She had reached the bottom of the stairs when he offered to carry the box. The thing was, the box wasn’t heavy, it was just...awkward. “Yes that would be spectacular!” She paused long enough to pass him the box, that with his size, he should be able to carry with ease.

Once the box was in his hands, she dashed up the stairs, unlocking the door. Flinging it open, she moved to the side to allow him entry first. Once he entered he would be in the main room. For just one person it was rather large. A massive sofa set at one side, a desk, radio, paintings of all origins cover the walls. It wasn’t ‘girly’ per say, but it was home.

“You can drop that anywhere really.” Her voice came from behind him as she kicked her shoes off. “Well, this is it.” She pointed straight across from the duo. “That door leads to my bedroom, which you are more then welcome to use while you are here. I don’t mind sleeping on the sofa, I end up there more often then not.” She chuckled lightly before going on...”And that room there is the bathroom, it isn’t huge mind you, but it has a tub and a shower, sink and toilet.”

Attached to the main room was a small kitchen that looked as if it might not have ever been used. “Over there is the kitchen. There’s always food in the fridge, Keep makes sure of that, but I usually get left overs from down stairs.” She bit her lower lip glancing around...”Did I forget anything?” And then her eyes fell upon the box.

“Oh yeah! That box has all kinds of clothes in it, surely you can dig through it and toss something together. While you do that, Ima jump in the shower right fast and do my thing, won’t take but a jiff.” As energetic as ever, she turned and disappeared into her bedroom, only to return seconds later with what appeared to be a scrap of clothing. “Two minutes! Make yourself at home.” She flipped the radio on as she walked past and partially closed the door behind her. Usually living alone meant she didn’t have to worry about being proper, and frankly it didn’t cross her mind. Mainly because, she could care less. However, she kept an ear out on the stranger, never before having anyone in her home other then Keep.

Recheov didn't know of them, but the changes Xexoria went through over time were odd. There were a number of New Xexorian inventions coming in recently-- things like the radio. Not a lot of people had such things; they were clunky and real difficult to get working, but it seemed Kali had this one working fine. Truth be told, Recheov had never seen the thing before. There was only one frequency it could work at, and fortunately it was currently playing music. Xexorian music, though-- and with pretty bad sound quality, too. Well, that was the thing about these things, they weren't remotely advanced. No one on the planet had those sorts of advancements, and without that, they were remarkably low in quality compared to a record.

Still, the fact that the thing could play music was absolutely astounding. While Kali made for the shower, Recheov set the box down on the sofa and stood in front of the radio, a dumbfounded look painted upon his face. Sound quality didn't matter; it could play music, and it was, in fact, playing music.

As he was going to get a shower at some point later, Recheov figured he'd change once he was out of the shower. She probably had towels or something, right? He could just wrap a towel around himself, come out, nab some clothes, go back in, and get dressed. Yup, that was a good plan. Speaking of showers, though . . .

The door to the bathroom was partially ajar. Tempting. Real tempting. On a normal day, or what he once knew as normal days, Recheov would've peeked in without a second thought. Those normal days were all over, though, and they weren't ever going to come back-- and so, he refrained with the utmost personal regret.

Okay, maybe he didn't entirely refrain. While making his way to Kali's bedroom, he might have walked an angled path that might have let him see through the crack just a little, just for a brief moment, before passing by harmlessly. If he could get some eye candy out of the deal, then that was fine. If not, well, that was fine, too. Whether or not he got a brief sight of something nice, he checked out Kali's room all the same. He regarded it with an approving sort of nod. This whole place wasn't much, but it was nice. Perhaps the same could be said of all Xexoria!

No . . . not quite.

The hot water pelted her body in the most relaxing way. A shower was always the first thing on her mind when she got home. Her hair no longer smelled like stale smoke, but rather a soft lavender scent, and her skin felt clean again. She stood for a moment after cleansing to allow the water to just run down her form, it was relaxing and invigorating all at the same time.

It really wasn’t much longer then a couple minutes when she came out of the bathroom. She was clad only in a skimpy tank top and a short pair of shorts that may or may not pass as underwear. Her lack of timidness seemed to bother her none at all as she flopped down on the sofa beside the box.

