apathy's like a wound in salt. [torrence]

Perdita wasn't sure how much longer she could do this.

Today had given her whiplash as they bounced from happy to anger and back again. He'd stormed out hours earlier and left her in the living room, reeling. She didn't know why they'd fought but this seemed normal for them now. All she'd done was ask an innocent question - did he want to come to a wedding with her?

That was it. Perdita hadn't asked Torrence to be her boyfriend. She hadn't asked him to hold her hand and play nice. Hell, she hadn't even asked him to meet her mum. All she needed was a buffer, someone she could stand next to and (hopefully) cause the questions about her personal life to cease. It wasn't even a date. All he had to do was wear a suit, maybe dance with her once or twice and then they could get pissed off the free bar and stumble home. No strings, no commitments, no pressure.

But she was pressuring him, apparently. The events played out in her head in slow motion as she paced the length of her living room, chewing her thumbnail anxiously. She supposed she could go with someone else. Maybe she could go out and find someone. Maybe she could ask Mary to borrow someone from her department for the night. That wasn't the point, though. The point was that she wanted to go with him, the dickhead.

The clock on the mantelpiece struck the hour and Perdy jumped in shock. She squinted at the time and was dismayed to see that it was after two in the morning and she'd been pacing for over an hour without realising it and a sudden thought struck her - bollocks to all of this.

Perdita stepped into the hall and shoved her feet into her heels before apparating to Dublin. How dare he? She knew that Torrence's idea of keeping a promise was not sticking his dick into a random woman for a couple of hours if she asked nicely but if they wanted this to work, to keep this going, they needed to work together.

It looked like it had been raining in the Irish capital as the streetlights shimmered in the puddles. In her haste, she'd forgotten her jacket, so she shoved her hands into the pockets of her trousers , her head down as she walked the empty streets quickly. Perdita was angry and she was offended. They got along just fine but he couldn't stomach an evening celebrating her cousin's wedding with her? It was the ideal hunting ground for him. He could hit on whomever he wanted, even though the idea made her sick.

She jogged up the steps to his flat and knocked on the door, letting out a  huff of annoyance that ruffled her hair. "Torrence," Perdy called as she knocked again. "I know you're home," she rolled her eyes. "I can see the light on," she looked over her shoulder before facing forward as the door swung open. "Honestly, if you'd stop being such a little bitch about everything, I --"

Her bright eyes widened. "Jesus," she whispered as her eyes tracked across his face as she stood in the doorway, her mouth agape. His eye was bruised and turning purple, his lip was split and swollen, his knuckles were bloody. "What the fuck happened to your face?"


@Torrence Regan

"What did you just call me?" Torr asked, his voice hard and unamused with an edge of exhausation as he swung open the door and scowled at her. Actually, nix that. He didn't want to scowl because the expression pulled at his temples and he could feel the sting of a cut there, still leaking. Shit. Just another thing to add to his fucking laundry list of cuts and bruises and what he considered paltry injuries that he had earned himself tonight.

He wasn't quite sure how the day had turned to shit so quickly. It had seemed like he and Perdy had gotten into a rhythm - not a good one maybe, but at least not bad - especially after their last huge fight, where he had convinced her to try it his way again. No commitment, no labels, just existing in what they were when they were together and not worrying about what they were when they weren't. It was Torr's modus operandi except she had to go and fuck it up with requests like him going to her cousin's wedding. Apparently a 'no thanks' wasn't good enough for her and he didn't feel the need to explain himself either.

Why would he subject himself to such public scrutiny from both her family and his just at attend a wedding of some person he didn't even care about? Him going to a wedding with her, as her date, would be like putting a target on his back for the next 3-5 years as they asked when (not if) they were going to get married, when the engagement was going to be, how his relatives would probably approve of the match just because of Perdita's last name and the amount of galleons in her vault at Gringotts, questions about when they were having children and how many (preferably 2-4). It was just a shit storm waiting to happen and Torr wasn't much into self-sacrifice so her question and then her follow up requests pissed him off as quick as he could blink.

The worst fucking part was that a tiny bit of him did want to go with her. Well, not really to a wedding, Merlin, they were so boring, but he did like to take her out. It was a party that he had met her in that favorite backless red dress and he still remembered the way her eyes had glittered at him. He hated that she made him question every single thing he thought he wanted so instead of debating whether or not he should be less of a dickhead and consider going with her, he went to Grimli instead and used every inch of indecision, anger, and frustration out on someone else.

And Torr had taken his licks too.

