The men are gathering themselves a bit and Rook considers his options, puts down some markers for where the assholes are and how he can handle this. The gun is too much. He'll kill someone with it. So he passes it back to Ulysse behind him.
"I might break some of your furniture," he says back to the barkeep, tilting his head back a little. "These fucks aren't going to follow me out." Not this time.
They need to pump each other up, though, he can see that. Some nervous looks to the side to each others, some hackling calls that he closes his ears to the moment they start.
The first punch comes from a big guy to his left, probably their front runner. The little hyenas can get involved when this guy is in the mix. Rook's head snaps to the side but he doesn't even take a step back, just takes it in. His lip is split and blood runs down to his chin as he turns his head to look at the man, tongue touching the gash on his lip.
"You okay with that?" he asks Ulysse again, voice still calm. The goons look confused and very ready to start. One of them laughs a dirty laugh and calls, "Hey, asshole, we gonna break you so stop worrying about the stuff."
Ulysse had jerked on seeing Rook get hit, gun already getting levelled just in case, but then the madman is calmly talking to him, still, drawing a confused stare in turn. "I...?"
But Ulysse can be quick on his feet when needed, and he can see that if Rook is too concerned about keeping his furniture intact, he's likely to get more severely hurt. So he nods and answers, "Go ahead. I'm used to fixing things, here."
"All right," Rook replies. "Go over the bar when it starts," he says. "I can't cover you fighting this many."
But as he's speaking another punch lands, the big guy growing annoyed at the discussion these two are having and not paying attention to his fists. It lands somewhere at Rook's side and he takes it with just a little grunt, his arm shooting out to wrap around the man's neck and then his fist comes like a hammer to the ugly face, apparently trying to connect his own hands while holding the goons head in between.
It's hard enough hit that the big man is left dazed, stumbling back. Rook doesn't have time to finish him right away, he has several others on him. So he moves, steps to the side to the open space, slaps the first man coming at him so fast in the face the dude is left reeling. The hit isn't hard enough to really knock him out but it'll confuse, so Rook has time to grab onto the third, swimming right under his arms to the man's front and pushing him back with a hard hook to his middle and then a kick to finish it off, sending the man on top of the two rushing in behind him.
He swirls, he punches, he kicks. It's like watching someone go through an intricate dance, except people get hurt when they get close to him. One man is sent on his back on top of a table, that groans from the weight, then another before one of the table legs gives out and the men crash down on cracked wood. Rook takes a few hits, but he's used to taking them, none of these men actually know how to hurt you with their bare fists.
It's all rather entrancing to watch, really, and Ulysse forgets for a moment just how much danger is actually present in his own bar, even with the table giving out under the goons. Then one man tries to grab a heavy bottle from the bar as a weapon, earning himself the shotgun getting levelled at his hand and a snapped, "Don't even try it."
The hand retreats but Ulysse keeps the gun in clear view of anyone who tries to come for the bar for weaponry again, catching Damian's eyes and nodding when the waiter waggles his phone and puts it away, indicating Sean's on his way. Though Ulysse thinks the cop might not be needed after all, especially as he's watching Rook wreak some well-deserved havoc on the thugs.
By the end of it, the goons are all on the ground, the last one stubborn enough that Rook pounds his fists into the man's head several times just to knock him out for good. There's a ring of groaning men, some scurrying back, some laying on the ground still and silent.
Rook takes a step forward and a few scampers towards the door. He strides to the leader, grabs the man's shirtfront to pull him up and then pushes him towards the door.
"Go," he says. "Take your ass monkeys with you."
"You fucking broke my arm!" someone whines.
"I'll break your legs too if you don't use them to run right now," he says with a sigh.
At this point the construction crew breaks out with clapping and cheering. Adrenaline is running high and people are feeling lucky. The boss of the little crew of goons eventually curses and they start to drag their unconscious buddies out of the door.
Damian holds the door open for the gang to limp out, quietly relieved that in the end, things got sorted in a relatively peaceful(???) manner.
There's a moment of silence after the last man crawls out, everyone holding their breath to wait to hear when the cars and bikes take off. Then a ragged cheer breaks out and people can relax once more. Ulysse ends up leaning heavily against the bar, gun put down at last as he hangs his head to take a breath while everyone's attention is on Rook as the hero of the hour.
