âOh thank God,â the first mutter after holding her breath from awaiting a sign of consciousness escaped. Immediately, however, Miss Hatter continued checking around his body for any signs of damage, aside from the terrible punctures from his back and the bloodied ashy wings from this strange phenomena. The woman seized his with both of her chilling hands as she softly turned it, avoiding the gaze of golden eyes. âAlright, thatâs fineââ Working like clockwork, almost as if this procedure was second-hand known for the seamstress, she gripped for her bag and looked through the contents.Â
  Sardonic humor chirped from the now conscious redhead. Without raising her head, the concerned expression changed to that purely of judgment. Clutching a silvery shining flask, the woman began unscrewing the cap. After some moment of silence, possibly as a way of saying âthis isnât a laughing matter youâre bleeding almost to death on the floor,â she raised her chin and all attention was undivided on him. Â
  âTwo holes in the back with wings sprouting out and youâre cracking a joke? You really are a mess.â And already roasted on day one. She sighed through her nostrils, brows lowering again as him being conscious meant one thing: socializing. God, what now? What if he bothered with thanking her after? What if she saw him again in public? What if he reported her for being in the baâ Oh god, sheâs in the maleâs bathroom! One million ways her thoughts led to but, her two legs could only do so many things.Â
   âOkay, I need you to answer this: whatâs your name?â Despite asking for answers, she rose from the floor and walked over to the door that exited the bathroom, locking it. âWhenâs your birthday?â She went over to the closest sink to him and emptied out the flask. Against the smell of blood, liquor was prominently infiltrating the odors of the bathroom beside the Clorox for the toilets and piss smell. âThis was so expensiveââ Instead, she filled it up with tap water from the sink and returned to the man. âThirdly, whatâs your occupation?â
  Resting down in front of the man, right on her right knee, she handed him the flask and guided his chin to look at her. âYour blood loss may get you to get unconscious again. Drink as much water as you can.â The gentleness of before from her critical examination of his person returned.Â
  However, she lowered his jaw for a moment. Plucking out the rubbing alcohol from the first aid kit, along with a bag of cotton balls, and a plucker, she happened to be prepping to do something else. âIf you canât hold yourself, Iâll do itââÂ
   Honestly, heâs going to keep making jokes. Heâs decently aware of her expression, squinting as he wrinkles his nose to try and fix the positioning of his glasses on his face. Sheâs clearly fed up with his attitude already but heâs not going to drop his coping method for one disgruntled medic : even if he should.
âLuciel Choi, June 11th.â Luciel finally responds, watching as she pours out something rather-expensive looking (and smelling) to present him with the water. He reaches up with a groan and painful wince to take the flask in one hand, nodding slowly as he takes a long drink of water. âIâm a....â Donât say hacker. Donât say secret agent. â...programmer.â
âFreelancer, however Iâll spare you the life story...â Another small chuckle at his own (bad) joke and he leans forward slightly, watching her as he carefully holds the flask in both hands now. Whatever she looked to be doing he was sure it wouldnât be all that pleasant - he hated rubbing alcohol - but bleeding out due to this unfortunate turn of events wouldnât be good either.
Who the hell suddenly spurts wings from their back anyway?
âIf I wasnât in pain Iâd assume I was dreaming...â the hacker mutters after one final sip, lowering his hands to his lap now. âIâll be okay. I shouldnât pass out again. I hope.â