𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱 / ʟᴇꜱꜱ

     something between a sigh and a chuckle escapes her lips. “at least i got some fun out of it. at first.” it feels inappropriate to joke, as it always does, but for winifred especially; the stakes for her have always been low regarding the case. sometimes she has this worry that her concern for talbot is merely performative, or an effort to inflate her role so that she was allowed to be stricken. truthfully, she’s never known how much she’s allowed to grieve octavia either. she tilts the bottle up for another swig before holding it to xandre. “now who’s being naive?”

Taking back the bottle in his own hands, he drinks a small swig before setting it down between them with a groan. “I know, I know. They hardly stopped for a murder after all.” It’s said with no small trace of bitterness, words thick with it for once. “Now begins another damn waiting game I have no patience nor the heart for. It’s aging me, Fred. I’ll have crows feet soon.” He feels too sober to consider it all, and too tense to allow more than a few sips into his body. A wicked dichotomy that he’s certain somewhere in London his doctor is smirking in victory.

a sparse smile finds its way to his lips, no matter how poor xandre’s taste is. that is before the question soaks into his skin, making t wish to shake it off. however, he also wants to share a truth. a truth more than that which everyone already knows. “ he’s mad at me. i sort of told him octavia was alive — or, or a ghost or something. ” he pauses to swig the water much like a bottle of alcohol, although the first of which he spits out over the stones to rid the horrid taste from his mouth. “ i think i was high, ” he whispers before he continues, “ and, he wouldn’t like me being drunk either. he — our da, he . . lysander just doesn’t like it. he used to smell like alcohol all the time. sorta still does i guess. ”

t knows he must say his thanks. the thought a forefront he refuses to let leave, but he can’t quite draw out. and he knows he isn’t very responsive, but he does crawl over to place himself right next to xandre following words of encouragement. hips touch, shoulders brushing though he doesn’t crane his head to meet eyes. “ then, can we stay here? i don’t wanna leave. we can, we can sleep on the curb? ”

“Not many are ready to believe in ghosts.” Xandre replies in agreement, sighing. The disbelief is understandable, probably feeling like yet another excuse to the man who was actually charged with her death. Had Octavia not ever visited Lysander like she had the rest of them? He’d call him lucky to not witness the gruesome image she now painted but --- no one seemed to be the lucky party anymore. At the question of their staying he does smile, light snort of a laugh escaping before he glances down at Tal. “There are many things i’d do for you tonight if you asked, “ he begins, running a hand through his hair. “ -- but sleeping on a curb is not one of them. Never did it drunk, refuse to begin it sober. We can head home and come back tomorrow, grab a room at that inn down the road, couple of choices here. But no cement and cobblestone. I have limits.” Softened words, he shuts his eyes as his head tilts to the sky, content enough to wait Tal out until his mind has sorted itself to enough reason.

– SHE’S NOT A FAN OF XANDRE, not any more than she was on the first day she met him, but there’s an evident truth: they need each other. or, perhaps, she needs him. maybe to do something she CAN’T do. “ oh, you’re here for me ? ” she asks with arched eyebrows, as if she’s expecting him to be at the door for talbot – because it WOULDN’T be surprising. she pauses and looks at the bag for a second before she’s swayed by his peace offering, gingerly plucking it from his grasp. “ fine. we need to TALK anyway, ” she says, ushering him into their living area and reaching into the bag and taking a tiny, bird-like nibble of one of the pastries. “ you first. ” 

He perches himself on the edge of their sofa, pleased enough that she’d at least taken the pastry and agreed to talk. Xandre didn’t exactly anticipate needing to be here too long. “What the hell happened with Wolf at the picnic?  I don’t want to push him into another stupid argument by asking the wrong questions. But you were there. Just...what the fuck is happening?”