He couldn't tell if he was worse off than usual or if Perdy just wasn't used to seeing him this bad after a fight, but her expression as she took his injuries made him sigh. "What do you think happened," he asked before he turned on his heel, leaving her at the open door and padding barefoot back to his kitchen with its dark cabinets and dark marble countertops where a variety of his usual post-fight supplies were laid out. Picking up the small circular hand mirror he used as a visual check for when he healed facial wounds, he could see why she was shocked. He was a mess, but as he settled into one of the high top chairs, he winced, feeling a sharp pain along his right side and in the joint of his left shoulder that always bothered him. Shit, not again.

"What do you want, Perdita," he said without looking at her as he sipped at a glass of vodka, neat, gathering the strength he could so he could patch himself up.

"A little bitch," Perdita repeated to him, though her voice was lacking the edge it had when she was calling him it through the front door. She shouldn't have come here tonight. Torrence needed to lick his wounds and sulk and do whatever it was he did when he was annoyed - her eyes flicked down to his split lip - and that was getting into fights. She also shouldn't have asked him to accompany her to an event. Then again, if she asked someone else and he'd found out, he'd be even more angry. She suddenly decided, as she stood in Torrence's doorway, that she was just going to go by herself, humiliation be damned.

"It looks like you got seven shades of shit kicked out of you," Perdita called after Torrence's retreating back before she heaved an irritated sigh. Him leaving the door open wasn't quite an invitation but it certainly wasn't him telling her to leave. Hesitating, she finally stepped inside and closed the door behind her softly before she followed him.

Uncomfortably, Perdy stood a polite distance from him, hands clasped in front of her. Her eyes looked around the kitchen that she loved so much. Torr didn't cook but she was relieved to see a distinct lack of take out containers littering the place. For a very brief moment some months earlier, she'd debated on the idea of making him dinner before she shot that down real quick. Imagine. That felt too much like dating. She cleared her throat.

"I came to apologise," she confessed to Torrence, straight to the point. "And to see if you were alright." There was a pause. "Which you are," she tacked on to the end as she stepped closer.

At the sink, she picked up a cloth and ran it under the cold tap before wringing it out. She stood closer. "Come here," she coaxed him, a hand underneath his chin to force his head up so he could look at her, despite her own gaze focused on his cuts. Delicately, Perdita dabbed at the cut on the side of his head that was still bleeding and tried her best not to let her concern show. "Sorry," she whispered, just in case it hurt.

"Is this what you do, then?" Perdy asked conversationally, her hand leaving Torrence's chin so she could brush his hair back from his face as she tended to the wound with surprisingly gentleness. "Get yourself into a fight whenever we have one?"

It looks like you got seven shades of shit kicked out of you. He didn't even bother looking at her. Or responding. The words bouncing off his back, but seemed to rattle about his in head anyway, reminding him of how bad she thought he looked. Was it that bad? He did feel worse than normal, but a tiny part of him had wanted it, had wanted the pain as a distraction, as an outlet, as something to replace the doubt and indecision and frustration he didn't know what to do with. He heard rather than saw her close his door and there was a second where he wondered if she had just left him in his misery. But then he heard her following.

He again refused to look at her as she cleared her throat, clearly asking for attention, but he wasn't much in to being acquiescent tonight. Her grabbed his wand, taking a steadying breath, before he brought it up to heal the cut at his temple and he stilled. "Why?" he asked, his tone harsher than he perhaps meant it to be, his one word reply to her statement of apology. It did occur to him that she came to apologize, but hadn't actually done so, a point he might have reminded her of if he had been in a different mood. But all he could feel was exhaustion and irritation at her words. "I'm fine," he told her dully. Nothing he couldn't handle. He'd faced worse and usually he went to Ness to heal him up when he was this bad, but he felt like wallowing in the little reminders of how fucked up he was in the head so fuck anyone that tried to tell him different.

Torr felt her cool hands beneath his chin and he resisted for a moment before he forced his shoulders away from his ears and he looked at her, their gazes level with each other as he sat in the chair in front of her. He winced, creasing and squinting his eyes as she dabbed at the cut, but stayed mostly still beneath her touch. The gentleness she was showing him made something dark and twisted turn in his stomach, like he was getting closer and closer to something he knew he couldn't have but wanted anyway. And that thought made him fucking angry. "Why the fuck do you care," he bit out even as he felt her fingers in his hair, even as he was regretting his lack of impulse control one nanosecond later.

He sighed and put a hand on her hip, not wanting her to leave yet just in case she thought that was an option and he waited for her to start again with the dab and clean routine before he even chanced another response. "Thought it might help," he said, his voice sardonic at the end. He didn't consider himself a fucking moron most days, but today wasn't one of them. He wasn't sure he had done anything helpful today other than pouring that glass of vodka.

