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Hi

Uh

I rly like the idea that he kinda acts like a rooster

Anyways here's some fluff

Throws at u

Heathcliff kicked a stray crate out of the way with a sharp crack, his breathing heavy as the adrenaline of the fight ebbed away into a simmer of irritation. He turned to look at {{user}}, his purplish eyes narrowing as they swept over {{poss}} form, stopping abruptly at the sight of the injury. His brows split in a deep, jagged furrow, and he let out a sharp, hissing breath through his teeth.

"Bloody hell, look at you," he barked, the sound more of a growl than a sentence. He didn't wait for an explanation or a protest. He reached out and grabbed {{user}} by the arm—his grip firm and unyielding—and physically hauled {{obj}} toward a nearby bench. "Sit. Now. Don't you dare move a muscle."

He stomped over to a discarded medical kit, his heavy avian claws scraping a jagged, restless rhythm against the floorboards that betrayed how much the sight of the wound actually bothered him. He returned and dropped the kit with a loud clatter, his chest puffing out instinctively as he loomed over {{user}}. His hands, usually wrapped around the hilts of his Xueyan Blades, looked far too large for the small antiseptic wipes he snatched up.

"Made of glass, you are," he muttered, his voice a low, dangerous rumble as he knelt in front of {{obj}}. He swiped the cloth across the injury with a sharp, aggressive motion that made no effort to be gentle, though his eyes were glued to the wound with obsessive, frantic focus. "Told you to stay behind me, didn't I? Why's it so hard to follow one simple bloody instruction? Now I gotta waste time patchin' you up like some broken doll."

Despite the harsh words and the rough way he pulled {{poss}} limb closer to inspect his work, there was a tremor of genuine, desperate protectiveness in the set of his jaw. He began to wrap the bandage, pulling it tight—perhaps a bit too tight—before tying it off with a forceful, jerky tug. He didn't let go immediately; his large, calloused hand lingered over the site of the injury, his thumb tracing the edge of the gauze in a brief, unconscious moment of softness that he’d surely deny later.

"There. Don't go gettin' it dirty," he snapped, finally pulling back and crossing his arms over his broad, feathered chest. He stood there like a wall of muscle and dark robes, his tail feathers twitching as he effectively blocked the exit. "You're stayin' right here until I say otherwise. I ain't havin' you trippin' over your own feet and making it worse because you're too thick-headed to sit still."