Then, before things can get out of hand again, Ulysse calls out over the growing cheers, "All right everyone, thanks for putting up with that. Obviously that was a lot of excitement for one night and there's a bit to clean up... The bar's closing early tonight-" A chorus of boos, some people starting to look ready for another fight, which Ulysse heads off with, "so drinks for the next half hour are free. Thanks for your patience."
That seems to mollify the masses and then Kai's got his hands full whipping up the drinks as everyone crowds the bar once again.
Ulysse slips through the crowd to approach Rook, reaching out to grasp the man's wrist before he can potentially escape. "You came," he says quietly in greeting.
Rook turns to the bar, looking at Ulysse as he hangs his head and breathes heavily. The man is at the end of his rope obviously. And Rook isn't a man made of ice honestly, he can see the struggle and feels for the man.
He draws himself a chair at the end of the bar and then reaches over the counter for a glass as Ulysse is speaking to the crowd. He isn't asking for a permission but he thinks he's earned a drink at least, which he pours himself from whatever bottle happens to be there on the working counter beneath the serving one.
When Ulysse walks to him, he's sipping from the glass, some sort of gin probably, tastes of a bit of juniper mixed with the iron in his blood smearing against the lip of the glass.
"Didn't come to help you," he says and nudges his head towards the construction crew. "The foreman insisted on buying us drinks."
His gaze rises up from the glass to Ulysse's throat, looking at the bruises forming there and his nose wrinkles with distaste. Who the fuck would want to wring a pretty neck like that?
The pointed stare and nose scrunching has Ulysse wanting to cover his throat, remembering how the bastard strangling him had spouted off all that talk of bitches, fucking and all things from the past he'd rather leave back there. Since that's not really and option, Ulysse nods as he looks over to the crew, releasing Rook's wrist. And no, Ulysse definitely isn't stopping Rook from helping himself to the drinks.
"Then I'm glad you were at the right place at the right time." A pause, then a faint smile as he adds, "Again. You're good at that."
Rook takes a long swallow from his glass while he looks at Ulysse, studies him quietly. He doesn't seem all that interested in the construction crew he came with or the destruction around them. People are crowding to the bar and the noise is starting to sound quite a bit like it did before the whole incident.
Just as he's about to answer, a small man with wide-shocked eyes dashes out from somewhere at the crowd, not at the bar but behind it.
"Ulysse, what the hell was all that?" Arie demands from his brother as he grabs onto Ulysse's elbow and draws him in as if he's about to clutch him to his front.
Rook watches quietly the exchange, letting calm wash over him, a hum of silence that cuts out most of the noise. He hears a mention of the shotgun, the little man seems to be patting Ulysse down and touching his neck like someone obviously intimately familiar with the man. It takes a while and Rook pours himself a new drink before the little dude - Arie Rook has discovered - moves on, passing through the back of the bar to the small stage at the other side where he starts hooking up the instruments and soon the loud speaker announces that he's going to sing a few songs, so everyone gather up!
Rook's attention is on Ulysse still, watching him quietly with his pale blue eyes.
Ulysse had tolerated the fussing from Arie, calmly explaining what had happened, distantly keeping track of Rook's presence to make sure he's not about to slip away while the brothers are talking. Then he gratefully accepts Arie's offer to play a few songs to keep the patrons happy on their way out, smiling even as he watches the short man dash up to the stage.
He sighs and looks over to Rook, pausing when he sees that pale gaze still locked on him, and then returns it himself, taking in that stern, angular face once more. Again is that steel there, but now Ulysse can also see that calm emanating from Rook that he hadn't felt at the convenience store. Maybe it's the drinks...
"... I've got a first-aid kit in the office," he says at last, eyes lingering over the split lip before looking down to Rook's knuckles in case any had been split in the scuffle. He wonders how the man's side is after that heavy hit, but Rook breathing calmly at least suggests there's nothing broken.
Pain is a good way to quiet your mind. Rook finds it soothing in some perverse way that he isn't about to share with anyone else. When his hands are aching, his side throbbing in time with his heartbeat and each time he takes a sip his lip stinging, he's at peace. Jay would tell him he's a junkie but Rook doesn't care, yes, he might be getting his hit like this, or he just might be able to focus like this. It doesn't matter.