Perdita didn't think she deserved to be frozen out like this. She'd made a mistake, big deal, she was sure not to make the same one again. Torrence's monosyllabic response made her blink in mild surprise. "Because - stop moving - I wanted to," she told him flatly, growing impatient at his refusal to co-operate with her. She was trying to help, not make things worse. "And I'm trying this new open and honest outlook on life," Perdy announced before she wrinkled her nose in derision. She didn't elaborate. The last thing she wanted Torrence to know was that she was reading a self help book; she'd gone from trying to "fix" him to trying to fix herself instead. It was a better use of her time.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable or angry," she finally admitted. She wondered sometimes if Torrence was embarrassed by her but that couldn't be it because they went out all the time. His head was a mess and it was contagious. Perdy had tried to move on but she kept coming back. She knew she'd have to settle down eventually - get married, have kids, move to the country, get a labrador, swap her heels for wellies - but she didn't once say that she wanted all that with him. He didn't have a reason to be mad at her.

Torrence snapped at her and she paused, the rag half way to his face before she sighed heavily. "We're friends, right?" Perdy asked as she pressed the damp towel back to his face with more force than necessary. She didn't think they were "friends" but she didn't know what else she could call them. Booty calls? Fuck buddies? Acquaintances that sometimes took each other's clothes off?

Perdita shrugged, as though Torrence's question wasn't a heavy one. "I just do," she answered him finally. "Probably the same reason you took me to Singapore for my birthday." Maybe caring wasn't the correct word to use. "I definitely worry about you," she told him as she refused to meet his eye, moving instead to sponging the gash in his eyebrow before the touch at her waist made her stop again.

Unable to help herself, she let out a snort of laughter, her eyes wide in disbelief. "And did it?" Perdita asked him, her eyebrows arched, already knowing the answer. Her touch was soft as she cupped the side of his face, the fingers of her other hand very gently sliding across the bruised skin of his cheekbone, her eyes watching her fingers. They couldn't keep doing this. Torrence hated the touchy-feely and Perdita hated it too. It just...kept happening.

"You could just talk to me," Perdy ventured as her fingers moved across his jawline, stopping at the cut in his lip. Talking wasn't their modus operandi. It wasn't how they worked. They did everything else but talk, which was possibly why this sort of thing kept happening. Perdy slid her thumb beneath his lower lip before catching herself and quickly stepping back to clear her throat, dazed. "Drink the rest of that," she told him as she nodded to the vodka. "Because this is going to hurt," she warned him as she brandished her wand. 

Torr scoffed and then scoffed again, the noise like gravel in his throat. Open and honest outlook? Fuck that. Hoped she didn't expect the same from him because whatever skills made someone good at that shit, he clearly hadn't been born with them. The apology she actually gave him wasn't what he expected and he glared at her for it. "You didn't," he said defensively, his tone hard yet evasive, black ice on a dark street. Uncomfortable? Hell no. Angry? Well, he couldn't exactly argue that one.

As she pressed hard, he winced and cursed under his breath, the pain radiating from the cut and he grabbed her hand with the towel, squeezing it hard for a second in warning before letting it go. "Friends?" he repeated darkly. "I think we're a little more than friends, Red," Torr said even though it edged on a topic of conversation he would hex himself if they got into. He did not want to get into the labels thing again. How many times could they rehash the same thing. He wouldn't change, he couldn't.

Mentioning Singapore only made him feel worse. Like she would always be comparing anything he did to that one nice weekend, impossible standards he had set for himself. He wondered why the fuck he had even done it and at the same time, wondered if he could get a portkey there now. It had just been them, in Singapore for the whole weekend, in his flat that he hadn't shown anyone else, in a city that didn't know him, and it had been surprisingly nice. And the things that she had done to him in bed...

"Worry about me?" He looked at her squarely, surprise and disbelief coloring his expression, noting with frustration that she refused to meet his gaze, squinting one eye as she moved to another cut above his eye. He worried her? Torr shook his head, bemused. "You don't need to worry about me, Red, that's ridiculous," he summed up neatly. No one needed to fucking worry about him, least of all her. Her snort ripped his amusement from him and even though he could see the humor in his idle confession, he bristled at it when it came from her. He would have rubbed his head like he usually did when he was feeling drained except she was still dabbing at his gashes.

Torr gave her a steely look in response to her question. The answer was obvious and her fingers felt cool on his cheeks. He stared up at her, tracing the line of her jaw, her lips. He hadn't expected her to be here and yet.. he wasn't sure what he could say to make her stay. Her suggestion had him shaking his head resolutely, the idea off the table before he could even blink. "I hate talking," he told her glumly, even though she had to know it. Besides, what the fuck would he say. Something else to send her stomping out, something else that would lead to another fight. He felt her moving back and he clutched at her hip without thinking before realizing what she was going to do.

