@fartemis-crock
"---what? not a fan of the split lip unless ya did it yourself?" there's something of a shit-eating grin crossing her features. the mentioned split lip stings--- as the cut is forced open the tiniest bit more. it's not the worst of it;;not by a long shot. the split lip and brow were courtesy of a mace. ---granted, she's not even sure if the mace had been for her, or if she'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time-- but she was grateful the damage had been relatively shallow. the rest of the injuries --- the cut on her cheekbone, the pain radiating up her right shoulder;; all from him. it doesn't stop artemis from doing what she's told, though. she sits on the edge of ted's bed;; not caring about what she's getting on it, without a second thought. that grin only seeming to widen has she looked up at him expectantly. "c'mon, boy-scout--- show me that first-aid badge."
Cowl is pulled back to hang off his neck, give way to that old school chisel underneath. The salt and pepper hair, the thrice broken nose, the currently black eye, but otherwise none-the-worse off.
The look he gives her is stern, but definitely not the unfamiliar sort of lingering gaze she'd have never seen. In another context. Everyone knew despite his hard edge, Ted was a softy-- with questionable taste in women.
"You don't stop runnin' that thing, don't think any of these bandaids or disinfectant are gonna do shit--"
He'd given her plenty of bruises all his own. Of course, in his opinion, that was all in good fun and sportsmanship. What sorta fun would it have been if he didn't go a few rounds with Ali or Sugar Ray and then get sloshed in the bar after? But, in spite of all that, his touch is gentle when the little cotton ball touches the slit on her lip, the one on her cheek bone. Nothing permanent. Painful as shit though, he bets.
"Swear t'god, Crock, you keep talkin' I'll send you back off to your little band of nitwits with another fresh one. Maybe I won't even clean it up."