amid his perch above the trash can, all he’d like to do is make sense of anything that’s happening: why xandre is here when he’s not drunk, what he had been saying, how he could act so gentle. but his gut is not there yet and his curiosity is shaken from his reach and he would really rather let lethargy and inaction take him. so, as he hangs his head, he mumbles a reason to not take the water for the moment, “ i— just, give me a second. ” and then two later, no matter xandre’s assurance nor his wish to be given time, “ i’m sorry. i’m so sorry. ” 

he doesn’t know exactly what he apologizes for, but maybe it is for how he shakes his head no or the knowledge that untangles itself from his brain after they’d already set off into town. “ i don’t think he wants to see me, ” he confesses, and not just while merely possessing the ability to stand without falling. putting aside the fact that lysander never liked seeing him drunk due to that common past they shared, there was still that lee did not believe in ghosts. or talbot might be apologetic for a different reason: the idea, as he turns his back around and his hand curls around the bottle of water, that alexandre had paid for the bottle in his hand, the items stowed in the bag. the realization hangs over his head while wobbly knees give out to sinking his back down against the trash can and sitting. he has difficulty enveloping his face in his hands, especially with the water bottle clenched between them but he makes do. “ sorry, i . . i don’t know what i’m saying. doing. i’m, i won’t cry again. i promise. ” he is painfully aware how he is moving in circles, not physically, although it feels just as much to him, but mentally. 

“Stop apologizing.” He chastises, no bite to his words in the slightest for fear of setting off Tal once more. Xandre continues on, lips quirking into the smallest of smiles. “Say it once more and I will find something for you to be sorry about, hmm?” But T sinks to the floor, and it’s all the elder boy can do to just set the bag down before them and tuck himself a foot away. Watching, waiting, listening. Confusion does mar his face for a moment before he can school it away, unexpected. Why wouldn’t Lysander want to see his brother? He repeats it out loud, tacking on -- “If you want to tell me, that is. We.....we can do whatever you want T. Sober you up and take you to his, or I can take you home to sleep it off and we can try again tomorrow...whatever you want.”

He wasn’t very good at this. The comforting, the easing of aches and heartache rather than the cause of it. There wasn’t much he could truly do for him in this very moment, but he’d try. He had to. The latter half of words has a long sigh emerging from within him, laced with far more than exhaustion. He glances over, watching him. “Don’t apologize for feeling. You’re human. A bleeding heart still beats, so i’ve heard.” It was a better alternative to the life he tried to lead, numb and unseeing and jumping from one rush to another. Never ending, never quite enough. 

“i’m not quite sure what i believe anymore,” he admits earnestly with a light sigh. a weighted statement if there ever were one as kit has never been fond of uncertainty. quicker to point the finger than ever delve into the morally grey. before reaching into the pocket of his jacket, fumbling around for the packet of pall malls before extending the packet out to alexandre wordlessly. “first they pulled me into custody, now valentine….” kit sucks in a breath, not really knowing how to express that there seemed to be more doubt surrounding the case than he’d ever granted it at first look. “all i seem to be learning is that perhaps i am not as good a judge of character as i thought.” 

He takes the pack gratefully, slipping one free before returning the box with a relieved thanks. His own lighter flickers to a spark, and soon enough a long drag is easing the feelings within his chest as Kit continues on. “I’d honestly forgotten you’d originally been taken in. I’m sorry, mate.” Xandre offers, wincing. His words weren’t far off, but also not necessarily one he’d agree with. “As someone who often his little to no trust or faith in most everyone...it is not always a terrible thing to want to believe good in others. If her arrest holds....well then she managed to fool a lot more than just you. I wouldn’t hold that against yourself too deeply.”

t is not certain how much sense he has made after he has spoken. the lamenting lost to him, as distracting as xandre’s embrace could be. and as his chin is lifted, he is face-to-face with words that he doesn’t quite understand. not that he doesn’t hear them, but he does not recognize what they mean, what ‘i will fix this’ or ‘you’d be better off’ promises. a bruised face scrunched and mouth hung slightly ajar. in this stupor, he only knows that he doesn’t care who killed octavia. as long as it is someone other than lysander that pays the crime. but as gentle fingers brush salty tears away, he cannot voice such a selfish thought when of course he cares.

as confusion rears it’s head, so does his tears reign in. “ i’m sorry, i don’t — what do you mean — “ he has started to ask till his gut has caught up with him, pulling back both his hand and face as he stumbles to find his feet. he is lucky the trash is not far, for as he leans over it he finds alcohol left warming his stomach is perhaps not doing as much anymore. he finds the breath to apologize softly, and the wits to hope for a mint, “ i’m sorry. ”

Xandre winces as tal stumbles to his feet, making his way to the trash bin as the sound of retching follows. He’d been somewhat expecting it with the force of tears leaving him heaving so vehemently. And so he rises too, grabbing the bottle of water discarded to the side and heading over to where he leans over the bin. The apology is waved away, the water offered swiftly. “You can rinse your mouth, it’ll help.” So would the small tin of altoids in his left back pocket. Used to occasionally smuggle various other pills, but a few mints were actually in it’s container most of the time. “You don’t have to apologize to me. It’s...alright.” 

