Cha'Druku's shout, sudden as a thunderclap, made Jayari's heart leap into her throat. "Hey—!" she started, but she cut off with a yelp and a flinch as he knocked the chakram from her hand. It flew from her, thunking against the wall.
And it was only when she noticed it sparking and crackling ominously that she realized the danger she'd been in.
She stared at it, wide-eyed, heart hammering away, everything she had been about to shout at him dead on her tongue as Cha'Druku scolded her. That was...lightning?
And he was saying she could have been—?
A white-hot flash of pain seared across her palm, cutting off her thoughts, and Cha'Druku's rant suddenly reduced to background noise. Grimacing, Jayari glanced down at her hand—and her breath hissed out through her teeth. Her hand was gashed open, a good, deep cut, and blood was dripping everywhere.
Which she was just certain Cha'Druku would love.
Clutching it with her other hand, she squeezed it tight in an effort to staunch the bleeding and shot the man an sheepish look when he noticed her predicament.
"...Sorry," she muttered, shoulders hunched as she ducked her face away from him to hide the color rising in her cheeks. "I seriously just thought you were being a dick." She winced at her own words. "Er, yeah. Guess I deserved that."
With a deflated sigh of her own, she sank down onto her knees at his table, still holding her hand cradled against her chest. "Anyway, uh, no. Never had stitches. Broke my wrist if that counts?"
Oh, she really didn't like where this was going, and she did not like the look of that sewing kit. She chewed her lip, nodding at it.
"Surely that's not necessary."