He grabbed at her wand hand, his fingers shackling her wrist and shook his head at her. "Oh no you don't," he said, pushing her wand tip away from him. He hadn't let anyone else heal him in years, well except Nessa and she didn't count. Who said he wanted them healed anyway. And besides, she was playing a good game now, being all worried and new outlook on life, but who knew if she just wanted to hex him into next week. Hell, he had even deserved it, but he wasn't sure he wanted to take that chance. 

"Okay," Perdita said softly, accepting what Torrence had said with a casual shrug. She didn't want a fight and she was actively avoiding it. If he wasn't upset, he wasn't upset. But it still didn't explain why he'd flown off the handle. She didn't believe that she was the first woman to make a mistake when it came to him. She hadn't meant anything by it. "That's good," she added as she swiped the towel over his eyebrow. "But you've got to realise that I wasn't trying to date you," she explained simply. "I just needed someone as a buffer." If things got really bad, she supposed she could ask Charlie. Ella would be thrilled.

"Ow," she hissed as Torrence almost crippled her hand in his grip and she immediately relented the pressure on his skin, looking down at him as he released her hand. She supposed they were "more than friends", whatever that horrid American term meant. Labels were never healthy and after that argument concerning them, she hadn't tried to rationalise their relationship. It was messed up. Intense, passionate, wild and ultimately, unsustainable.

"If you say so," she settled on with a nod, keen not to argue. With Torrence, often the path of least resistance was easier. If he was right, he was happy. They had a thing. They could always refer to them as that. Perdita had suffered sleepless nights over the definition of what they were. Ultimately, nothing really fit. They were basically boyfriend and girlfriend but neither of them wanted that.

Ridiculous? She sighed. "I agree," she said quickly as she moved to press the cool towel against his bruised skin, the pressure light. "It annoys me as much as it annoys you," Perdita replied lightly. She'd be less stressed if he stopped going to underground boxing matches and coming back looking god awful all the time. His poor mum must be beside herself constantly. Resolutely avoiding his gaze, she went about tending to his wounds as best she could, already feeling like she'd lost the advantage.

This wasn't a game. It never had been a game but she couldn't help but feel like they were playing each other.

Torrence hated talking and she smiled. "Me too," she admitted. "But if it stops this happening," she went on, gesturing to his face, "Maybe you should try." Perdy had more chance of getting blood out of a stone than to get Torrence Regan to open up. All of this was avoidable. He was stubborn. Angry, closed off, highly strung. Her eyes flicked over his face again and she folded her lips together into a thin line. "You have to make an effort," she told Torr plainly as she stopped cleaning his cuts momentarily. "Meet me halfway."

But he lunged at her and her eyes widened as he shackled her wrist, her wand falling to the floor with a clatter. "What?" Perdita asked in confusion, her body tense as she took an automatic half-step backwards in fright. "Come on," she let out a soft laugh. "I'm not going to transfigure you into a mouse or anything," though the idea was not a bad one. "Relax," she told Torrence. "I promise I won't hex "dickhead" into your forehead." She couldn't, however, promise she wouldn't write something else instead.

She stared down at him, her free hand resting on his shoulder for support. "Let go," she stated calmly as she wiggled her fingers of the wrist he was holding on to. "At least let me get some ice," she ventured as she focused on the bruise that was turning an angry shade of purple as she stepped back and tugged at his hold.

He didn't want to be a fucking buffer, that was the problem. And he hated the way she said she didn't want to date him even though that's exactly what he's been asking of her this whole time. Fucking hell. He felt like his head was all tangled up and he couldn't sort out which way was up. He frowned as she complained and he immediately softened his grip, glancing down at her small hand in his before releasing it. "Sorry," he mumbled and maybe he meant it for more than just that.

Why was everything she was saying feel so grating. Her If you say so felt like a slap or maybe more of a disappointment? He felt himself looking for another fight even though he was exhausted from the physical one. They were familiar territory though, easy for him to slide into, and he hated that she seemed immune. He sunk further into his glumness, wincing again as she moved the towel against some bruising under his eye, but reveling in the pain because it rooted him right to the spot, right in the current moment.

"Then why do it," he asked, a question but not a question on why she worried about him. Why she would even bother. It's not like he didn't know exactly what he was doing, exactly what he was expecting from a visit to Grimli. Well, he usually came out better than he had tonight, but there was always this chance. He didn't like the idea that she sat round her apartment worrying over him, but why?

Why would he try, what was the point. Torr bounced his leg against the bottom rung of the bar stool, irritation flooding through him. "Maybe I don't care if it keeps happening," he threw at her quietly. He had never been careful with himself. Did she think he was going to start now just because she said so? Her telling him he had to make an effort made his brows fly up and another sting of pain radiate across his face. Disbelief, irritation, something else altogether flickered across his face before he shook his head. "And why would I do that," he offered instead. Hadn't she listened the last time he had told her he was no good at this? Why was she so determined to change him?