The words that had felt like blows now a week old were shoved down, the hurt of them soothed over with time and presence. He’d gotten crossfaded and said too much, a jumble of words and admissions that he’d take back and press close to his chest now if he could. But there was no erasing it, and so he pushed down. Shoved forward. Such had to be the way of his world. “Do you feel better? At least Lysander won’t mangle me for bringing you to him unable to stand.”

“ we’re going to die like this. ” he knows he is hysterical, but that knowledge by itself is not a cure. and while valentine is exchanging lies with the police, he is sat here cascading into pieces because some damned man showed him an ounce of kindness in his drunken stupor. he has done nothing but mumble sweet nothings to the bobbies and exchanged blows with anyone who so much as wishes lysander jail time. a lazy, ungrateful brother who can do nothing but weep — and weep he does as his hands grasp tightly to the cloth on xandre’s back till his left is led astray towards the thumping in alexandre’s chest. it spurs truth, unearths doubt.

“ lysander is going to die in jail. ” and that’s the brunt of it. t could give less of a shit about how he himself dies. whether strangled to death by some stupid fucking angel or burned at the stake by this man’s cousin. all he cares for is his brother. and the sentiment feels too little too late knowing how much he had sacrificed for tal. “ this stupid school was supposed to turn his life around. away from mum. he worked so hard for this, to matter and achieve something like — like some kind of quantum bullshit. and all he’s done is cared his entire life. even, even got a job when da — when mum needed it. he took care of me. works so hard. and he hasn’t even lived yet. he only just, he only just found someone to love and she’s dead. and how is he supposed to live now? he’s not some troubled kid who fucking belittles and hurts and — he got into ashcroft on a scholarship for fuck’s sake! he’s so good. he’s nothing but good. he doesn’t deserve this — we don’t deserve this! and val’s — ” rich and that’s what matters in the end. because he knows how this will all turn out. always has. god, how he wails. gasps for air too, like he is a fish out of water, whole body tensing till he focuses on that heart and whines once again, “ it’s not fair. i don’t want to die here. it’s not fair, i want to see france and denmark and china and . . and maybe just england if i have to settle. ”

“Tal.” The word is soft, does nothing to dissuade the boy as he continues on, the words pouring from his mouth so brutally honest, a swift blow to both of them. He’d known this was a worry, how could it not be? Many things, never a fool. But he would be making one of himself if he promised much now, yet the urge to do so was at the tip of his tongue. He’d make himself a fool, a liar, a dead man to right the wrongs this damned place had brought down on them all. That that fucking family had brought with their bloodied hands, no different from his own. “Tal... Talbot. Look at me.” He grips, lifting their chin until their eyes can meet, wiping away the tears endlessly falling with each hitched breath. “He won’t die in there. YOU won’t die here. Do you hear me? Understand me. Know I am fighting this, with every damned resource and secret and power of sway I have left for myself. I am using them here, now. God, T. I’d die myself before I let her murderer walk free again.”

 it is the most raw truth he has, but with every breath he means it. “Someone is going to pay for this, every moment of it. And it won’t be you. It won’t be Lysander. We... we’ve done enough to you both.” because he knew the fears weren’t illegitimate. If somehow someway the conviction on the Vegas managed to stick, the Griffith’s would be released but what life would they have to return to? He could throw money at it all, influence, connection. Whatever he could pull on his own out from under the eye of his own father. Yet none of those healed heartbreak, grief. “I will fix this for him. However I can. He.. he loved her. They all tell me that, over and over. That has to be enough for me.” Alexandre aches with the words, the reminder. “I will make them make this right, and then you’ll never have to hear the word Preston again. You’d be better off for it.”

     winifred nods wordlessly. there wasn’t anything to say, not when she was still struggling with the possibility of valentine’s involvement, still deciding her opinion of it. she looks down, wraps her fingers around the neck of it and regards it for a moment before bringing it to her lips. “please.” she suppresses a laugh, but it still comes out in her breath. “i suppose it had been slightly naive of me to think we could make it through just one event without anything occurring.”

