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[indent][indent][indent][color=gray][sub][right][color=#dc143c][b]Location:[/b][/color] Wayfarer's Retreat -- The City of Thorinn, Aetheria[/right][/sub][/color]
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An incredulous look crossed his face. It was something he had dismissed out of hand, but now that he was watching Alja talk and move up close, it seemed less and less outlandish by the moment. Drunk assholes were a familiar commodity 'round the gas station and his home alike. There were more than a few instances when one of his siblings would come stumbling into the living room, sloshed out of their mind- it looked a lot like Alja did now. Damned if it made any sense, though.  

[color=d1fffc]"'M I gonna be okay, Graves?"[/color]

He took her by the shoulder and gave it a squeeze. The irony of it wasn't lost on him. [color=dc143c]"You're gonna be just fine, pal. Nothin's been done to you, you're just..."[/color] He paused a moment. [color=dc143c]"I get the feelin' you don't drink too much IRL. This is that. Now, I'unno why you're feelin' it in here, but I think I've got a fix for it."[/color]

With one hand he lifted up Alja's palm into his. With the other, he unsheathed just an inch of the greatsword hanging from his belt. Just enough that he could nick the tip of her finger. It was a cut he'd practiced a hundred times for diabetic strips, only piecing enough skin for a droplet of blood to slip out.

[color=dc143c][i]'Focus. Only pull out what's needed. Don't want her to hit me.'[/i][/color] Graves turned his hand over, motioning toward the wound with a single finger. A tiny stream of oddly colored blood began to be coaxed out...
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