Her wand clattered to the floor between them and he saw something in her eyes he didn't like so he let her wrist go even though he liked the contact. "And how am I supposed to know that?" he asked as he settled back on the bar stool, thinking it would be the perfect revenge for her to stamp dickhead on his forehead like she mentioned. She'd probably be justified in it too. "Fine," he muttered as the sudden expenditure of energy made him sag a little more against the counter and he realized his side was aching more than it should. His shoulder too. He simply watched as she went to get ice and couldn't help but wonder why she was still here, why she put up with all of this bullshit.

Every one of his questions felt loaded. Perdita didn't think there was a right answer to any of them. If she told the truth, he'd have laughed. If she lied, he'd get mad. She didn't say anything for a little while as she dutifully pressed the towel to the areas of his face that looked the worse before meeting his gaze.

"If you think I could stop it," she went on, uncomfortable at the notion of being honest, despite telling Torrence that it was her new life mantra. "I wouldn't?" Perdy asked, looking and sounding distraught. This wasn't what she wanted. She wanted sex and laughter and maybe the ocassional dinner. Things had warped and morphed over the last year, landing her in a place where she didn't want to be. Torrence couldn't honestly think that she, in any way shape or form, was enjoying this or this was somehow her grand scheme.

It was a lost cause and she sighed gently. There wasn't a point in trying to change his mind, so she simply nodded. "Fine," she answered shortly. "But don't be using me or your own inability to sort your shit out as an excuse." Perdy didn't want to go back to Grimli, despite actually having a good time when she'd gone, but gosh, how long was that now? Three years? And look where they were now; not talking in his kitchen. She wanted to slap herself.

Pressing gently the towel against his forehead, she offered Torrence a wan smile. There. That was it. That was all she needed to know. Perdita had always known that she liked him more than he liked her but it was painful to have the facts all laid out in front of her. "If you wanted to, you would have," she replied simply. Her tone was level and was not accusatory. She wasn't mad, just...disappointed. A spark of clarity made her blink - what the fuck did she actually think was going to happen?

Distracted, she glanced at Torrence and then away, struggling to keep a grip on her emotions before she laughed. She grinned, genuinely tickled by his comment. "Come off it," she shook her head. "How long have you known me?" She asked Torrence. "Have I ever lied to you?"

Once free, she padded across the kitchen, thankful for the space so she could finally breathe. Torrence had ice cubes but not an ice pack and after a bit of rummaging, extracted a bag of frozen stir fry vegetables. She turned to face him, her eyebrows raised in question as to why he'd have such a thing in his freezer. It was either an oversight or he'd been trying to impress someone once upon a time.

Perdy wrapped it in a clean towel and stepped closer, holding out the little parcel to him before moving away, hands on her hips as she surveyed the shelves. If the atmosphere was different, Perdita might have offered to massage his shoulder. "Where are your pain potions?" She asked, knowing he must have some because his job was to actually make them.  She was half expecting Torrence to refuse and marinate in his misery but if he picked that choice, she needed to leave. As she waited, she moved around the kitchen, curiously opening and closing drawers with a thoughtful expression on her face. He had a pineapple corer. Who would have thought it.

He had ignored them before, but warning bells sounded distantly in his mind, moving ever closer, and he couldn't help but feel it was somehow wrong that she worried over him. He didn't like it. It didn't sit well on his shoulders. He rolled them back and bit back a sharp gasp as he got reacquainted with the lingering pain in his left shoulder. Shit.

Her accusation of using excuses felt like another sharp jab and hell, if this was the verbal equivalent of Grimli, Torr knew he wouldn't last long in the ring. He didn't want her to be right, but he knew she definitely wasn't wrong and he bit back the retort he had on the tip of his tongue, telling himself it was only because her hands felt cool and nice against his skin, a momentary pleasure he allowed himself before some wrong comment or remark he said would send her running.

But maybe that smile she gave him, weak and wan and not at all real, was the real kick to the ass. He hated that expression on her face even as he knew he had wanted to hurt her, had wanted to remind her of exactly how little he could give her and yet still wanted her to come back. But didn't. Shit, he was so fucked up. He glanced away from her, not wanting to see that expression anymore as his leg jiggled up and down on the rung of the bar stool.

At the flash of her grin, he glanced back. There was his Red, no not his. Fuck. He was distracted that he took a beat longer to reply than usual. How long had he known her? Four, five years? He decided not to answer that one and gave a little shrug instead with his good shoulder. "Yes, Red, you have," he told her, brows perked, but no judgement. No censure. He had lied too. Plenty of times, not that he wanted to get into that. But the question he had wasn't of knowing, it was of trusting. He watched as she moved around the kitchen he barely used with ease and grace. Seeing her pull out a bag of-- what was that, oh --vegetables and the look she gave him made him smirk.

