The yellow splashes of light did Kain didn't little justice. In his opinion, yellow was a sickly color. Karolin was always prattling on about the symbolism of colors, and Kain had begrudgingly retained some of this knowledge. Despite his hatred for yellow - and most "happy" colors - Kain would admit that, at this moment, the sickly hue suited him. The slowly passing luminescence did more to enhance the darkness of his features, rather than illuminate his facade. The shadows contorted his expression, turning the downcast glower into a figment of the imagination. Was the broody man bitter? Angry? Insane? These were all questions without clear answers. Even an interrogation would find little yield in Kain's expression. The yellow light, however, did an excellent job of illuminating the spreading bruise. While it marred his already crooked features, it made the shifty man's eyes surprisingly light in contrast to the surrounding skin.
Kain was rather apathetic to Violet's communication, or lack thereof. He wasn't the type for chitchat. Typically, he couldn't stand it. The only attention he seemed to pay Violet was the suspicious glare he cast her when she touched her phone. Keeping his eyes on her, he seemed to forfeit care when nothing bad immediately happened, though his shoulders seemed stiffer than before. Some would say that he was terribly paranoid, and Kain wouldn't argue. He had good reason to be paranoid. He was paranoid, but he wasn't dead. Kain could literally live with being paranoid, if it preserved his life. If it preserved Karoline's. Currently, Violet was the main object of much of his paranoia. He didn't like her, and he didn't trust her. She's not terrible, Kain mentally conceded, only to severely rebuke himself. A tiny kindness was no reason to trust this weasly woman. She had ulterior motives, but two could play; Kain was curious and observing this girl was a method of investigation.
Some sleuth he was turning out to be.
Twenty minutes was not very long compared to Kain's usual victory limp. The steam had stopped rising from his frame, and the remaining drops had either vanished into his collar or had soaked into the jacket, becoming just another part of the trademark musk. When Violet rang the bell, Kain grimaced at her, his eyes darting around nervously. He was obviously hoping that the bell attracted no unwanted attention. Self-consciously, he hunched his shoulders, pulling the collar of his jacket higher to hide his face. In the elevator, he stood a respective distance from Violet, though he was very curious as to how big her personal bubble was. However, he wasn't going to breach that bubble while injured. Kain wasn't wise, but he also wasn't stupid. As it was, elevators gave him a rather distinct feeling of claustrophobia. He was a bit quick to exit the elevator, and his eyes darted around the empty hall, absorbing the details before he ducked quickly into the apartment.
For the sake of appearances, Kain forcibly straightened his back upon meeting Jenny. This was not for the sake of manners, obviously. Kain seemed to lack those, along with a heart. Despite Jenny being a doctor, Kain was very reluctant to show any sign of weakness, if he could avoid it. The pain made the red-headed man a shade paler, but he grimaced and bore it with foolish pride. He eyed Jenny skeptically, though he was too tired to be cruel in his scoffing. Glancing to the slippers, Kain raised one scarred eyebrow. "She seems overly-qualified," he stated flatly to Violet, shooting her a doubtful look. Yes, the little shit had the gall to be sarcastic at a time like this. He seemed to be contemplating his recent life choices. Considering the woman who was supposedly a doctor, wouldn't it have been better if he'd let one of the thugs patch him back up? Better yet, I should've just stuck to drinking, Kain reminisced woefully. He'd dug his own grave in this matter, and now he was being forced to lie in it.
Kain wasn't a fan of hospitals, this was true. He also wasn't a fan of being ordered around. With a small spark of weary rebellion, he stayed exactly where he was. What a stubborn jackass, forever the ungrateful curmudgeon. However, Violet had done him a solid, in this case. He would've blatantly refused a hospital. Standing stock still, he seemed to be contemplating his options. Unable to maintain his straight posture, the man let out a breath, posture sagging in resentful defeat. Kain had been victorious in his previous fight, but meddlesome women seemed to have it out for him. He was damned.
Kain moved abruptly, surprisingly quick despite his injuries. "I wouldn't suggest that, slippers. I've already beaten up one asshole today, and women are less of a challenge," he warned, though his rather sexist threat was empty. Truthfully, Kain had only hit two women in his life, both times in self-defense. Kain didn't need these women to know that, though. It was as if he deliberately attempted to stir up hatred towards his own character. He didn't need Violet to believe the best of him, much less Jenny. He didn't care what they thought of him, but disdain made their honesty flow a little more easily. He didn't want their pity, or their kinship. Besides… if they were ever going to think anything positive of him, it would only be achieved by Kain slowly whittling away their standards for human interaction.
Kain plodded into the kitchen, cockily spinning a chair away from the table to straddle it in a less graceful movement, one which he would've executed skillfully if not for his injuries. Managing not to botch the movement, Kain's frame seemed to settle as he sat, exhaustion forcing all his limbs to sag. He crossed his wrists over the shoulder rest of the chair, not even doing Jenny the justice of eye contact. "I have a fractured rib or two. It's being a bitch," he admitted with only a mild wheeze. Obviously, his various other injures weren't important enough, in Kain's book. Violet would probably protest, but Kain gave very little consideration towards his own injuries. He wasn't being intentionally tough, as some would probably assume, but the state of his crooked face held little importance in his own memory.