“Ya know I was just thinking, the only things I have in here are kinda girly smelling, I had reeking of that bar when I’m home. Hope that doesn’t bother you.” She ran a brush through her long brunette locks. “Oh, and I put a couple fresh towels on the sink also. Plenty of hot water tonight.” The heat in her place was almost as bad as it was outside, a hot shower almost seemed ridiculous really. “While you shower I’ll grab my repair kit, I’m sure I have fresh bandages in there.” She wanted to ask him what happened to his hands, why he looked so worn down and beaten, but she passed, simply eyeing him with a half smile cocked on her lips.

When Kali left the room, Recheov turned around to look. He was still standing in the doorway to her room, and while he might have only subtly peeked before, if she was going to, say, walk out of the bathroom in nothing at all, he wanted his eyes to be available for the spectacle. But alas, Kali kept some mild amount of modesty-- about the same modesty Recheov would've kept, given the chance. Wearing a cloak only mattered with the desert.

"Eh," he shrugged his shoulders, "Girly stuff smells pretty; oI don't moind smellin' pretty for a few. Least for one noight."

He might have talked, but he still seemed reserved, primarily keeping to his own thoughts. It'd been a long time since he really had coherent thoughts, and while they weren't entirely a new experience for him, the circumstances were.

"Thanks," he remarked again. He really did appreciate this; he was a little confounded by it all, but he still appreciated it to no end.

He opted to undress a bit before entering the bathroom, though. Recheov untied the front of his cloak and let it roll off his shoulders-- and it was about damn time. That thing, with the Xexorian climate, made existence hot as hell. Sure, it kept him safe, but it didn't need to be so damn warm. Oh well. Kali would see beneath the cloak at last-- at how Recheov's dirty blond hair was, for all intents and purposes, dirty-- a total mess, jabbing every which way like a horrible state of bed head gone even more wrong. His hair all around was short, pretty close to his skull, except for his bangs, all kept long and over the right side of his face. In fact, upon the further mussing of his hair, he consciously made sure the right side of his face was still covered.

Recheov had dirty, bloody bandages around his throat and a much more visible dark spot under his left eye. His arms were bandaged up from his hands up to his elbows. His white shirt, long since stained with dried blood around a torn up color and various tears throughout, was ragged, worn, and lacked both sleeves and its lower half, practically exposing Recheov's midriff-- which also had bandages wrapped around it, likewise dirty and probably old. A pair of skinny slacks clung to his legs, but were torn at the knees and the middle of his shins. A pair of boots upon his feet were likewise tattered, dirty and dotted with holes that exposed his toes.

Despite all the injures, Recheov wasn't an unattractive man, at least not in the basest of senses. He had a rugged appearance, including visibly rough and dry skin, with rigid callouses upon his hands, but he was still physically well kept. He couldn't have been much older than twenty, even, and was fairly thin-- thin, yet built. He looked the type to have a monstrously powerful metabolism, and though he wasn't bulked out like someone who had formal training, an exercise regiment, or anything of the sort, he was toned as if he'd been in brawl after brawl for four years straight-- all just right, just enough to both throw and take a good punch.

The cloak was discarded next to the bathroom door as he kicked his boots off; they hadn't even shoelaces anymore. Facing the open bathroom door, he pulled his shirt over his head and stepped in, shutting the door behind him once he had it off his back.

She sat with her legs crossed under her and nodded to his words. Water dripped from the ends of her hair and left small trails down the exposed skin of her flesh. Most people would wipe them away quickly, but it was an added bonus in her mind in this heat.

Her ebon skin shimmered with tiny beads of sweat already, but being used to it, she wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, much the opposite. She raised a brow slightly as his trench slid over his shoulders. Bandages every. Stained with the dark brown of dried blood. Everywhere...her heart broke almost immediately. And yet...he was a nice looking man, attractive to say the least.

Slowly she stood, easing her body of the sofa. His back was toward her as she reached out for him, but before her hand collided with his torn body, the bathroom door closed. A lump formed in her throat...who could do such a thing to someone?

