Walkin' down the my street

[Oriena]

Oriena held up a silencing finger without even sparing a look in his direction.  "I wasn't taking to you, asshole."
Meanwhile her mother shuffled back to the table, eyes flitting between her daughter and the stranger in her kitchen like she was the one who had just walked into a surprising situation. Her face looked troubled, but sometimes she just needed a few more seconds to process her surroundings. 

"He carried my shopping, Ori. Away from the burning men."


Burning men. Right. Ori levelled a stare on the stranger, but not one that asked a question. The flame from his lighter danced across his fingers in a decidedly agile way; something she chose not to read a threat into. Instead it just seemed cocky, like the grin. Not a snake, then, which alleviated at least one concern, but she still didn't want a channeler around her mother.

By the twist of his lip as he spoke, either he had a problem with the way the locals treated the neighbourhood crazy, or he found fault with her bloodied face. How fucking chivalrous. But since neither was any concern of his, she ignored it in favour of dumping the gym bag at her feet, and proceeded to root in the cupboards while he talked. Two pills popped from a blister pack, then the pipes set to groaning as water spilled from the faucet. She placed the glass on the table alongside the pills, right by her mother's hand. Leaned to smooth the greying hair at her temples.

"You know you shouldn't just let people in. We talked about that."
If her voice sounded tight, it was not irritation at her; it was anger at the fucks who were supposed to be watching the door. Though she supposed all they saw was some mug conned into burdening a woman's bags. She would have to be clearer about the nature of the fucking threat.

Which just left her with the one problem. Nobody Sergeyev. After watching her mother swallow the meds, Ori wrenched open the freezer he'd had his head in, rummaged for a packet of something frozen. The ride over had been an exquisite agony; her ribs ached, her shoulder burned tender. She pressed the pack to it, winced at the sting, and - since he was in the only other chair - leaned against the counter, the cold biting through her skin. A small breeze ruffled the back of her neck. When was the last time her mother bothered to open a window?

Her eyes flicked up then, expression inscrutable. Finally absorbed the stranger, long legs stretched out like he was right at home. "Are you waiting for a medal or something, Nobody Sergeyev?"
The flicker of a smirk tipped her lips, dark as storm clouds. The power sharpened every pain, but also sent that little dancing flame up in a roar.