#cresp

At least he had been in magical disguise when shit went awry, so they don't know who they're looking for. But he can't disguise blood dripping as he walks about town, nor does he know where he can safely get it healed.

“You damn fool.” He mutters at himself.

“Hello? Is someone down there?” Came a curious and careful voice at the far end of the alleyway. Footsteps following.

Merit gasps, becoming a sharp hiss between his teeth, before he decides to give up being stealthy, “There is! I had a rough night last night, you know, just…” He puts up a tired tone, slow and achy, someone sick and hungover was his goal,  “...getting my bearings, is all.”

It might have worked, Merit thinks, as the footsteps stop. There’s a pause, where the stranger seems to assess something among the alley, and Merit assesses him.

Looking up just enough from his slouching spot against the wall, Merit could see the man now: human, tall and clearly broader than Merit himself, warm eyes dark in the alley’s shadows, and a mess of golden hair making a halo round his head from the light behind him. It made him look Divine. Divine is dangerous, Merit hears his mother and aunts all say in his mind, practically ringing like a faerie chorus. The man was also clad in a mix of metal and leather armor, and had some sort of heavier weapon on his side. An adventurer or a mercenary, perhaps.

The man’s not close enough to spot the details of Merit, he thinks. And hopes. He hopes it looks like a drunkard surviving another morning and not a person with leaves falling off his ginger hair and surviving a stab wound.

“is bleeding out a part of getting your bearings?” He says, gesturing to a splash of crimson on the cobbled floor Merit had not seen.

Merit sighs, “Sure, sometimes.”

The man gave a huff of a laugh at that, before saying, “Here, I'm a healer of sorts. I can probably mend it, if you’ll tell me where you got it.” And he steps closer to Merit.

Mortals can lie, Merit reminds himself, muscles like a spring loaded toy, ready to use the last bit of his magic for the hour to hurt this man and sprint off if it’s a trick, a guild enforcer who realized Merit was his quarry.

Keeping his order of operations gets a bit harder when the golden-gleaming man actually gets closer. The halo goes and he is just a man, but Merit can tell just how tall and broad the man is, which is both a great thrill and great misfortune, depending on his actual intentions. He’s strong, showcased in the bit of muscle hidden under a lighter shirt not covered by armor, and in the set of his jaw.

“Can I see?” He asks in a more gentle tone, like he knows Merit is a scared creature ready to flee. His hand hovers over where Merit closely clasps the wound on his side.

Merit finds no reason not to, especially if this informs him what this man’s after, so he lets go, holding his hands away from him at his sides and hating the feeling of the warm blood cooling there.

The stranger grimaces a bit, “Ooh, that is pretty bad.”

“But seems to have missed major internal things, thankfully, otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation.”

Merit gets a smile for that, and the man continues, “Sure, but I would still call you lucky to just be upright now. How’d you get it?” His hand that was hovering is pulling a bit at the cut Merit’s vest, pulling away the torn shirt underneath to investigate.

Merit shrugs, “How else do you get stab wounds in an alley? You upset some bad people for some reason or another.”

The man’s eyes flick up from the wound to Merit’s face, and catch on Merit’s eyes. The smile hasn't quite left the edges of his face. Merit gives a small smile and another smaller shrug in return, not breaking eye contact.

“A bit early to be stabbed in a fight. It’s still mid-morning.”

“I’m just that effective. Or perhaps infuriating. Depends on who you ask.”

There is a chuckle in response to that, warm and deep in the man’s chest. Merit suddenly feels a bit woozy, and remembers how much blood he’s lost, how little he probably has to spare to swoon. The man’s hand presses to the wound then, the pain of it and the adrenaline still curled in Merit combine to make him gasp and jump at the firmer touch.

“Shhh,” the man responds to that, and there is a warmth unlike seeping blood that begins through the wound. It stings a little, like the iron had, before it eases. Divine magic, Merit recognizes.

“There.” this Divine-wielding man says, looking over where the wound was and nodding, satisfied with his work. Merit glances over him before looking down at himself, also looking at the mended cut. Mostly healed, ready to become another scar for the collection. All the surrounding blood was a problem, of course, but much more manageable and not life threatening.

“There indeed.” Merit says, realizing there’s a sway in his tone to match the sway in his head. He smells like iron and hates it. He focuses on something else. Like the benevolent being in front of him. “So, I didn't bring much of my coin with me today, but what name should I make out to send the healer’s fee?”

“Oh,” starts the response, a look of faint surprise going across his face, “I don't need payment for this, I’m just glad to help, but--” the smile comes back in full, and Merit wants it to stay there, “Cresp. Callister Crepuscular.”

Full names hold a terrible amount of power, Merit thinks as this man, Cresp, all gold and warmth, offers it with ease. Merit doesn't know what power is held in it, though some part wants to find out. Merit decides then, against better judgement.

“Cresp? Wonderful to meet you, I’m Merit, Merit Brightwood.” His name is something Cresp has earned for all he’s given now.