He knows he has to talk about this with the pretty barkeep that keeps eyeing him with those midnight eyes. And the offer to do so at the back, away from the ruckus and clamouring - he will take it.
He sniffs, feeling his nose having clocked, from blood most likely, and somewhere there is pressure, which he will have to deal with. But other than that, as he stands up, there is no wobbling or dizziness. His hands are bloody and yes, there are scuffed knuckles and broken nails but nothing too serious. Most of the blood is not his.
He downs the last of the gin and stands, gesturing to Ulysse to lead the way.
Quietly grateful he doesn't have to fight, Ulysse relaxes a little and steps away from the bar, waving Rook around it so they can head to the tiny office. It's a cramped space but tidy, just barely fitting in an old desk and chair. The latter is where Ulysse gestures for his guest to sit while he crouches down and draws out the first aid kit from under the desk.
"Are you hurt anywhere I can't see immediately?" he asks as he straightens up again, stood close to Rook and pausing to glance over the fighter's body. "If it's really bad, I can drive you to the ER."
Rook follows him to the office but doesn't take the chair. Instead, he perches himself on the edge of the desk, carefully so, avoiding putting too much weight on it if it's fragile. He's wrecked enough of Ulysse's furniture for one night.
"I'm fine," he says with a shrug. "This is nothing new to me." He knows his own body and how it aches. Nothing is broken and those assholes would have had to have a lot harder jaws to break his bones.
"Mm..." He gives one last lingering stare before looking down to open up the kit, muttering, "That doesn't mean I have to be content with it happening because of me."
Ulysse's hands are gentle as he grasps one of Rook's, turning it this way and that as he examines the damage. His expression doesn't change much, but there's a certain tightness around his eyes and lips that indicates how unhappy he is about the wounds he can see. Yes, he's seen as bad and worse over the years, especially while he was with Anton, but that doesn't mean he's numb to them. So his touch remains soft as he cleans the cut knuckles, murmuring, "I'm sorry, this will sting."
Rook watches him as he gets to work, the flicker of emotion on his face, when he doesn't think he's portraying anything at all but there is a faint tightening around his brow, around his mouth. This is a man, who is used to holding back his dissatisfaction, and probably his satisfaction as well.
However, he is being far too queasy about it.
"This is part of it," he says quietly. His voice doesn't quiver, his hand doesn't tremble as the disinfectant is applied. And it does sting, he's just used to pain. "You understand that, don't you?"
"And?" he asks, not stopping until he's wrapped up the steady hand, and then he lifts his gaze to stare almost defiantly back at Rook. "Does that mean I should be happy about this?"
Ulysse stares a moment longer before sighing and resuming his work on Rook's hand, now addressing the broken nails and cleaning up the dried blood from the long digits. "I did," he says, calm once more. "You're good."
And yes, he'd seen the articles about the Incident, had even watched a clip of it, the court case that followed, and so on.
"I didn't ask you to look me up because I'm good," Rook points out. "I'm sure you saw that I killed a man in ring."
Lets put it on the table. He also stills Ulysse's hands but taking a hold of one of them, waiting until the man looks up at him.
"I'm not going to work for you unless you're making that offer with full understanding of what I am and what I'm capable of. I did not go into that ring thinking I'm going to kill someone, but that's what happened."
"You've seen how it gets in here," Ulysse points out, letting his hands still as Rook holds one. "If it takes a killer to keep those dogs at bay, so be it."
Then he pauses and his gaze softens, his hand turning to hold Rook's rather than simply tolerating being stopped from his work. "But I don't think you're a killer, anyway. By all accounts, what happened with you was an accident."
Rook is a bit surprised by the softening of the barkeep's demeanour, his pale eyes holding Ulysse's gaze while he quietly tries to wrap his mind around this shift. He would understand using him, using this mad dog of war to clean up his place. But this isn't cold and calculating.
"You shouldn't care about me," he says then, voice quiet but serious. "If we're going to do this, you really should not care about me."
His bandaged fingers tighten lightly around Ulysse's, warm skin, medical tape, the scent of disinfectant, then a completely unconscious brush of the fighter's thumb over Ulysse's knuckles, almost like a caress.