"What?" he replied to her silent question. "I cook," he said defensively. "Sometimes." Three to four times every two months could be considered sometimes right? She wrapped it neatly in one of his dark towels that hide the blood better, but moved away too quickly for his liking. Torr watched her as he brought up the cool pack, wincing as he held it against his face, trying to cover the most amount of area as possible. His skin stung against the cold, numbing soon enough as he watched her bustle about his kitchen.

"I don't need them, I'll just take some bliss," he murmured, favoring the drug he made himself that helped the pain (physical, mental, and emotional) all float away from him. "What are you looking for?" he asked after a beat, not minding her nosiness for once. Perhaps because it was his kitchen and she seemed more at home here than he did.

At the gasp, Perdita's eyes widened, a wince in sympathy followed. She surveyed Torrence. He looked awful. She didn't attend his fights any more and she had no idea whether or not this was a regular outcome for him but goodness. "You should have had a bath," she informed him, forcing herself to stay planted in the same spot. He looked as though he was mad every time she came running to his aid, so she made a conscious effort to take a step back.

"Or a hot shower," she went on. "Muscles love heat," Perdy nodded sagely. She'd started running again and had bumped into a nice young man in the park who had informed her of the benefits, despite her realising his intention might have been to get into said shower with her. If Torrence had decided to stew in his misery for a bit longer, that was his issue. She was only trying to help.

Perdita looked at the ceiling as she scratched the back of her neck. It was clear to her that she'd outstayed her welcome but leaving wasn't an option but she came back to Earth with a bump. "Have I?" She asked in mild surprise, her eyebrows lifting. She supposed she had lied - being busy when she wasn't, pretending she wasn't home when she clearly was, saying she wasn't upset when she was in turmoil, that sort of thing - but she gave a quick shrug. "I guess we're even."

The mood lifted somewhat though and she scoffed, though not derisively. "You do?" She questioned, her head tilted. Most of the mens' houses she'd been in, a lot of them didn't own a vegetable, let alone a whole bag of them. "Like what?" Perdita asked, wondering if she should be offended that Torrence hadn't cooked her anything before firmly deciding that no, she shouldn't.

As she peered around the kitchen, she looked over her shoulder as he stated he'd rather take bliss. "And where's that kept?" She asked conversationally, managing not to pull a face or sigh. If that was Torrence's poison of choice, then so be it. It really wasn't any of her business. She had no idea what went into the potion and after sampling some of Torrence's clientele up in Edinburgh, she never wanted to find out. She was sure he was very good at his job but she'd seen him when he'd been high, some months earlier, when he'd turned up at her home. But he was right; worrying about him was ridiculous.

"Hm?" Perdita asked as she glanced over at him. "Nothing," she replied innocently. "I'm just snooping while you're incapaciated," she joked - sort of. She was hungry, she hadn't eaten most of the day. She'd been too angry to eat dinner. She moved further away, her fingers sliding casually along the countertops before she went to the sink and filled up a glass of water.

Perdy took a sip from the glass before moving back towards Torrence. Wordlessly, she placed the glass down next to him, a nonverbal cue for him to drink it. "Are you hungry?" It didn't matter that it was two in the morning. At the rate Torrence was going, he'd be drunk and or high within the next hour. She could just roll him in his sheets and leave him to sleep it off.

With her arms folded across her chest, she let out a forlorn sigh as she surveyed him, resting casually against the fridge door. "What am I going to do with you?" She joked with a small smile, shaking her head as she brushed her hair away from her forehead. "How did your fight go?" She asked conversationally, despite already knowing the answer by the injured he'd suffered. "Want me to ruin him financially for you? I know some people." She offered with an easy smile.

"Don't look at me like that," he told her quietly, without heat in his tone, as he caught her pitying glance. Hell if that didn't want to make him go fight someone else just to show her he was absolutely fine. But he wasn't and he knew it and the thought made him want to spiral for more reasons than just the physical pain he was forcing himself through. At her mention of a bath or shower, he met her gaze, a tired smirk appearing on his lips. "Only if you'll join me," he said, his voice lending to the lasciviousness that felt like familiar territory, as he purposefully mistook what she was suggesting.

Torr moved the pseudo ice pack to the other side of his face, feeling prickles as the coolness seeped into his skin as he watched surprise color her features. Did she not think she had lied to him? If there was one universal truth he knew, it was that everyone lied. She was doing it to herself right now: lying to herself for thinking he could be something he wasn't capable of. Yet he didn't want to mention it right now in case she walked right out the door, even though he knew deep down that's exactly what she should do.

I guess we're even. He gave her a slow nod. He was lying to himself too, thinking that she would be okay with this agreement that he had convinced her on after their last big fight. He knew it couldn't last and yet he didn't want to let go just yet.

