❝B'sides a grea’ lay an’ ah strong drink?❞ Shaking her head, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. She’s being an asshole and she knows it, but she likes testing the boundaries with people. Seeing just how much she can get away with before she has to filter herself.
“Paris, specifically.” Filip’s grin widened, leaning back on the decrepit chair before tapping out the ash of his cigarette. “Jus’a little break from Belfast. Go’a ‘ave one every now an’again.”
❝Ye didn’ ge’ y'rself intae any trouble ——did ye?❞ It’s not that she doesn’t trust her brother, Filip has never lied to her before and she’s sure he’s not going to start now. But her elder has never expressed any interest in leaving Belfast before now.
Filip grinned, cigarette pulled from his lips to let words and smoke slip out. ”I’m takin’ y’to France.”
❝Takin’ me t'France?❞ She has to repeat his words in her head a few times because the concept of leaving Belfast is so damn foreign to her. Not that she’s opposed to going, there’s just no real reason for a spontaneous trip. ❝Well wha’ th'hell for?❞
He hisses all the same as he leans against her, arm draped over her shoulders and he’s trying not to give her the whole of his weight but he’s tired and he needs to sit down before the adrenaline wears off. “Knife fight,” he offers in answer, free hand moving to press to one of the deeper gashes, not that it does much good when there are plenty of others. "The door locked?”
There’s an agitated edge to his words, something more than passing concerned, and he would insist they stand at the window to make sure nobody followed him except things grey a little, the ground wobbling under his feet and he sucks in a sharp breath and curses before he feels his strength start to go, sags against her more solidly. "Couch,” he warns, because the last thing he needs right now is to dump them both to the ground because he tried to be too stubborn for his own good.
"I’d hate t'see th'other guy.”
She mumbles half-heartedly, dragging the Scot’s sorry ass to her couch. There’s no point in masking the anxiety in her voice, he’s bleeding quite profusely –bleeding all over her new sofa and she’ll be sure to bitch about that later, but first she needs to get him back on his feet. Though she’s well aware of the fact that she’s lacking the skills required to patch her brother up. And frankly that scares the shit out of her. She doesn’t want to inspect him any further, but Ace knows she needs to assess the damage that has been done. Just to figure out what kind of help her really needs, because she’ll be damned if she lets him bleed out in her living room.
“Ye know y'mightae come t’ th'wrong person for this… so unless ye plan on talkin’ me through stichin’ ye up we migh’ have t'call tha’ doctor friend o'yers.”
The mercenary thinks for a moment, mouth twisting in thought, then finally nods.
“Yeah, I can do that."
A trade is good. Can’t get something for nothing, it clears the slate if there’s a swap. Nothing he’s gotta worry about later. He pulls out a crumpled carton from a pocket and fishes one out to pass over, his own still clamped between his lips.
❝ T'anks.❞
She gives a short nod of appreciation, putting the cigarette to her lips before reaching into her own pocket and tossing him her lighter.
