Finishing up with the large bruise Kiel looks up with a faint smile. [i]'I'm glad he feels safe enough to tell me his name, or at least a name'[/i] He pauses slightly as he notices the boy's flushed cheeks but looks away quickly with a cough when Zach uses his first name so openly. [i]'Oh my. Seems he's done more than hear about me'[/i] Standing he turn to the young man and smiles down at him as he corrects himself. “It's alright little one. Kiel, Father, or Father Kiel are all just fine.” He chuckles slightly. “A lot of the kids call me just Kiel, though I ask that they call me at least Father Kiel when around the other clergymen.” Reaching out he pats the boy on the head affectionately, smiling warmly.

“You're hair's still a little damp.” Kiel murmurs, stepping close. Pulling the towel back up he does his best to dry the dark shaggy mop without aggravating any injuries. His fingers move slowly and gently, pressing the soft fabric close to the scalp to get the moisture hidden near the roots. The dry air for the heating grate travels from it's slot on the floor up around the table to the ceiling, creating a kind of hot down draft above the chair. Kiel can feel his body warming up under the direct heat and after a minute he drops the towel back around Zach's neck and steps back. “There you go, that should be good.” Gesturing to the pants on the back of the chair he adds, “And as soon as you slip into those you should be able to dry off the rest of the way.”

Stepping further back he looks around the room, seemingly to avert his gaze from the boy. [i]'From what he said earlier, he most likely doesn't have a crash pad. I should get the spare room ready'[/i] He glances at Zach before moving over to the doorway to the spar room. Placing his hands on either side of the door frame his shoulders slump at the amount of dust coating a few places in the room. Most importantly, the bed itself. Turning his head slightly so the youth can hear him better he says, “This is the spare room. I'd never put anyone out in this weather, and until we find out who attacked you the slums are not safe.” He turns back to the dusty bed and sighs. “It isn't much, and there's enough dust in here to gag a cockroach. . . .” He turns his head again, “But at least it's warm, and dry.” He lets out a little laugh. “Just head in here when you're done changing and I can take care of the rest of your wounds.”

With that he wanders into the room, moving aside a few stacks of books so that the path to the bed and dresser are clear. Pulling open a few dresser drawers he smiles with relief that the stock of spare clothes is still in place. Over the years Kiel has helped many teens and young adults in need, and part of that has always been providing basic necessities. Most of the kids he's dealt with lately haven't needed clothes, so he has had no need to check his stock. Shifting through the selection of t-shirts, jeans, long sleeves, and sweat pants he nods sharply in approval. “Looks like a good selection.” He murmurs, moving over to the bed. [i]'I've only had a few kids stay here before, and most were runaways wanting to go home. Last one wanted to join the clergy and now serves under Father Wraith. That was. . . . .Quite a while ago'[/i] Picking up the pillow he coughs slightly as he beats off some of the dust with his free hand. [i]'But even so, I shouldn't have let it get this bad. . .'[/i] With a sigh he sets the pillow aside and starts beating the bed itself, shaking out the covers.