The Regan sighed as he glanced away from her, down at his free hand, the worst of his cuts on his knuckles still oozing and he reminded himself not to shrug because of his fucking shoulder. So instead he was quiet for a moment before he gave her, "I dunno, chicken stir fry, pot roast. It's not that often." His kitchen looked immaculate but only because it was mostly untouched, his fridge virtually empty except for some left over take out containers and beer.

"I'll get it," he told her as she asked more about bliss. "When I want it." His entire stash was in a magically locked cabinet that only he could open and while most of it was bliss, there were also some other things in there that he didn't want her to see, darker parts of his business, of him, that he didn't want her to know about.

See? She admitted herself that she was snooping so it made him doubly glad he hadn't told her about the bliss. He eyed the glass as she set it down in front of him and arched one brow before the pain of it made him winced and he cut out that shit real quick even as he stubbornly refused to drink the glass. Why did his mouth feel dry all of a sudden then? He shook his head even as his stomach grumbled. As she asked her blasé 'What am I going to do with you?' question Torr just smiled at her in a small way and decided, hell with it. He grabbed the glass and chugged it, looking at her over the rim, before setting it down empty on the counter and grimacing about the fight.

"About as well as you'd expect. Apparently I was a little distracted tonight," he said pinning her with a look before he shook his head at her offer. "Kind but I think I'll get my revenge all on my own," he promised, already thinking of when he could get back to Grimli to reclaim his dignity.

Without changing her expression and with his insistence, Perdita simply diverted her gaze past his shoulder. This was tiring, it really was. When Torr was up, he was the man of her dreams but when he was down, he was an abominable little shit. Absently, she scratched her nose before she let out a snort of laughter. "I will," she began. "If you can reach up to turn the water on without groaning in pain." She levelled with him. A shower would be good for him. A change of clothes, too. He had blood on him but Perdy wasn't sure if it was his own or his opponent's.

She slipped her hands into her trouser pockets as she rested against one of the counters. "Oh, I like chicken stir fry," she told Torrence conversationally as she blew a stray lock of her hair out of her face, the picture of ease. It wasn't an invitation for him to cook for her, or vice versa. Small talk came easy to her but doing it with him almost felt...inappropriate.

She turned her head quickly as Torrence insisted that he'd get his potions himself and she blinked impassively. "Of course," she acquiesced. How silly was she to think she had free roam of his flat? It was her own fault. She'd seemingly forgotten about how she'd almost got herself cursed the last time they'd met one of his "clients". She hadn't asked to accompany him anywhere since.

His refusal to drink the water made her roll her eyes expressively. Was she smothering him, by getting him a glass of water? Was she somehow overbearing, encroaching in his space, like he often did hers? Maybe he didn't want to be helped but something made her come here tonight. Whether it was genuine concern for his safety or her misguided guilt, she wasn't certain. However, her lips relaxed into a smile as Torr finally drank. "Good boy," she teased.

His next comment made her arch an eyebrow. "I sincerely hope you're not insinuating that I had anything to do with this?" Perdita asked him, affronted. If he'd simply handled their disagreement like a decent human being and not like a raging bull, they could be having sex right now and not acting like strangers in his kitchen. But of course, he was handling this on his own.

Perdy should have known. They weren't a thing - partners, a team, even friends - as she glanced at him. "Sounds like fun," Perdy replied, making it sound like it was anything but. Did she want to come and watch? Of course she did. It was a surprise to her to find out that she enjoyed bare knuckle fighting as much as she did. She couldn't say she wanted to go because that'd go against whatever messed up game they were playing with each other.

"Good luck." she announced and she meant it. Torrence hated losing so she could only imagine what he'd been like the moment he got home. If he managed to book a rematch, it'd be explosive. "Come on," she announced abruptly, motioning for Torrence to stand up. "I'm going to run the bath for you," she went on. "Then you're going to get into some clean clothes, have another vodka and then go to bed."

"Deal," he said easily, feigning confidence he didn't feel. Maybe if he had some bliss and healed the cracked rib he feared he had, he could take on her little challenge and win. Or he'd just find a way to convince her otherwise. He was usually pretty good at that, but the energy for all of that wasn't something he knew he had in him tonight.

Torr nodded at her mention of chicken stir fry and met her gaze, questions circling round his head, but he refused to give weight to them. "You'd like the pot roast too," he told her before he could stop himself and then wanted to punch himself in the nuts for saying it. He hadn't meant it as an invitation and even if he did like the idea of cooking for her, having her eat something he made for her, he couldn't deny that that felt too much like something more. Torr wasn't really good at more.

