[i]Meanwhile, in a grounds keeper's shed...[/i]

When [color=DC381F]Brande[/color] laid his eyes on the red that coated Zanna's hand, the same shade drained from his face, and he lost his air of wild enthusiasm. 
"[color=DC381F]Right, right - Of course. Here.[/color]"
Brande took a sharp glance out through the filth-encrusted windowpane, to assure himself they were now safe, before sheathing his blade with a metallic [i]shhh...[/i] and swiping most of the clutter off of the work bench. 
Then he spoke calmly, but there was a sort of weakness to his voice: Brande felt a painful sympathy for those locked into battles they couldn't overcome with a swift blade and a witty retort. Brande had lost much in his life, but he'd always had his health.
"[color=DC381F]It isn't much, but it should do.[/color]"

He smiled at her, in a way he at least hoped was comforting. Then he reached into his bag, unfolded his shaving kit and fumbled about until he managed to take out his face cloth. It was a small patch of white, upon the corner of which was his own initials, [i]B. A.[/i], written in a red thread. It looked fairly fancy, but its value was largely sentimental. 
"[color=DC381F]And here, use this - quit ruining your dress.[/color]"
He handed it over to her, "[color=DC381F]Will you be alright?[/color]"

Zanna sat on the work bench, still coughing. She hesitated before accepting the cloth. 

"Thanks," she said, her eyes visibly watering a bit. She took a clear breath and it seemed her coughing fit had passed. Dabbing at the corners of her mouth, she sighed, "I'll be okay now... Sorry you had to see that."

Brande had motioned to say something along the lines of [i]"[color=DC381F]I'm no stranger to blood,[/color]"[/i] but caught it in his throat, upon realising it was hardly a comforting sentiment. He played it off as a cough of his own, into his balled fist. 
He settled on simply, "[color=DC381F]Don't be - I'm sorry you had to go through it. How long have you been unwell?[/color]"

Zanna looked down at her hands, twisting Brande's handkerchief around her fingers, "Since I was very young. It's gotten much worse recently. I'm... not actually supposed to be out of bed." She attempted to nervously chuckle, but it broke into small cough.

A pang of guilt ran through him, and it stung like a sword-swipe across the cheek. She wasn't meant to be out of bed, but he had her running through the streets. 
Then, he supposed, it was better that than in the bed of an orc. That might very well have killed her.
"[color=DC381F]Well then, we'll have to get you home, or at least to a nearby bed.[/color]"
Brande contemplated that for a moment, and then glanced back over his shoulder, to the shack's door, "[color=DC381F]Is there anywhere near here where you can rest?[/color]"

"I'm pretty familiar with back alleys and I don't live too far from here. It shouldn't be too hard to--"

Zanna stood from the bench, absentmindedly patting the surface beside her as she moved. A look of alarm washed over her face and her eyes quickly swept the floor. "Agh... I left it back there," she frowned, running her hand down her cheek. 

Brande quirked a brow, "[color=DC381F]Left what? Is it something important?[/color]"

"M-my slingshot...."

Brande stared at her for a moment in silence, as though he'd expected an answer with a bit more gravity behind it, and wasn't quite prepared to react to anything less.
"[color=DC381F]A... sling shot?[/color]", he asked, dazedly. Then it hit him, like a tomato to the chest.
"[color=DC381F]Ah - the slingshot you used to hit the orc, right?[/color]"

"Yeah...," Zanna's face flushed a deep shade of red, "It's... it's not actually mine. I borrowed it from someone." 

He cast a glance over his shoulder, as though he were looking back into their joint past. In the excitement, he must have missed her dropping it.
"[color=DC381F]Well, they're gonna have to find a new one - or wait a couple days, and hope it isn't stolen.[/color]"

Zanna was silent. Her eyes drifted off to the corner of the room as her mind obviously wandered, concern creasing her forehead. "I guess he's going to find out I borrowed it without asking," she chuckled uneasily, "And that I was out of bed...." 

Brande felt himself sigh internally. Why had he thought it would be as easy as saying "too bad"?
He cursed quietly at his own quixotic drive to play the swashbuckling hero: "[color=DC381F]I- Don't look so worried, alright? We'll... figure something out.[/color]"

Her eyes shifted to Brande and she stared at him. Hard. "Why did you help me out back there?" she said suddenly. Her voice was accompanied by a powerful gust of wind that caused the ivy leaves surrounding the shack to beat softly against the dirty windows. 

Startled wasn't the word, nor was bewildered. Brande suddenly felt as though he were in trouble, for doing what [i]he[/i] at least believed to be the right thing.
"[color=DC381F]A... A swordsman's code. My father's. Why else, if not to uphold virtue, amica?[/color]"

Her eyes softened into a pitying look, though whether it was pity intended for Brande or herself was less clear. "Yes, but... I'm the one that shot the tomato at that orc. You didn't need to cause yourself so much trouble." 

Brande turned his head towards the dim light of the window, and for an instant he was silent, introspective. The grim glow of sun on dirt cast lines about his face. Why [i]had[/i] he leapt to her defence?
"[color=DC381F]The orcs have taken enough. The tomato was your small act of rebellion - this was one of mine.[/color]"

"Rebellion...," Zanna pensively bit her lip as she approached the door, waiting for Brande, "You could call it that, I guess..."