Content that he had what he needed she looked through the box and noted that there were slacks, a shirt and some socks for him and even some cut off pants if he were hot. Good enough for now, she would send for him some new boots in the morning.

The kitchen held a small closet and grabbing a chair she rummaged through all the junk that had piled up over the years. Kali was fourteen when Keep had taken her in, and now six years later, she still kept herself under his wing to some extent, this home of hers, of course being one that he owned.

A small box at the back of the top shelf caught her eye. “Ah ha there you are!” On her tiptoes on the chair she found herself beyond unstable. “Dammit being short!”

When Recheov left the bathroom several minutes later, he was clad only in a towel around his waist. Another towel, of course, was devoted to drying off his hair. He held the towel in his left hand and rubbed his skull vigorously. Although the right side of his face was very visible due to this, his eye seemed to be closed rather tightly, while his left eye was comfortably open. Once he was content with the dryness of his hair, he made sure to put his bangs over the right side of his face, before opening that eye again.

Recheov's muscles were remarkably toned. He was tall and a bit lanky, not terribly lanky, but not a weight lifter, either. For what he lacked in volume, though, he made up for in definition. He wasn't toned to statuesque perfection, but it would be pretty clear that he could throw a good punch, push his fair share of weight, and take plenty of blows before going down.

He was without bandages, though, and while he was much cleaner than before, the exact nature of his injuries were much more visible. There was a deep gash upon his stomach and a likewise wound at the exact spot on his back, likely connected. His knuckles were raw and barely had skin left clinging to them, there were large cuts upon his left palm, a gash running from his left shoulder down to the right side of his chest, and a cut about the front of his neck as if someone had tried to slit his throat, but failed-- they must not have put the blade close enough. His right knuckle, connected to his middle finger, was bleeding, as was the wound upon his belly. Recheov didn't seem to notice this.

Kali, nonetheless, might realize that he was behind her when she was losing her balance. He watched her with a quirked brow, not quite sure if he should be helping out or not. Of course, if she was going to fall, he was in proximity to her-- he had every intention of catching her in that case. Still, though, he didn't know what she was doing in the first place.

"Oi," he began, "You okay there?"

She didn’t hear him leave the bathroom, her own curses drowning out all other sounds really. His voice however, taking her by surprise caused her to turn abruptly, it was almost as if she had forgotten she wasn’t alone in the place, a feeling she was all too used to. The sudden movement caused the rickety chair to tumble over just enough for her to lose her footing. Only- she caught herself.

“Damn Keep, I swear he forgets I’m not an ogre, half this shit I can’t even reach.” There was annoyance in her voice, her language...less of a ladies. Growing up in a tavern would do that to a person though. Holding tightly to the back of the chair, half crouched down she finally looked over to him. She was sure her eye widened and her jaw dropped as she noticed he was in nothing but a towel.

Strangely enough his wounds went without notice at first. He was built better then she would have thought under all those dirty clothes. Not a bulged out beast, but ripped none the less. Which only made her think about the severity of the wounds, now visible to her. It would take something bigger, stronger to cause these injuries....she didn’t want to know...least, she thought she didn’t, not yet anyways.

A gasp was caught in her throat. Gashes, cuts, nothing was just a little scrape, someone intended on doing major damage to this man. Her tongue ran across her lips as she stood back up, almost on display half naked on the chair. “I just need to grab this box up here.” But, she wouldn’t ask for his help, she was too proud for that.

Once more on her tip toes she reached as far as she could, her fingertips finding the corner of the box enough to worm it closer to herself. “Finally.” There was a sigh of relief in her voice, she would almost bet she looked like a fool struggling with a chair for a box, in a closet no less.

“Lets get you cleaned up, shall we?” She hopped off the chair and closed it up inside the closet. “I can get those wounds properly cleaned and bandaged.” She took a closer look at him as she moved past him...”Perhaps even sewn up a bit.” Her voice was more quiet now, how was he not in pain? “Then you can get dressed if you like.” She stopped for a moment at her words deciding it sounded as if she just invited him to stay naked. She shook her head and moved into the kitchen.

