The injury to his hand had not even really registered to him. It had been an open-handed shot he’d laid on the boy, so the worn, calloused palm of his hand didn’t scream with the same pain that knuckles tended to. It was bright red, and rich with blood, but likely would go back to normal within a day or two. He found himself a bit surprised that Taische would think him hurt, but still touched that she cared enough to notice.

“The hand? It’s no big deal, kid. Should be fine. You’re right about the time; just been a long day.”

The adorable little cherub was rubbing her eyes; he was hoping that she’d look to rest or sleep, or just call an end to a day of mischief and exhaustion. She didn’t take the cheese; despite her obvious fatigue she wanted to continue on.

Shit, kid, you’re like that clock tower. Tick, tick, tick… do you ever stop?

Her little fingers wrapped around his old, vein-addled hand, and he smiled at her. Taische offered a weak smile, and Storm couldn’t discern if it was patronizing, or genuine but tired. He began to lead her out of the market at last, ahead of some of the long, stretched shadows that now began to exaggerate the features of local rooftops.

“I think your mom may be home by now, but either way I’d like to get my feet up. A tall glass of water, (and a short glass of whiskey,) and some quiet. Maybe let you practice a little with that yo-yo; think you’ve got any tricks to show me?”

Her eyes widened a bit at this, and she smiled strongly enough to show teeth. Sure, in her hands the yo-yo was a weapon of lethal magnitude, capable of concussing or killing fools that dare enter her range. At its basest level, the mighty thing was still a toy.

Without a word, the girl skipped ahead, producing the yoyo and instantly practicing for what she expected to be some showcase of just-gained skills. It was unclear to the magician if little O’Sheean had used one for years or was simply a savant with the stringed-rock, but her avarice was unmistakable.