[ She squints, keeping her gaze neutral as she takes in his demeanor, his body language. Most of the time, Hella can seem irresponsible and reckless. But she looks at Mark like she would assess any threat in Syndicate — shady deal partners, gangsters two or three times her size. She's not going to let her friendship with Mark lure her in to a false sense of security. Her eyes read wary rather than fearful, as she pulls a switchblade from her coat pocket, far too nice to have been pillaged from one of the abandoned locations they've been to recently.
No, she nicked it from the raiders, when they'd made their escape, along with several other things. The battle had been so chaotic that several people made great marks, and Hella had known their things would be of similar quality to those at the oasis. More than that, she wanted to rob them. Case in point, she also pulls out a small tin cup she's been fond of using since stealing it from them — it's made getting water from the creek a lot easier. ]
You can keep it. Since it's gonna have your germs on it...
[ Which she says as airily as if complaining that he simply has the flu, sighing as she sets the cup on the ground. Then, she rolls up her jacket sleeve as high as she can, looking tentatively back towards the direction of camp. She needs to be quick about this — Ninety-Nine might smell her bleeding and come running, assuming something bad happened. ]
But stay back, I'm serious. [ She brandishes the knife towards him, unblinking. One gets the sense she's held a lot of people at knifepoint in her life, with the ease with which she slips back into that role. ] It's for your own good.
[ She does not want to think about what might happen if Ninety-Nine were to happen upon him attacking Hella; she's seen enough people turned into fine paste or shapeless stains against the wall by her companion that she has no doubt she'll try to do the same to him. With that, she plunges the knife deep into space below the bend of her elbow, her fist facing up. The cut needs to be deep enough that enough blood will spill from it before her body closes it up, but not so deep that the wound won't heal before Ninety-Nine catches on to the scent — mercifully, as she yanks the knife out, a considerable spurt of blood runs down her arm and into the cup, steadily flowing. It takes no time at all for the cup to become three quarters full, and she pushes it closer across the space between them with a nudge of her foot, careful not to spill it. ]
— Take it.
[ and here's the part where i say hella's blood probably tastes weird due to all the experiments and chemicals... 🤡 ]
cw: self harm
No, she nicked it from the raiders, when they'd made their escape, along with several other things. The battle had been so chaotic that several people made great marks, and Hella had known their things would be of similar quality to those at the oasis. More than that, she wanted to rob them. Case in point, she also pulls out a small tin cup she's been fond of using since stealing it from them — it's made getting water from the creek a lot easier. ]
You can keep it. Since it's gonna have your germs on it...
[ Which she says as airily as if complaining that he simply has the flu, sighing as she sets the cup on the ground. Then, she rolls up her jacket sleeve as high as she can, looking tentatively back towards the direction of camp. She needs to be quick about this — Ninety-Nine might smell her bleeding and come running, assuming something bad happened. ]
But stay back, I'm serious. [ She brandishes the knife towards him, unblinking. One gets the sense she's held a lot of people at knifepoint in her life, with the ease with which she slips back into that role. ] It's for your own good.
[ She does not want to think about what might happen if Ninety-Nine were to happen upon him attacking Hella; she's seen enough people turned into fine paste or shapeless stains against the wall by her companion that she has no doubt she'll try to do the same to him. With that, she plunges the knife deep into space below the bend of her elbow, her fist facing up. The cut needs to be deep enough that enough blood will spill from it before her body closes it up, but not so deep that the wound won't heal before Ninety-Nine catches on to the scent — mercifully, as she yanks the knife out, a considerable spurt of blood runs down her arm and into the cup, steadily flowing. It takes no time at all for the cup to become three quarters full, and she pushes it closer across the space between them with a nudge of her foot, careful not to spill it. ]
— Take it.
[ and here's the part where i say hella's blood probably tastes weird due to all the experiments and chemicals... 🤡 ]