A small table and chair were set off to one side. It was nothing fancy but more then likely the cleanest spot in the small apartment. Most importantly though, the lighting was better, she needed to see what she was working with exactly. “I’d tell you that this might hurt some, sting a little, but from the looks of things you have a high tolerance for such.” Her eyes raised to his, his singular eye she could see. Who was this mysterious stranger, and why were their fates entwined on this night?

Why were their fates entwined on this night?

He kind of wanted that answer, too. Not that he was going to ask, though. It was a fleeting curiosity and nothing more. Chances were, he'd stay here for the night, overstay his welcome, and be out sometime tomorrow. That sounded about right. That's how it was supposed to go. Or-- maybe that wasn't how it was supposed to go, and maybe that's why Recheov was so privy to the idea. Fate could be a cruel bitch sometimes. She could set you on the receiving end of a loving blade. She could pit you against someone you'd never want to fight. She could pick one you didn't want to hurt. She could make damn sure you were going to hurt them.

Fate was a cruel bitch. If he saw her, that psycho named fate, standing right in the open, he'd have beaten her to an inch of her life. It'd be a deserved beating, and everyone around him would cheer him on. They'd boo when he spared her at the last second, and feel strangely vindicated when he explained that it was fate and if he'd gotten this far with all these chances, he was probably supposed to kill fate-- so he didn't to spit in her face. Then they'd all applaud and Recheov would ride away into the sunset, a much happier man.

That was a dream Recheov had a few nights ago. It was a good dream.

As if knowing what to do, Recheov pulled the kitchen chair out and took a seat where he was most accessible.

"Eh, s'foine," Recheov shrugged his shoulders, "oI've 'ad worse."

It's true. He had worse pains in his life. Judging by the nature of his wounds, he was likely run through at some point. When? Sometime recent, probably. It couldn't have been too long ago, considering how fresh it looked, but it wasn't so fresh that it happened yesterday, or even a few days ago.

"Put me in a pool'o bourbon, though," Recheov thought aloud, "An' then oI moight expect some condolences."

“I’ll be as gentle as I can, but you have some nasty wounds here.” She’d start with the smaller ones, the ones that didn’t needed bandages, the ones that looked almost healed and clean them up nicely, but leave them open to the air. Working her way through them seemed to take less time then it really did, she was intent on making sure they were cleaned and well dressed as she tossed a look from time to time up at him.

He really didn’t seem like a man of many words, and at times, she wished he would talk her ass off. It was actually kinda nice having someone else around to talk to. Always alone or in the bar, you see the same crowd, or at least the same kind of people.

“Welp..” She sighed as she said it, her eyes locked on the gash about his belly, knowing there was one on his back as well. First however, she wrapped a clean bandage around his neck, there was no use in trying to sew it up, it looked as though it was healing nicely on it’s own, however leaving a nasty scar in the process. “Here comes the fun part...lets sew these bad boys up.” She didn’t wait for a response since she had already mentioned before that a couple of them needed some stitching.

Nimble fingers did her bidding and left him with a few rather nice stitches. His skin wasn’t as rugged as she thought it would be, so the stitches came along nicely, and rather quick. When it was all said and done his hands were bandaged, the gash on his stomach and back were sewed up nicely, the gash from his shoulder across his chest stitched and dressed, and his neck was bandaged. Any more and he would have looked like a mummy, but she was pleased with her work.

“I’d say that about does it. Are you hungry or something? Need something to drink? I bet you’re tired, aren’t you?” She stopped for a moment, listening to herself go on and on and on...while he sat there still in a towel. “Or hey, you can put some clothes on if you want to.” Again it sounded as if she invited him to hang out it he towel....not that she would mind.....

Throughout the process, Recheov seemed to be perfectly fine-- or at least, if he was feeling any pain, he wasn't displaying it. It was only when she worked on the place he'd been run through at, both the entry and exit wounds, that Recheov had a bit of difficulty. He winced, but beyond that, he didn't react much at all. That one left a bit of a lasting pain, but it was fine.

