The Institute, New York, Monday

"Okay," said Isabelle, putting away the first aid kit with a brisk gesture. They were in one of the Institute's many spare rooms, meant to house visiting Clave members. Each was plainly furnished with a bed, a dresser and a wardrobe, and a small bathroom. And, of course, each one had a first aid kit, with bandages, poultices, and even spare steles included. "You're pretty well iratze'd up, but it's going to take a little while for some of those bruises to fade. And these ––" She ran her hand over the burn marks on Clary's forearm where the demon blood had splashed her. "–– probably won't go away totally till tomorrow. If you rest, they'll heal faster, though."

And maybe that way Isabelle wouldn't have to come bail her ass from Hydra demons again, like she had today. But guess that was okay. She'd been getting a little bored, anyway. Dead Shadowhunters kept turning up and there'd been nothing much for her to do but stay around.

( Clary you're so amazingly dumb. )

[ooc: NFB, OOC-okay! Taken with editing from Cassandra Clare's City of Fallen Angels.]