[She doesn't answer him at first, too busy heading into her bathroom to find her first aid kit. She has bandages and antiseptic in her bag (carried around mostly thanks to all that dragon hunting business; she'd had to stop several charming but unmindful young men from just throwing their shirts back on after she'd cut them up), but this will require needle and thread.
By the time she returns, he's done as she asked, which is a pleasant surprise. For a moment she hesitates, caught between the desire to have her work in front of her and reluctance to kneel before him, but eventually compromises by sitting next to him instead. She can at least clean off the wound that way, and they'll see what happens when she starts stitching him up properly.]
If you were too preoccupied with groping me to ask after my death, that's hardly my fault.
[It's not a jab. She murmurs it, really, her gaze focused down on that stab wound. The first step is to clean it, and she soaks a cotton ball with antiseptic. Perhaps to his surprise, she is gentle: her hands dab, not press haphazardly, and though she's thorough, she isn't cruel in her actions. She's done this before, clearly, and often to boot.]
But if you'd like to ask about it, I shan't dodge the question.
[She isn't, however, meeting his gaze.]
There we are . . .
[All cleaned, and now that the blood and gore has been wiped away, it's a fairly neat cut. Long, yes, and she's surprised he's not groaning in pain each time he shifts, but this makes her job all the easier.]
no subject
By the time she returns, he's done as she asked, which is a pleasant surprise. For a moment she hesitates, caught between the desire to have her work in front of her and reluctance to kneel before him, but eventually compromises by sitting next to him instead. She can at least clean off the wound that way, and they'll see what happens when she starts stitching him up properly.]
If you were too preoccupied with groping me to ask after my death, that's hardly my fault.
[It's not a jab. She murmurs it, really, her gaze focused down on that stab wound. The first step is to clean it, and she soaks a cotton ball with antiseptic. Perhaps to his surprise, she is gentle: her hands dab, not press haphazardly, and though she's thorough, she isn't cruel in her actions. She's done this before, clearly, and often to boot.]
But if you'd like to ask about it, I shan't dodge the question.
[She isn't, however, meeting his gaze.]
There we are . . .
[All cleaned, and now that the blood and gore has been wiped away, it's a fairly neat cut. Long, yes, and she's surprised he's not groaning in pain each time he shifts, but this makes her job all the easier.]