[She watches him for a few seconds, her gaze evaluating. Then, quickly, her eyes locked on Katsura, she reaches for her left sleeve. It's some work to unbutton the cuff and roll it up, because she'd made damn sure this morning that it would stay right where she put it.
There's an ugly scar on the inside of her forearm, thick and white. It's neat enough to have been caused by a blade, and it spans from wrist to the crook of her elbow.
She gives him a few seconds to see, then pulls her sleeve down. Her shirt collar is next: loosened just as briskly, opened so her throat is bared. The bruises there have had some time to fade, and so it's purple-yellow stripes that line her neck, matching the shape of slender fingers.]
A fair bit.
[She buttons herself back up again. There's no pain in her gaze, no grief-- just fury.]
And not just to me, although he has a bit of a fixation on me. Isn't that flattering?
no subject
There's an ugly scar on the inside of her forearm, thick and white. It's neat enough to have been caused by a blade, and it spans from wrist to the crook of her elbow.
She gives him a few seconds to see, then pulls her sleeve down. Her shirt collar is next: loosened just as briskly, opened so her throat is bared. The bruises there have had some time to fade, and so it's purple-yellow stripes that line her neck, matching the shape of slender fingers.]
A fair bit.
[She buttons herself back up again. There's no pain in her gaze, no grief-- just fury.]
And not just to me, although he has a bit of a fixation on me. Isn't that flattering?