"Ah--n, thanks."

After the fact, he didn't appear to be that hurt, either. He looked at the bandages upon his hands, the one on his chest, and the one on his belly, and while he tapped his chest wound, he made damn sure to avoid tapping his belly.

"Probably don't got much 'ard, roight?" Recheov asked partially in jest. Hey, if she had something hard and she was willing to slide it his way, he'd drink it. Rechoev didn't like it when he went to sleep with an empty liver. Still, considering the way she looked at him when he ordered tequila at the bar earlier, chances were she didn't have any stock of hard liquor, or she wasn't going to give him any. One of the two. "Don't worry 'bout it."

Recheov leaned forward, elbows upon his knees. He hadn't stood up from the chair in the kitchen yet, and he really didn't plan to anytime in the near future. He was sitting down, and goddamnit, he didn't want to get back up in the near future. When you've walked as long as Recheov, you just wanted a decent place to sit down for a few, even if that meant wearing just a towel for a little while longer-- not that wearing a towel around his waist and nothing more actually bothered Recheov. Truth be told, he hadn't much of a use for modesty. It was one of those established orders of things that he hadn't any use for.

"So, uh, oI got somethin' that's been botherin' me. Do you moind?" Rechoev asked; he'd wait for Kali's approval before continuing: "Why you 'elpin' a weird guy off the streets loike me?"

If she was a serial killer, he'd like to know right out of the gate. That way, he could plan to sleep with one eye open. He'd still sleep here, though. That was the weird thing. Nothing she said was going to make a place to lay down and sleep any less tempting.

She gave him a disapproving glance, but pulled out a bottle of whisky. “I’m not a complete prude.” She wrinkled her nose at him and poured him a glass. It wasn’t nearly as large as the one he had down in the tavern, only because she didn’t want him blitzed. After all, he was still just a stranger....

When he didn’t move to get more comfortable, didn’t move to get dressed, she assumed he was fine right where he was, good enough for her. She fetched the other chair out of the closet and took a seat at the table with him, with a glass fo water for herself.

“You know....old, young, normal, and strange, everyone needs a helping hand at some point. If I were to refuse you what you obviously needed desperately, maybe in my time of need, I too would be over looked.” She looked away from him. Not many people around these parts thought about things like she did. She wrapped her hands around the tall glass of water and took a large gulp. “You really should drink more water in this heat, that whisky’s gonna dry out your insides.”

Whoa, hey, seemed she did have something hard. Recheov gladly accepted it with a smile and a nod. Water might have been better drink of choice than whiskey, but it didn't make him feel like whiskey did. Recheov accepted the sweetness of the whiskey with a sip.

"So . . . it's karma, huh?" Recheov asked idly.

Not that he really believed in karma or anything like that. Karma was just another of destiny's modifiers. Fate had all kinds of methods of control and all that happy horse shit. Recheov didn't really approve of any of them. None of them did him a lick of good.

Or anyone he knew, for that matter.

"Funny," he thought aloud, thinking in the abstract that maybe karma did exist, "You 'elp me for karma's sake. Really, though, oI got bad karma. The worst."

Might not have been the happiest thing to say-- but hey, at least he was opening up just a little. There was a chance he might talk her ear off after all-- if not about this, then about something else, something completely irrelevant. It was all just a matter of getting him to talk a little first-- then it was a matter of trying to shut him up.

Odd...he knew exactly what she was getting at. She tilted her head to the side as she just stared at him for a moment, almost, too long. “I’m glad you decided to stay, it’s nice to have some company.” She popped out of her chair and shoved it back under the table. “Come on.” She motioned for him to follow her back out into the living room. He might have been comfortable on those hard ass chairs, but she was wore out some from work, and comfort was what being home was all about.

She plopped down on one end of the sofa, her back against the arm, her body facing the other end, where she assumed he would find his seat. She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin upon them. Her mind still went through the wounds about his body, he was more then just a man for living through that, he had to have some purpose to still be walking about, talking and looking for his next glass of whiskey.

