.

One moment asleep, and the next awake - a skill born of habit, from years of living on the street.

The first thing she notices is the human person sitting next to the couch, looking a bit tense.

She sends herself tumbling over the back of the couch, wincing as her side sends a sharp "Hey!" signal through her body, letting her know she was injured. But in her eyes, that was way less important than waking up somewhere she knew she'd never been a day in her life.

Without losing much focus on the man, she quickly glances around, taking everything in. Cozy brownstone apartment. Furnished well enough to show that the man was by no means poor, but not so well that he was arrogant about his wealth.

Shakily, in a raspy, dry voice, cracking from disuse, she asks two questions.

"Who the fuck are you and why the fuck am I in your house?"

“Easy, lass. I know it hurts. Give me just a minute to see how I can help,”Jonathan whispered at her cry of pain, his light Scottish accent poking through the deeper tones of his voice.

He completely ignored the blood getting on his coat. It wasn’t the first time he’d been covered in blood, whether it was his or not.

As he raced around, he could tell the woman was going in and out of consciousness. He remembered that same sensation from the many wounds he’d gathered over the years. He didn’t doubt she was in a lot of pain. She was also more than likely delirious too. But, at least she was still alive.

When Emily came into the room, Jonathan moved one of his smaller tables close to the couch and lit several candles for some extra light. He actually rarely used the electricity in his apartment, except for when he was cooking or turning the heaters on. Otherwise, he preferred candlelight, and he knew how to make a room bright with just candles.

Emily didn’t complain about Jonathan’s unorthodox style. She was steadily getting used to it. Though, each time the woman’s eyes opened, Jonathan had to talk her down from bolting. Emily hated folks that weren’t fully human, but she respected Jonathan, and they were quickly becoming friends. Unfortunately, Jonathan knew that if she ever found out about his true nature his relatively peaceful time in Manhattan would go downhill in an instant.

When Emily left, Jonathan moved the table of candles to the side, just in case. As he waited, he took his jacket off, setting it on the back of his chair for the moment. He then eyed the room around him.

He hadn’t messed with the original furniture, except to cover the couch and chairs with various furs. He also had two swords displayed on the wall where the tv had once been, and had added several metal tables around the apartment. Though, everything he had added he’d made himself, not bought. It was a passion of his to build things, and it kept him busy.

A noise from nearby brought Jonathan’s attention back to the woman just in time to see her go over the back of the couch. He shot to his feet, almost rushing over to her, but stopped himself before he even made one step when she started looking around. If he approached her now, he would almost certainly make things worse. She was homeless, a ‘rogue’ as his kin would say. Survival was paramount to her.

When she spoke, he took note of her raspy voice. Clearly she rarely said a word. That meant she was alone too. It saddened Jonathan to think that she had been forced to survive on her own, but he made sure to keep in mind that such a situation only made her more dangerous.

“My name is Jonathan. I was walking back here when I passed the alley you were in. I heard you cry out and I couldn’t just leave you there to die. The alley is pretty close, so I just carried you here. And, it’s been pretty quiet in the building lately with the weather like it is, so no one’s going to bother us,”he explained.

It was a half-lie, considering how he’d actually gotten back to the room, but Jonathan was used to giving half-lies after a decade or more of living among true humans.

Janine narrows her eyes, exactly like an animal used to being hunted: untrusting, filled with some unidentifiably tense emotion and anger at being brought into an unfamiliar place.

"And then what? You gonna use me for whatever you want? Men are pigs. All of you. And if you tell me you did this because it was 'the right thing to do' I swear that I will grab one of those damn swords of yours and shove it straight through your heart. That goes for if you take a step towards me or if I feel threatened by you at all, as well. You better pick a god and pray that I don't find another solution to being in an unfamiliar place with a dude I can't trust before you convince me of anything," she snarls, hell bent on staying alive and safe. Homelessness was not kind to women.

And it was better to be clear and loud about how you felt in any situation. Currently, she was a scared animal.

She'd been in plenty of situations where it was her safety versus the life of another, and it's never been worth sacrificing her own life. Martyrdom doesn't fly on the streets. If you try it, the cross you put yourself on will quickly be torn down for firewood.

Presently, she starts to back away further, slowly standing and wincing, bracing herself against the couch for a bit to clear her head, but keeping her eyes firmly locked onto Jonathon.

"So tell me your reason. You have exactly 3 minutes before I tear this place and you apart," Janine snaps, though it was starting to be a little less convincing. She was in pain, and a lot of it, and it was starting to show in the lines surrounding her eyes.

Jonathan recognized that feral look in her eyes. It was just like the rogues of his kin. Wary. Hostile. Unforgiving. One wrong move and he would have a fight he didn’t want.

At her words, Jonathan’s eyes widened in utter surprise. He even sputtered a bit, though he didn’t realize it. ‘Use’ her? That had never entered his mind! And the mere thought of taking advantage of any woman in any way was horrifying to him.

Though, he quickly recovered from his shock the moment she mentioned his swords. His fingers twitched reflexively, the need to grab a weapon briefly flashing in his mind. The sensation was jarring, particularly with how familiar it was and how quickly it had come back to him. He didn’t like that reflex at all.

He watched her as she backed away, noting her pain. She hid it well, even when she spoke, but Jonathan had always been notorious for catching the tiniest of details. It was one reason why he had been as good an archer as he had been. But, that wasn’t something he wanted to think about, or remember.

In the silence that followed her words, Jonathan took the risk and looked down at the floor. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply and centering himself after the startling past couple minutes. He made sure to keep his other senses tuned to the woman, but he needed a moment before he did anything.

