[Unfortunate for him that Dion has spent a life that hardly comes with meeting devilish rogues often; he does not catch the intended tone of the words. He only looks at Cassian with some surprise, wondering out loud:] Careful? Do I have some reason to fear you?
[He hardly imagines so. Experience only lends that Cassian's intentions may be to use him, to take advantage... but that is hardly anything new.
It would be relieving, in some ways. There is no ambiguity when someone simply wants to use him. And to be used, to have a use -- it is the same as being wanted.
Dion gestures to his own bed, where his dragon lays curled up as easy as a cat, sleeping. She opens a single eye, spots Cassian, recognizes him (as Dion does), and then goes back to sleep, tucking her head under a wing. As Cassian sits, he opens a box tucked neatly on a shelf, pulling out bandages, gauze, and a poultice he has procured from the healers, given after he finally verbalized his hesitation to use magical healers.
He does not offer Cassian the advice of going to them, either. Dion prefers the tactile over the magical, and he has had many chances to wrap a soldier's wounds.] Your hands, please.
[He kneels in front of him, box of supplies opened at his knees. The first step is cleaning with cooling cloths that spread a slightly chilly gel where blood flows from split skin. It shall dim the pain first.] Why did you allow it to get to this point?
[The answer is matter-of-fact. It takes some effort if he's not constantly tumbling from the bicycle, and Cassian does not strike him as a particularly clumsy man. Gloves and lotions would alleviate most of this; this speaks to someone who did not bother with either.]
no subject
[He hardly imagines so. Experience only lends that Cassian's intentions may be to use him, to take advantage... but that is hardly anything new.
It would be relieving, in some ways. There is no ambiguity when someone simply wants to use him. And to be used, to have a use -- it is the same as being wanted.
Dion gestures to his own bed, where his dragon lays curled up as easy as a cat, sleeping. She opens a single eye, spots Cassian, recognizes him (as Dion does), and then goes back to sleep, tucking her head under a wing. As Cassian sits, he opens a box tucked neatly on a shelf, pulling out bandages, gauze, and a poultice he has procured from the healers, given after he finally verbalized his hesitation to use magical healers.
He does not offer Cassian the advice of going to them, either. Dion prefers the tactile over the magical, and he has had many chances to wrap a soldier's wounds.] Your hands, please.
[He kneels in front of him, box of supplies opened at his knees. The first step is cleaning with cooling cloths that spread a slightly chilly gel where blood flows from split skin. It shall dim the pain first.] Why did you allow it to get to this point?
[The answer is matter-of-fact. It takes some effort if he's not constantly tumbling from the bicycle, and Cassian does not strike him as a particularly clumsy man. Gloves and lotions would alleviate most of this; this speaks to someone who did not bother with either.]