Rupert was just starting to notice something: not all of their words seemed to be getting through. Huh. That actually explained quite a lot. Like, for instance, Tarin implying that he was a super hero for going around killing freaks that deserved it in the middle of the night.

He kept his wincing and squirming to a damn dignified minimum, thank you Emily, but it was made a little more difficult by how disjoint the pain signals seemed to be. He'd see the cloth... then wait a few moments for anything to actually register. If his timing on bracing himself was off, then he'd blame the woman who had broken a bottle against his skull.

"Mind calling a cab for me?" He gritted out between his teeth, as their lovely little sponge bath came to an end, but the delayed pain hit him. "Unless you Good Samaritans would like to walk me home, that is."

At least Rupert had stopped complaining. Tarin couldn't help but think as Lee continued to clean the wound she'd caused on his head that she wasn't doing a good job making the wounds look any less conspicuous though. Unfortunately the eyes, which were swelling copiously and bruising already. A glance at his split and bruising knuckles made Tarin smile slighlty with grim satisfaction. That's what you got.

There was still the fact that Rupert was right though. The fact that Rupert really was doing what had to be done. It was the same thing that the people at the mansion were doing. Only, they were doing it with their powers while Rupert was doing it with a gun.

Lee was asking him for something, Tarin's head jerked towards her and he saw that she was holding a bloody rag and asking him to rinse it out. Tarin took it, begrudgingly but did as Lee asked. As he watched the blood run down the sink he was remeinded of another time the same thing was happening in the apartment. Rupert had ended up there that night too. Tarin shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to shake off the memories too, then he returned to Lee.

"Here." he said softly, holding out the rag and waiting for her to take it.

She was almost done fixing Rupert up, well at least to the extent he could be fixed. Then Rupert asked them to call him a cab. Tarin nearly told the cop where he could shove his cab, then sighed, shoulders drooping again. "The only thing I'd rather do less than walk you home is put the bullets back into that gun and hand it to you." Then he stood, "I'll get the cab."

Moments later, the cab was called and Tarin again returned to the seat he'd occupied since smashing the gun into Rupert's skull. "They'll be here in ten minutes. You'd better get down there and wait." Tarin wanted the other man out of his apartment, as far away as humanly possible. Maybe the thoughts swirling in his head would go with him.

Tarin handed her the rinsed out cloth back, and Lee went about wiping away any last bits of blood she had missed, like that little bit on his neck and some there just in his hair, while her other hand was still holding the towel to Rupert's forehead. Then she lifted the towel slightly, checking the wound underneath, and frowned. Well, she'd done the best she could until the bleeding stopped.

Tarin had turned, was on the phone calling a cab for Rupert. Good, get him out of here. Turning slightly herself, Lee tossed the wet, bloody cloth toward the sink, then grabbed Rupert's wrist. Lifting his hand, Lee placed it over the cloth on his forehead holding it there for a moment as she looked down at him seriously.

"I know you think you don't need help, but just listen to me," Lee told him, her voice low. "Keep your hand there, keep pressure on it, so it stops bleeding," Lee continued, giving Rupert's hand a slight squeeze as she continued to hold his hand to his forehead. "And when you get home, soak the towel and be careful. Don't just yank it off or you'll start it bleeding again."

By this point, Tarin was back from making the call, saying that the cab would be there within ten minutes. Taking a step back from Rupert, Lee let her hand fall away from his forehead, from the hand she was holding there against the towel. "Don't ignore what I told you just because of who I am, " Lee told Rupert, hopefully the last thing she'd have to tell him. "And don't you dare try and pull something like this again. Just remember, you're not the only one who knows where people live."

Rupert didn't reply to Lee's advice; he just held the rag to his head, as directed. How was he supposed to reply? From what he was catching, she was being nice. Except for something at the end there, that sounded a hell of a lot like a death threat.

The cab was called, and he somehow made it into the backseat. And back to his own apartment, which was more the miracle. He ignored Lee's advice about the rag--that was his reply--and ended up doing clean-up in his bathroom.

Damn freak, giving him good advice. What was he supposed to do? Take it?

Flipsy was awake by the time he flopped onto his bed, still in full suit, with both his shoes on again. The gun was even back in its holster, though that had been returned to him at the very last minute, you can be sure. The poodle-cocker spaniel mix jumped up on the bed, her tail wagging uncertainly as her owner tried to scratch behind her left ear and ended up bumping her nose with the back of his hand.

Unwisely, he feel asleep. Hadn't thought to give advice about that, had you, Emily?

Unfortunately, he woke up in the morning. His pride was in need of nursing, and the Brooks were all out of scotch.

((ooc: Continued for Tarin in A Grave Mistake, and for Rupert in Curiosity, with WereCat.))