Shrugging, Ulysse looks back down at their hands and lets Rook keep hold of the one while the free one resumes cleaning up around the broken nails. "Unfortunately for you, I tend to care about those I employ," he explains. "You don't get a say in how I feel about the people around me."
There's a hint of a quirk at the corners of Rook's lips at the sassy reply. Amusement there and then gone. There's something about this man...
"True," he replies quietly but leaves it at that, not an agreement or a disagreement. He's thinking about it while he studies Ulysse's down-turned face, his clean features and thick lashes.
Ulysse smiles a bit, too, and doesn't lift his gaze as he goes onto the other hand, as meticulously careful as he'd been with the first. Then he asks, "Is that going to be a problem for you? I could promise to glare at you here and there if that would make you feel better."
Rook watches him work, quiet and patient. He doesn't hurry the man up even once, simply watches him process his way through the crooked fingers that probably have never had this much care given to them before.
His lips quirk again at the comment and he points out, "I didn't agree yet." Except he kind of did. Silently so, which he sort of assumes Ulysse figured out, too.
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"I might break some of your furniture," he says back to the barkeep, tilting his head back a little. "These fucks aren't going to follow me out." Not this time.
They need to pump each other up, though, he can see that. Some nervous looks to the side to each others, some hackling calls that he closes his ears to the moment they start.
The first punch comes from a big guy to his left, probably their front runner. The little hyenas can get involved when this guy is in the mix. Rook's head snaps to the side but he doesn't even take a step back, just takes it in. His lip is split and blood runs down to his chin as he turns his head to look at the man, tongue touching the gash on his lip.
"You okay with that?" he asks Ulysse again, voice still calm. The goons look confused and very ready to start. One of them laughs a dirty laugh and calls, "Hey, asshole, we gonna break you so stop worrying about the stuff."
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Ulysse had jerked on seeing Rook get hit, gun already getting levelled just in case, but then the madman is calmly talking to him, still, drawing a confused stare in turn. "I...?"
But Ulysse can be quick on his feet when needed, and he can see that if Rook is too concerned about keeping his furniture intact, he's likely to get more severely hurt. So he nods and answers, "Go ahead. I'm used to fixing things, here."
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But as he's speaking another punch lands, the big guy growing annoyed at the discussion these two are having and not paying attention to his fists. It lands somewhere at Rook's side and he takes it with just a little grunt, his arm shooting out to wrap around the man's neck and then his fist comes like a hammer to the ugly face, apparently trying to connect his own hands while holding the goons head in between.
It's hard enough hit that the big man is left dazed, stumbling back. Rook doesn't have time to finish him right away, he has several others on him. So he moves, steps to the side to the open space, slaps the first man coming at him so fast in the face the dude is left reeling. The hit isn't hard enough to really knock him out but it'll confuse, so Rook has time to grab onto the third, swimming right under his arms to the man's front and pushing him back with a hard hook to his middle and then a kick to finish it off, sending the man on top of the two rushing in behind him.
He swirls, he punches, he kicks. It's like watching someone go through an intricate dance, except people get hurt when they get close to him. One man is sent on his back on top of a table, that groans from the weight, then another before one of the table legs gives out and the men crash down on cracked wood. Rook takes a few hits, but he's used to taking them, none of these men actually know how to hurt you with their bare fists.
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It's all rather entrancing to watch, really, and Ulysse forgets for a moment just how much danger is actually present in his own bar, even with the table giving out under the goons. Then one man tries to grab a heavy bottle from the bar as a weapon, earning himself the shotgun getting levelled at his hand and a snapped, "Don't even try it."
The hand retreats but Ulysse keeps the gun in clear view of anyone who tries to come for the bar for weaponry again, catching Damian's eyes and nodding when the waiter waggles his phone and puts it away, indicating Sean's on his way. Though Ulysse thinks the cop might not be needed after all, especially as he's watching Rook wreak some well-deserved havoc on the thugs.
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Rook takes a step forward and a few scampers towards the door. He strides to the leader, grabs the man's shirtfront to pull him up and then pushes him towards the door.
"Go," he says. "Take your ass monkeys with you."
"You fucking broke my arm!" someone whines.