“This is why we always listen to me, darling.” He muses dryly, watching as she swigs the liquor. The buzz was something he often craved in his bones, a rush, a hit, whatever he could grab. The need was absent now, adrenaline enough just from the sight of the cuffs and the back of a cop car. Who knew vindication was as deadly a drug? He fills the silence, terrible humor surfacing. “ -- think they’ll cancel classes?”

patience is yet another thing he could work on. the idling he has done since he’s sat is destructive, not calming. he doesn’t even understand why xandre is apologizing, or what he believes he is providing t comfort for. which ultimately defeats the purpose of those actions by still offering pudgy tears. the caress of his fingers needn’t stop them either — more so an action of encouragement. however, he takes the four pills and clings to the bottle with a moment’s hesitation to shift further into the bench towards xandre. a grievous, pained exhale slips out amid the squeeze of his eyes closed and after he clenches his teeth, the brunette is weeping again in that boyish way he does like the tears are not those of the current as much as they are of the past.

the procedure has gone by much more quickly in this way though, because before he can focus on how overbearing and spineless he must appear crying, the freezing pack of ice is tickling his face. he opens reddened eyes to peer at the maker of the crude comment. “ that’s not funny, ” he utters, the more lax xandre gets with the ice pack, the more tal’s forehead gravitates towards his shoulder till it is there and he is sobbing gently and then all at once.

The moment T’s head meets his shoulder and the tears have fallen, those sobs crack the thin, shiny veneer of a wall Xandre had rebuilt against the other. He drops the pack to the bench, pulling an arm around him as soft, soothing whispers escape against the hair he presses lips to. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I’m sorry. That was fucked of me. It... it’s gonna be okay. Please don’t cry, ange.” But the tears weren’t easily reigned in, and Xandre couldn’t fault him, never for this. It was his own family that had torn their world apart, had taken away whatever normalcy the Griffith’s had before it begun. It wasn’t right. His world rarely was. A less selfish version of himself would leave him be, let him gather whatever life he could back for himself away from any trace of a Preston. But he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. He’d damn himself another night for a moment of this mess he had with the boy in his arms. Until there was nothing left.

No longer denying the tears Tal cried, all he could do was hold on, brushing a hand through the waves on his head over and over to soothe the ache of their sound. And so he did. Waited the other out and held tight. It was a comfort to not be alone when misery felt so deep in his own bones he drowned in it, and he hoped it would be for the other too. They were fucked up, both of them. But the world quieted a bit in the shadow of it, and so he remained. Grabbed their hand, placed it over his chest to feel the way he steadied his own breaths and hoped they’d follow one the worst had passed.

the library staff must think he’s lost the plot. going from books on the supernatural to pouring over police reports and book titles such as ‘ how to catch a killer ’ in as many weeks. valentine. he hates how much sense it makes on the surface, emerging from the library looking just as fraught as he feels when he bumps into alexandre. the thought crosses his mind as to whether he looks as much of a lost lamb as he feels. but emerging from the library trading usual aristocratic chique for a touch of mad scientist, with wisps of sandy hair standing on end, the answer is likely already revealed to alexandre before he’s even opened his mouth. “doing about as well as one can given the circumstances, i suppose.” he wets his lips, “did you… see this coming? what happened to valentine at the picnic?” 

The chilled air is enough to wipe some of the ache from his bones, jolted back into screaming awareness. He was never sure before who he could trust the moment he’d arrived on campus. No, that was wrong. More so, he wasn’t sure who’d ever believe the wild tale of the truth of his cousin’s fate. It seemed ridiculous unless you knew more, and up until now had seemed impossible to admit. But she was in custody, and her friends worlds rocked off axis. And so he paused, sighing as he reached for his cigarettes and found none. “I ---- yes. Not completely in the sense of when or how but. I had my suspicions.” His next question is honest, curious. What else could be lost? “Do you believe it?”

@mvrcutios​

his stomach lurches when he hears about it — the police walking away with valentine in their custody. it felt like a confirmation of everything he’d foolishly refused to believe, a final nail in the coffin of his blind stubbornness. his promise to xandre to ask christian about some box felt utterly more viable now, and there was a sinking feeling of guilt and remorse for not taking his cousin more seriously to begin with. and of course — and his knuckles were bruised from his run-in with talbot, which only made him feel foolish now. there were only three people he cared to see now: one of which was locked away (oberon), one that had dashed off, refusing to hear another word from him (georgina), which left him with alexandre — who might be the only person he hadn’t driven away quite yet. 

