[ Just to add insult to injury really, she doesn't have any of his problems navigating her skirts and robes. The wrap of material around her upper body that she keeps just in place as to not show - well her injuries more than anything. No interest in making a show of her wounds or the way she body is grave.

Rather, she keeps herself artfully draped. Another piece of material she draws up over her hair, veiling her almost, save that she does not keep her face hidden away. Her hand is bird light on his. Wrapping her fingers around his momentarily. Her callouses to his, well met. Different, perhaps, guns she supposes, to swords. Deep set on the palm of her hand and the inner curl of her fingers, the knicks that leaves knuckles looking chipped. An unhappy feeling for that too. It's hard to straighten out her hand completely. She was going to end up like her old Generals at this rate.

She lets herself being led, her hand still on his own, held carefully. Formal military escort, she's sure. ]

If you are going to stay here amongst them, you're going to need to learn to fight in anything. That is what it is like in high society. [ The words are drawled, mockingly low to his ear as she leans in slightly closer to say it. ] My ladies - [ stops, pauses, he knows about her ladies, doesn't he - swinging from trees with rope necklaces. Raw wounds that never close. ] - were capable of doing it in formal attire at a moments notice.