"I'll break your legs too if you don't use them to run right now," he says with a sigh.
At this point the construction crew breaks out with clapping and cheering. Adrenaline is running high and people are feeling lucky. The boss of the little crew of goons eventually curses and they start to drag their unconscious buddies out of the door.
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Damian holds the door open for the gang to limp out, quietly relieved that in the end, things got sorted in a relatively peaceful(???) manner.
There's a moment of silence after the last man crawls out, everyone holding their breath to wait to hear when the cars and bikes take off. Then a ragged cheer breaks out and people can relax once more. Ulysse ends up leaning heavily against the bar, gun put down at last as he hangs his head to take a breath while everyone's attention is on Rook as the hero of the hour.
Then, before things can get out of hand again, Ulysse calls out over the growing cheers, "All right everyone, thanks for putting up with that. Obviously that was a lot of excitement for one night and there's a bit to clean up... The bar's closing early tonight-" A chorus of boos, some people starting to look ready for another fight, which Ulysse heads off with, "so drinks for the next half hour are free. Thanks for your patience."
That seems to mollify the masses and then Kai's got his hands full whipping up the drinks as everyone crowds the bar once again.
Ulysse slips through the crowd to approach Rook, reaching out to grasp the man's wrist before he can potentially escape. "You came," he says quietly in greeting.
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He draws himself a chair at the end of the bar and then reaches over the counter for a glass as Ulysse is speaking to the crowd. He isn't asking for a permission but he thinks he's earned a drink at least, which he pours himself from whatever bottle happens to be there on the working counter beneath the serving one.
When Ulysse walks to him, he's sipping from the glass, some sort of gin probably, tastes of a bit of juniper mixed with the iron in his blood smearing against the lip of the glass.
"Didn't come to help you," he says and nudges his head towards the construction crew. "The foreman insisted on buying us drinks."
His gaze rises up from the glass to Ulysse's throat, looking at the bruises forming there and his nose wrinkles with distaste. Who the fuck would want to wring a pretty neck like that?
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The pointed stare and nose scrunching has Ulysse wanting to cover his throat, remembering how the bastard strangling him had spouted off all that talk of bitches, fucking and all things from the past he'd rather leave back there. Since that's not really and option, Ulysse nods as he looks over to the crew, releasing Rook's wrist. And no, Ulysse definitely isn't stopping Rook from helping himself to the drinks.
"Then I'm glad you were at the right place at the right time." A pause, then a faint smile as he adds, "Again. You're good at that."
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Just as he's about to answer, a small man with wide-shocked eyes dashes out from somewhere at the crowd, not at the bar but behind it.
"Ulysse, what the hell was all that?" Arie demands from his brother as he grabs onto Ulysse's elbow and draws him in as if he's about to clutch him to his front.
Rook watches quietly the exchange, letting calm wash over him, a hum of silence that cuts out most of the noise. He hears a mention of the shotgun, the little man seems to be patting Ulysse down and touching his neck like someone obviously intimately familiar with the man. It takes a while and Rook pours himself a new drink before the little dude - Arie Rook has discovered - moves on, passing through the back of the bar to the small stage at the other side where he starts hooking up the instruments and soon the loud speaker announces that he's going to sing a few songs, so everyone gather up!
Rook's attention is on Ulysse still, watching him quietly with his pale blue eyes.
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Ulysse had tolerated the fussing from Arie, calmly explaining what had happened, distantly keeping track of Rook's presence to make sure he's not about to slip away while the brothers are talking. Then he gratefully accepts Arie's offer to play a few songs to keep the patrons happy on their way out, smiling even as he watches the short man dash up to the stage.
He sighs and looks over to Rook, pausing when he sees that pale gaze still locked on him, and then returns it himself, taking in that stern, angular face once more. Again is that steel there, but now Ulysse can also see that calm emanating from Rook that he hadn't felt at the convenience store. Maybe it's the drinks...
"... I've got a first-aid kit in the office," he says at last, eyes lingering over the split lip before looking down to Rook's knuckles in case any had been split in the scuffle. He wonders how the man's side is after that heavy hit, but Rook breathing calmly at least suggests there's nothing broken.
