[Even if she weren't laser focused on him right now, the Oath would have alerted her to his pain. Nice as it may be, she feels better when he sets her down and she knows she isn't agitating anything. And it's not like he's gone far--his hand in her hair also feels nice, though once again she spares a bit of embarrassment for how grimy it must be right now.
At least Cinque doesn't mind. She lifts a hand to gently brush a knuckle against the side of its pointy little head with affection, more endeared by its actions than anything. Her smile takes on just a shine of satisfaction.] Once you're all fixed, yeah.
[She'd fix him herself, if she could. A protective part of her wants to open up her journal and try anyway, even though she's sure someone would have healed him already if it were at all possible. What kind of a rule is "no healing in Wonderland," anyway?
She lowers her hand to her neck ruff self-consciously after a moment. There's obvious hesitation as she considers what cleaning entails, which almost definitely involves touching her neck. Cold dread settles in her stomach, but the hesitation passes and she tugs off what remains of the loose ruff, implicit permission for him to do as he's asking. The injuries from the hanging itself are remnants, more like a memory of an injury, but the scratches are very real.] Ahaha, I'm-- [Her voice shakes, and takes on a thick quality as she tries to swallow down the heavy subtext. No processing in Wonderland, either. Not if you don't want monsters.] --I'm kind of a mess, huh?
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At least Cinque doesn't mind. She lifts a hand to gently brush a knuckle against the side of its pointy little head with affection, more endeared by its actions than anything. Her smile takes on just a shine of satisfaction.] Once you're all fixed, yeah.
[She'd fix him herself, if she could. A protective part of her wants to open up her journal and try anyway, even though she's sure someone would have healed him already if it were at all possible. What kind of a rule is "no healing in Wonderland," anyway?
She lowers her hand to her neck ruff self-consciously after a moment. There's obvious hesitation as she considers what cleaning entails, which almost definitely involves touching her neck. Cold dread settles in her stomach, but the hesitation passes and she tugs off what remains of the loose ruff, implicit permission for him to do as he's asking. The injuries from the hanging itself are remnants, more like a memory of an injury, but the scratches are very real.] Ahaha, I'm-- [Her voice shakes, and takes on a thick quality as she tries to swallow down the heavy subtext. No processing in Wonderland, either. Not if you don't want monsters.] --I'm kind of a mess, huh?