“xandre,” he breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he spotted him, that familiar head of unruly, sandy brown hair would stand out to him in any crowd, “i heard about what happened,” he says quietly, he hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he’d already been escorted out of the picnic by then, so now he needed confirmation — an answer he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear. “is it true? they’ve arrested valentine?” 

He’d stayed until the last moment. Watched and watched until she was taken away, locked in the back of a police car and driven off as the crowds around him whispered and muttered. It didn’t feel quite real, and yet he’d played a part hadn’t he? Were his own roundabout words a partial nail in that coffin? No -- not a coffin, she and her family had more power than he liked to believe. But for now he walked back towards Escalus in silence, hands in his pockets and mind anything but calm. It was ahead he spotted his cousin, having forgotten in the chaos of the arrest that he actually hadn’t seen him all afternoon. Where had he even been? Shaking that thought aside, he welcomed the relief that the sight of Wolfie brought. He was still here, still fighting alongside him.

“Hey, Wolf.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He feels the odd mix within him now, bone deep exhaustion and the adrenaline of maybe something finally going how it needs to. It leaves him anxious, over aware, searching. “They did. Toted her off in the back of a police car a little over an hour ago. I....fuck Wolf, what if this is it?”

talbot ambles, one foot at a time in the direction alexandre is so kind to lead. conversation is led by t, but every time the air around them gets quiet, he offers an ‘i’m gonna throw up.’ a statement that’s less of a declaration of how they need to stop and more of a bleat to solve the silence he doesn’t like. besides that, he is content with the spot on the bench he’s assigned. “ okay, ” he agrees, though he does slouch with his head lolling back rather than stay upright like he is told. the dark sky is what he keeps his eyes on while he waits, searching for a single star above edinburgh. near silence he’d succumbed to has his singular attention span on that of his aching. brow furrowed when the door swings open again. eyes closed as he sniffles. stray tears have blossomed in the absence of company, while he is sitting and idling. 

the reemergence of xandre’s voice and the sudden weight on the bench next to him is a welcome distraction. tears are brushed away as jarringly as they’ve appeared. “ i’ve a headache, ” he whines in the same voice he’d insisted he would throw up at least four times before. but now as he’s sitting here watching xandre plan his course of action, does t soberly realize he is uncomfortable with letting the preston treat his wounds. it feels taboo in a way. lysander should be doing this, like he always has. yet, talbot is as equally content with following orders once again albeit with the exception of a few more slow, scanty tears. 

“No, no tears. I’m -- fuck i’m so sorry, T. It’s alright. It’s gonna be okay.” The heaviness in his heart cracks open at the sight of the tears, fingers coming up to brush them away with soft, soothing noises. He’s pretty like this, and how fucked of a thought is that? It’s one Alexandre shakes off, wincing. “Pills first then, face can come once you won’t spit open at the seams with one touch.” Four pills shaken out into his palm, opening the bottle one handed and sliding them both to the other. Once Tal has taken them and his hands have freed, he reaches for the rest. Dampens a cloth and chin in hand, does his best to dab at the wounds before attempting the same with antiseptic and neosporin. “This is gonna---” He hisses in sympathy at the sting he knows must come from the touch, never pleasant. Little by little he blots, swipes, reveals until the bruising remains, any broken skin cleaned, and while stitches aren’t a call he can make, a butterfly bandage might just hold over. 

The cream is next, taking arnica lightly and rubbing it in feather light motions over the worst of the bruising. Makes a mental note to drop it in Tal’s room to continue use, or give it to Georgina to deliver. God wouldn’t that open yet another can of worms. His grip on T’s chin rotating it back and forth as slowly as possible to not trigger nausea he knows the other is pushing down. The ice pack is last, Xan cracking it between his palms to activate the chill and once it was ready, pressing it lightly to the worst of it. The joke is weak, pouring from his lips in a vain attempt at dodging whatever is brewing within him. “ Ready to hate me just yet? Even I wouldn’t fault it.”