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He knows he has to talk about this with the pretty barkeep that keeps eyeing him with those midnight eyes. And the offer to do so at the back, away from the ruckus and clamouring - he will take it.
He sniffs, feeling his nose having clocked, from blood most likely, and somewhere there is pressure, which he will have to deal with. But other than that, as he stands up, there is no wobbling or dizziness. His hands are bloody and yes, there are scuffed knuckles and broken nails but nothing too serious. Most of the blood is not his.
He downs the last of the gin and stands, gesturing to Ulysse to lead the way.
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Quietly grateful he doesn't have to fight, Ulysse relaxes a little and steps away from the bar, waving Rook around it so they can head to the tiny office. It's a cramped space but tidy, just barely fitting in an old desk and chair. The latter is where Ulysse gestures for his guest to sit while he crouches down and draws out the first aid kit from under the desk.
"Are you hurt anywhere I can't see immediately?" he asks as he straightens up again, stood close to Rook and pausing to glance over the fighter's body. "If it's really bad, I can drive you to the ER."
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"I'm fine," he says with a shrug. "This is nothing new to me." He knows his own body and how it aches. Nothing is broken and those assholes would have had to have a lot harder jaws to break his bones.
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"Mm..." He gives one last lingering stare before looking down to open up the kit, muttering, "That doesn't mean I have to be content with it happening because of me."
Ulysse's hands are gentle as he grasps one of Rook's, turning it this way and that as he examines the damage. His expression doesn't change much, but there's a certain tightness around his eyes and lips that indicates how unhappy he is about the wounds he can see. Yes, he's seen as bad and worse over the years, especially while he was with Anton, but that doesn't mean he's numb to them. So his touch remains soft as he cleans the cut knuckles, murmuring, "I'm sorry, this will sting."
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However, he is being far too queasy about it.
"This is part of it," he says quietly. His voice doesn't quiver, his hand doesn't tremble as the disinfectant is applied. And it does sting, he's just used to pain. "You understand that, don't you?"
Violence doesn't come without consequences.
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"And?" he asks, not stopping until he's wrapped up the steady hand, and then he lifts his gaze to stare almost defiantly back at Rook. "Does that mean I should be happy about this?"
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"Did you look me up?" he asks then.
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Ulysse stares a moment longer before sighing and resuming his work on Rook's hand, now addressing the broken nails and cleaning up the dried blood from the long digits. "I did," he says, calm once more. "You're good."
And yes, he'd seen the articles about the Incident, had even watched a clip of it, the court case that followed, and so on.
"My offer still stands."
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Lets put it on the table. He also stills Ulysse's hands but taking a hold of one of them, waiting until the man looks up at him.
"I'm not going to work for you unless you're making that offer with full understanding of what I am and what I'm capable of. I did not go into that ring thinking I'm going to kill someone, but that's what happened."
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"You've seen how it gets in here," Ulysse points out, letting his hands still as Rook holds one. "If it takes a killer to keep those dogs at bay, so be it."
Then he pauses and his gaze softens, his hand turning to hold Rook's rather than simply tolerating being stopped from his work. "But I don't think you're a killer, anyway. By all accounts, what happened with you was an accident."
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"You shouldn't care about me," he says then, voice quiet but serious. "If we're going to do this, you really should not care about me."
His bandaged fingers tighten lightly around Ulysse's, warm skin, medical tape, the scent of disinfectant, then a completely unconscious brush of the fighter's thumb over Ulysse's knuckles, almost like a caress.
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Shrugging, Ulysse looks back down at their hands and lets Rook keep hold of the one while the free one resumes cleaning up around the broken nails. "Unfortunately for you, I tend to care about those I employ," he explains. "You don't get a say in how I feel about the people around me."
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"True," he replies quietly but leaves it at that, not an agreement or a disagreement. He's thinking about it while he studies Ulysse's down-turned face, his clean features and thick lashes.
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Ulysse smiles a bit, too, and doesn't lift his gaze as he goes onto the other hand, as meticulously careful as he'd been with the first. Then he asks, "Is that going to be a problem for you? I could promise to glare at you here and there if that would make you feel better."
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His lips quirk again at the comment and he points out, "I didn't agree yet." Except he kind of did. Silently so, which he sort of assumes Ulysse figured out, too.
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