A minute later, Jonathan sighed and looked back up at the woman. He also entwined his hands in front of himself, making sure they were both visible to the woman.

“In a survival situation, ‘the right thing’ never exists. I know that from experience. I helped you because I wanted to. ‘Tis in my nature. I don’t like leaving anyone behind, especially when they are wounded. Also, the thought of ‘using’ you in any way is nauseating, at best. In my homeland, we almost revere women, and I have always done my best to keep to that reverence,”Jonathan explained.

He considered her comment about picking a god and praying to them. In a different situation, it would’ve been an amusing statement. But, it wasn’t right now.

“I do apologize for… basically snatching you out of nowhere. Though, the situation called for it. I always keep bandages and other supplies stashed around, but I don’t always bring some with me if I go out. And, I didn’t have anything on me when I found you.”

Jonathan paused, then pointed off to his left.

“The front door is over there through a little foyer. Though, I wouldn’t recommend you leave that way. Firstly, because you’re still badly hurt. Secondly, because you’re more likely to be seen. Though, I will admit my neighbor Emily is aware that you’re here. She’s a nurse and is actually the one that patched you up. I’m not really a healer. But, I know Emily enough to trust her, and she respects me enough to not tell others about you, particularly since she’s somewhat involved.”

Jonathan then pointed ahead of himself, toward a hallway that opened up into a kitchen on one side.

“The kitchen is there. The other side of the hall is the bedroom and bathroom. There’s a door in the kitchen that is basically the back door, and leads out onto a set of spiral stairs that go all the way up and down the building and into the alleyways. You’re also about a street or two over from where I found you. You are welcome to leave that way, since it’s more private, but do keep in mind that I am quite willing to share not only a warm shelter, but also food, medicine, and any other supplies I can get. I can also do it discreetly.”

The amount of information he’d just shared wasn’t ideal, but Jonathan had always had better experience with rogues by being transparent. Hiding nothing, and leaving an open route to the exit, typically lowered his threat level enough for progress to be made.

Janine sees Jonathon's wide mouthed expression of pure shock and incredulity, and notices the way he sputters, at her first comment and tilts her head slightly. Maybe she'd been wrong but there was no point in trying to entertain such thoughts yet. After all, there were some who'd go even further than your average psychopath to get on your good side just to use you and/or kill you.

So when she sees his fingers twitch she bristles immediately, a snarl unconsciously appearing on her face, teeth bared.

As Jonathon looks at the ground and seems to try and center himself, Janine takes the opportunity to untense just her sides, which were starting to burn and ache something fierce, especially her injured side. She winces as she does so.

Though as soon as his hands move she growls slightly, in warning, that simple noise letting him know that one more move from him and things might not go well. She was. . . twitchy, to say the least. She knew in the back of her mind that if he'd wanted to do anything, he would've done so already. That much was obvious. He wasn't much smaller than her, but she still had the height advantage - and yet something about the way he held himself made her feel that extra bit uneasy. Almost like a taint of blood about him, clinging to him. Not like she didn't have a bit of the same. . . plus, the man was muscular as hell.

She involuntarily hisses when Jonathon starts speaking, startled out of her own thoughts, then glares at him as he continues.

"Fine. I'm going to shower. Then eat. If I hear you snooping outside the door to the bathroom I won't hesitate to throw something at the door," she says. Her tone was. . . not soft, but it was clear she was getting more used to speaking as the true notes of her voice came out; very hollowed out, husky, not without its share of flaws but very soothing in its cadence. The voice of a broken woman who crudely put herself back together time and time again.

Jonathan immediately saw her bristle when his fingers flexed. Instinct told him to prepare for battle, but he forced himself to remain calm. He didn’t want a fight. But, he would defend himself if the situation degraded.

Jonathan didn’t flinch at her growl, but he did note her warning. He didn’t move his hands any further, and when he pointed as he spoke, he kept his movements slow and short. He only needed his hand to point, so he didn’t extend his arm. That would help keep his threat level low, as he had a long reach, maybe not as long as hers, but still enough to be dangerous.

As he spoke, he recognized that he’d startled her. Clearly she had taken the time to think and likely better assess him while he was composing himself. He hadn’t meant to startle her, but, in its own way, it helped him get a greater sense of her. He had already figured that she was quite intelligent, else she’d probably already be dead. But, this proved even more that she wasn’t just a feral. She was a fighter, through and through. A true killer. A kindred spirit.

“By all means. I’m not going to bother you, lass. If you need help finding anything, just ask. Also, I do have some pain medicine you can take, and I’ll grab some fresh bandages for you here in a second. Then, I’m probably going to make some coffee,”he said.

He patiently waited for her to move first. He’d let her get into the bathroom before he’d do anything. After all, his bandages were stashed in his bedroom, which was past the bathroom, and he’d have to walk near the bathroom to get to the kitchen. So, it was just better to wait.

Janine watched the way Jonathon tensed slightly then forced himself to stay calm when she bristled, but her reaction was pure instinct - it hadn't been a sign of attack.

She notices that Jonathon was being quite a bit slower and more deliberate than even before her noise, her signal to stop. She listens to him speak.

Just as much as Jonathon was puzzling Janine out, she was doing the same for him. He was observant, to say the least, and knew how to read even a bare shift of expression or tone. As cautious and defensive as she was, she was somewhat curious.

After a moment, she nods tersely.

"Alright. Leave some clothes outside the door. And get me a towel and washcloth," J sighs tensely. "I want to get this dirt off me."

She slowly straightens, letting her full weight rest on her own two feet. She takes a step and stumbles, nearly falling flat on her face but uses her hands to catch herself when her feet fail to do their job.