The glass made a hollow sound as it clinked against his dark countertops and he met her gaze with a smirk. Good boy? "Piss off," he told her with a shake of his head, but his tone was light, absent of the anger that phrase usually held for him. Her taking offense to the reality of the situation made him sigh as he shifted the cool pack again to the other side of his face. "I am, you do," he answered simply. They had gotten in an argument, he had gone to Grimli, and it was still on his mind. Therefore, distraction. It was simple. "You can come watch next time," he offered but then backtracked. "But don't pull the shit you did last time," he said with a hard look, remembering her with fucking Riley White.

As she flapped her hands at him, he stared at her resolutely, unmoving. Her plan was sound, but hell if he would do it just because she said so. Still... he was planning on a bath at some point when he got a semblance of his shit together to heal enough of himself so it didn't look like he was bathing in a murder scene so he just sighed as he stood, a groan of pain sounding low in his throat as he did. He was already stiff and aching, and not in the way he usually like to be. He smirked at the thought as he waved a hand at her to go first so he could walk gingerly behind her without her hopefully noticing too much. Plus, it afforded him a look at her ass in those great pants. He loved Perdy in pants.

Torr followed her into his bathroom, the tile cool beneath his feet, as he leaned against the sink for support as she drew the tap in his large tub that was of course big enough for two people. "Can you put some of that in?" he asked, nodding at one of the bottles on the counter. He felt quieter now, almost like the short walk here had zapped him of whatever energy he had left. "No, not that one," he murmured, and then nodded as her hand drifted toward the correct one for muscle soreness relief mixed with a light pepperup potion that might heal some of his smaller wounds. Maybe he should've just let her heal him, he thought glumly. Then again, he couldn't really reason out why she had come back at all unless she was just biding her time so she could yell at him about being such a dick earlier. Hell, he probably deserved it.

He was so stubborn. The man was in pain, she could see it on his face. Rather than ask for help, Torrence decided to flirt with her instead. Was she enjoying it? Yes. Should she probably just leave? Also yes.

"I'm sure I would," Perdita replied conversationally as she folded her arms loosely across her chest. She was very much the definition of all the gear and no idea. She had pots and pans (expensive ones) but they were  barely used. She could make beans on toast, that was enough to sustain her, but she had been trying. As much as she hated traditional gender roles, the horrid reality simply was that a man would be more willing to marry her one day if she could cook. "Write the recipe down for me," she added casually. If Perdy could end up making a roast from scratch, her mother's head would pop off.

Her plump lips twitched upwards into a smile, taking no offence before she shrugged. She shook her head gently, glossy dark locks swaying. "I definitely didn't cause this," the tall witch announced, lifting a long index finger to gesture at his face. She had made Torrence angry but she hadn't forced him to react the way he had.

"I'll think about it," came the nonchalant reply to Torr's quasi-invitation. Of course she wanted to go but she didn't want him to know what she wanted to go or...something. It made sense to her. Perdy caught his look and raised her brows. "The man or the dress?" She enquired innocently. She had turned up in a floor length gown but she'd quite forgotten about Mr. White. "Is he still fighting?" She asked, interested, before she smiled slowly. "Don't worry about it," she went on. "Nice guy. Not much of a conversationalist," Perdy concluded with a frown. She had no idea how a man who fought other men in an underground (and probably illegal) boxing den could be so boring.

If she were honest, she was expecting more of a struggle but Torrence was up and off the stool without much consternation. Turning on her heel, Perdy trotted down the dimly lit hall, pausing to politely slip off her shoes by the front door, before she climbed the stairs. Perdita liked his flat. Though decorated in a very dark and masculine style, the ceilings were high and enough light got into the place to make it feel warm. She would have had another look around whilst Torrence was sleeping but her staying the night seemed to be off the cards for a while.

The taps were on and filling the bath, looking over her shoulder at his comment. "Hm?" She asked stupidly before moving her hand to another bottle, which she opened and dumped the contents into. Her eyes went back to the previous vial and curiously, she opened it and sniffed. It smelled nice, like vanilla and a heady mix of woody and oriental scents, like sandalwood and spices. It reminded her a lot of her perfume.

Leaning over the bath, she used her left hand to swish the water, mixing it and his potion together before she looked over at him as he undressed. Perdy didn't provide him any privacy but wordlessly held her hands out for him to use if he needed help clambering into the bath. "You're sure I can't heal those for you?" She asked one last time. He looked awful, his mottled skin and bruises spreading over his rib cage and flank. She knew enough about Torrence when he was moody to realise that she needed to look away. He often said he hated the expressions she wore and so, she simply took a step back and sat cross legged on the bathroom floor and close to the bath. A moment of silence passed before she spoke again. "Why won't you let me help you?" She asked Torrence gently, trying her best to keep her face neutral because no one liked to look disappointed.