Maybe the questions showed on her face, maybe not, that would really depend on him and how intuitive he may or may not be, but none the less she watched him as he made his way into the room, assuming of course, he did.

“It really may not be any of my business, and forgive me for asking, but my curiosity won’t allow me to bite my tongue any longer. What the hell happened to you Recheov?” She bit down lightly on her lower lip, that didn’t really come out quite like she had hoped, but none the less, out it was. “Of course, if it’s something you don’t wish to talk about, feel free to bring up another subject.” She offered him a cheesy grin and nodded to the sofa, surely he got the hint.

Go to the couch? Yeah, sure, sounded like a good enough idea. Recheov didn't quite care where he was or was not sitting at the time. After all his walking, it just felt nice to sit down every once and awhile. It didn't quite matter where he was sitting, just as long as he was sitting down.

And so, he stood up from the chair at the kitchen table, glass of whiskey in hand. He was nursing at it, figuring that it was the last glass she was going to provide him for the night. She probably had every right and reason. She worked in a bar, after all. She probably didn't want to be associated with drunks more than she absolutely had to. Recheov didn't mind it, but hey, this was Kali's place with Kali's rules.

So, he stood with little concern for his own personal decency--something which didn't matter, though. The towel was fastened around his waist rather dependably. Without thinking much of it, he took a seat on the sofa, but made no clear intentions to sit uncomfortably close to Kali. After all, she was asking him a bit of a strange question. He couldn't think about that whole mess of closeness when he had to think about this.

"Eh," he shrugged his shoulders, "S'long story, babe. Don't know if you wanna 'ear the 'ole damn mess. oI can summaroize, though."

The word "babe," of course, wasn't used in the sexual or social connotation that one might think. Or, well, it did cling to those connotations, but for Recheov, it barely meant anything--just a term to use in reference to an attractive woman who he didn't mind being around. It didn't mean he was pursuing a woman, nor that he intended to. It was nothing more than a basic term of endearment, as far as he was concerned.

Nonetheless, his story . . .

"oI thought 'bout it too 'ard. Ever 'ad that? You sit an' look at all the options, but y'do it for way too long. By the toime you see the 'ole mess for wot it is, the decisions done been made for you," reasoned Recheov with a sip of his whiskey, "So you go 'long with it, and by the toime it's all said an' done, you can't back out. Then, you're in deep. You try an' back out, but the only thing's waitin' for you is your best buds on the opposite soide an' the guy that's dragged y'into it standin' behoind'ya. No matter wot, you're gettin' hurt."

Recheov took another sip at the whiskey. It was weird. Thinking about this sort of stuff didn't usually make him feel too bad. Maybe it was just the whiskey.

"So . . . shit happened," Recheov concluded, "Lotsa foightin'. oI got hurt--bad. M'buds put me in a clinic; no 'ard feelings or nothin', oI guess. But we all split up, and I bailed outta that place. The air, man. Got 'ard to breath."

He didn't say it, but the and here I am part was heavily implied.

Comfort has settled in, enough that his attire no longer bothered her, his drink no longer bothered her, his presence was acceptable. So as he moved to the sofa and took a seat it mattered little how close, or not close he sat to her.

The word “babe” of course, bothered her none at all. Working in a bar it became second nature hearing these kinds of names. From babe, to doll, to sweetheart, to honey, she answered them all as if they were her name, he was no exception to this.

He told the short version of his story, and she listened carefully as to catch everything he was saying through his thick accent. Her eyes widened as she asked to be sure she heard him correctly. “Your friends did this to you!?” Maybe she heard him wrong, maybe not, either way.....damn.

“Either way, I’m glad you’re here, and safe.” She shrugged her shoulders slightly as she laid her cheek on her knees now, the music had stopped, yet she couldn’t remember when. “Thank you for staying.” She laughed a little at her own words. “ I know it might seem silly, me thanking you....But, it gets lonely sometimes.” She forced a smile not wanting to seem uncomfortably desperate. “I mean, Keep tries, but he can’t be mom, dad, brother, sister, and best friend.” She stopped herself at that. While her life had been no picnic, it seemed neither had his...