“what the fuck, don’t you knock?” christian can’t say he’s exactly surprised by this, but it catches him off-guard all the same, the sudden intrusion from one of his less-preferred peers at the exact time when everything seems to be falling to shit. he sits up on his bed, mind spinning with a million different things he could say to xandre, each one sounding less favorable than the last. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.” he knows he doesn’t sound convincing, so christian steels himself, forces his gaze to meet xandre’s. “you really think she told me anything? me?” it hurts to say, but it’s the most honest thing he’s admitted in months.

Xandre takes in the words, looks past them then and takes in the man before him. A multitude of emotions course through him, though pity or remorse are nowhere near in sight. “I think she told you what she wanted you to believe. She’s good that way.” Steel gaze doesn’t waver, neither does the resolve. “But i’m no idiot. And neither are you. Far from it. And act as blindsided as you must, but I also don’t believe that’s all you know. All you didn’t find out for yourself. A little birdie told me as much, and I trust her judgement far more than anyone else.”

     when she finally makes her way back to escalus, her head is no longer so heavy with intoxication, sobered by the events of the picnic. at xandre’s voice, freda pauses just before she steps inside. she mirrors his smile, sighing slightly and tilting her head. “no, no.” she shakes her head, ambling over to take a seat next to him. “how long did you stick around for?” freda is impossibly tired, but she can’t bear to be alone either and she finds herself lacking friends.

“Until they carted her off.” Is his reply, staring down at the bottle and trying to decipher how he feels of it all, how he can allow himself to feel in front of her, others. He offers her the bottle, neck of it held aloft between fingers. “I figured now if any point was enough to indulge. Don’t try to get me too sloppy though, no having your wild way with me. i’ve got to check on Wolf in a bit.” A few sips would do jack shit considering his high tolerance, but it was the rather the sentiment of it. He’d drink to her demise, any day.

with heavy eyelids that refuse to open does he receive xandre’s logic. logic that he doesn’t care for when all he’d like to do is play a game of copycat to achieve his own tender kiss, or to continue like a seesaw back and forth even. a pleased exhale trails past his lips, wishing he’d have grabbed him and deepened it, even if he’d had to have wrestled with his wounds in the process. rather, he sinks into the massive trouble of registering this alexandre with the one he’d cursed a week or so prior as he snorts out a chuckle.

hesitantly does he open his eyes, reaching for the outstretched hands that will help him up. “ okay. ” he smacks his lips, stumbling to his feet, “ actually – we should, we should go to a drugstore first. please. ” whether t could correctly decipher xandre’s body language by now, he doesn’t stop to truly register any inquisitiveness, “ ly will worry, and that’s not fair. ” as family should, but if he had the ability to explain how much more his brother meant to him than just family, he doesn’t. and neither does he explain that lysander has been avoiding him. he deigns to hang off xandre for support instead, not all that well-balanced when he follows his gaze down. “ shouldn’t you need that to get drunk? ” the idea that he will be doing so is a no-brainer. he, of course, waits to nod towards the crest of the hill till xandre makes his decision.

“Alright, off we go then.” Xandre wraps an arm around the other’s waist, leaning in so Tal can use him to balance as they walk. He eyes the champagne, now growing warm and less indulgent by the second. Not too huge a loss. “No. I don’t. I’m ... trying something new.” With that he offers a weak smile, and they’re off. While Xandre has no idea where Lysander currently lives, he does know the location of a near pharmacy or two, and steers them that way. The need to fix, to repair is rather new within him, but a sensation he’s chosen not to fight, not this evening. God, he’d be murdered for this one day. Perhaps tomorrow. All the better to make his night matter then. 

It is luckily not long before the lights of the pharmacy are within sight, ignoring the looks of two college students stumbling down the cobbled paths. He finds a bench outside the store, guides T over to it before crouching before him. “I’ll be right back. please stay. Dog jokes aside. Sit, stay, be upright. Two minutes, ok?” He’s off then, tinkling of a bell above the door his only company. It’s quick enough to grab the supplies, he’s been here before. The egos of being a Preston meant patched knuckles, bruised eyes. Alexandre himself was also very adept with a bottle of concealer, but figured Tal was alright for now. Antiseptic, arnica, a quick crack ice pack, cloths and a bottle of water, tablets of pain reliever. Three minutes later he’d returned to the bench, sitting down himself and angling towards his --- Tal. “Alright, c’mere you.”