@hellcab asked ; "I've seen worse. I've also seen men die from worse, so let me look at it."
☕︎ ——— "Good thing I'm not a man," Nova huffed in response, glaring up at the cab driver from where she sat, slumped against a decrepit brick building. Try as she did to hold herself together, both hands being used to apply pressure to the stab wound on her side, she could feel how right he was; blood, dark and shimmering crimson, continued to seep through the gaps in her fingers and into her lap. She knew she needed the help, could feel her strength slipping from her, but that's also what made it hard to accept.
In that deep green glare of hers, she knew he could probably see her fear. She could feel it on her face; but she hadn't let anyone else treat her wounds since she was a kid. Not since that last hospital visit.
Still, she knew anything could happen to her if she let herself regenerate on the streets. There was a part of her that knew she was probably lucky she'd gotten his attention all the way from his car— there were plenty of people in the Pride ring who had plenty of reason to capitalize on the state she was in, and this guy just so happened to not be one of them. It was lucky. She was lucky, and she needed to suck it up and take it.
Hesitantly, her hands started to lift from the wound, "sorry," she grumbled, leaning her head back against the brick as she watched him. While she didn't have a choice but to see if he could help her, she felt at least a little better about the idea of keeping an eye on him as he did so. "Y-you can... If there's anything you could... I-I'll pay you back for it," she finally landed on, bloodied hands making prints on the concrete as she held herself up.