Kili (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
willnothide) wrote2015-07-11 12:21 pm
willnothide) wrote2015-07-11 12:21 pm
Entry tags:
july 9
He supposes he could have gone to Tauriel.
Walking back toward Candlewood, Kili wonders why, indeed, he'd chosen to text his brother (Time for a quick chat?) this evening when he knows very well what will come of the conversation, which is to say nothing but overreactions and Thorin-like huffs of frustration. Courage isn't the only thing either of them had inherited from their uncle, after all. Kili can already anticipate Fili's reaction when he walks through the door, a casual smile in greeting that will quickly give way to comically widened eyes at the sight of the blood soaking through Kili's torn clothing.
The wound isn't dire, though Kili has a fairly skewed vision of dire now that he's already been killed once, a mere cut to his side that had been a result of his own foolishness. He'd left his apartment this evening on what he'd convinced himself would be a lovely, quiet stroll, though he'd armed himself with one knife in each boot and another attached to his belt. He would have brought his bow and arrow but that, he'd decided, would be less justifiable.
He'd come across, as he'd privately hoped, a certain bit of a panic in an alleyway as he'd neared Petros Park--a vampire attacking a young, blonde woman who had reminded him very much of Beth, aside from her muffled cries for help as the creature had aimed to sink its fangs into her neck. As he plans on telling his brother, he'd had no choice but to intervene. He's only gone wrong briefly, taking his eyes off his opponent with his knife wielded in front of him to check on the poor woman, and the vampire had wrenched it from his hand before parrying forward with a swipe of its wrist.
Kili hadn't cried out, for which he is proud, but even after he'd pulled his second knife from his boot to dispose of the creature, he must now admit that he feels just a bit affronted that the woman hadn't even stayed long enough to thank him for his help. He'd been wounded in her name, after all, a name he doesn't even know. He'd taken one look at the cut, grimacing at the sight, and decided that in spite of his stubborn urge to ignore it, the wound needed care.
It comes as no surprise to him that Fili is the first he'd go to for this sort of thing, his brother had always been the one to mend his lesser wounds in the Ered Luin or fetch Oin for the ones he could not properly dress on his own. Their mother, though fretting, would allow it without much other fuss, if only because in his younger years, Kili would screech and writhe unless he'd been under the attentive care of his older brother. Still, he thinks as he waits for the elevator to take him to their floor, he could have gone to Tauriel and kept mum about this entire incident.
But he'd promised no more lies and so, he walks through the door, smiling from ear to ear to distract from the primary reason he's entered so hastily.
"Not busy were you, Fee?" he asks cheerfully, unbuckling his belt and letting it fall loose to the floor, though he makes no effort to hide his wound. His brother has always had a knack for spotting his vulernabilities, after all. "I'd hate to be the cause of a ruined evening."
Walking back toward Candlewood, Kili wonders why, indeed, he'd chosen to text his brother (Time for a quick chat?) this evening when he knows very well what will come of the conversation, which is to say nothing but overreactions and Thorin-like huffs of frustration. Courage isn't the only thing either of them had inherited from their uncle, after all. Kili can already anticipate Fili's reaction when he walks through the door, a casual smile in greeting that will quickly give way to comically widened eyes at the sight of the blood soaking through Kili's torn clothing.
The wound isn't dire, though Kili has a fairly skewed vision of dire now that he's already been killed once, a mere cut to his side that had been a result of his own foolishness. He'd left his apartment this evening on what he'd convinced himself would be a lovely, quiet stroll, though he'd armed himself with one knife in each boot and another attached to his belt. He would have brought his bow and arrow but that, he'd decided, would be less justifiable.
He'd come across, as he'd privately hoped, a certain bit of a panic in an alleyway as he'd neared Petros Park--a vampire attacking a young, blonde woman who had reminded him very much of Beth, aside from her muffled cries for help as the creature had aimed to sink its fangs into her neck. As he plans on telling his brother, he'd had no choice but to intervene. He's only gone wrong briefly, taking his eyes off his opponent with his knife wielded in front of him to check on the poor woman, and the vampire had wrenched it from his hand before parrying forward with a swipe of its wrist.
Kili hadn't cried out, for which he is proud, but even after he'd pulled his second knife from his boot to dispose of the creature, he must now admit that he feels just a bit affronted that the woman hadn't even stayed long enough to thank him for his help. He'd been wounded in her name, after all, a name he doesn't even know. He'd taken one look at the cut, grimacing at the sight, and decided that in spite of his stubborn urge to ignore it, the wound needed care.
It comes as no surprise to him that Fili is the first he'd go to for this sort of thing, his brother had always been the one to mend his lesser wounds in the Ered Luin or fetch Oin for the ones he could not properly dress on his own. Their mother, though fretting, would allow it without much other fuss, if only because in his younger years, Kili would screech and writhe unless he'd been under the attentive care of his older brother. Still, he thinks as he waits for the elevator to take him to their floor, he could have gone to Tauriel and kept mum about this entire incident.
But he'd promised no more lies and so, he walks through the door, smiling from ear to ear to distract from the primary reason he's entered so hastily.
"Not busy were you, Fee?" he asks cheerfully, unbuckling his belt and letting it fall loose to the floor, though he makes no effort to hide his wound. His brother has always had a knack for spotting his vulernabilities, after all. "I'd hate to be the cause of a ruined evening."
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He is eighty-two years old and has gotten fairly good at sitting and waiting by virtue of necessity, but he still hates it all the same.
Kíli enters the room with a broad smile that draws an answering grin from him despite his worry. "Nothing that couldn't wait," he says, and then his eyes narrow as he takes in the blood-stained gash in his brother's clothing. "Nadad, what happened?" Kíli looks to be fine, but as the black arrow proved, that means absolutely nothing.
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