[ Lakshmi's touch is different from what he's used to, lighter -- delicate isn't the right word, there's strength in those hands, but graceful, elegant, callouses on her palms that remind him of his own but different, likely from how the weapons they're used to are clearly worlds apart. Even if rising and sitting down are still clumsy for Wash in his robes the walking is easy enough, but next to her he imagines he probably still looks like a bit of a fool.
Her gait might be a little slow, even for this, Wash chalks it up to feeling unwell. In a day or two if she still seems pale and ill he might ask about it, but not for now. He leads them out from the party, turning his head slightly to listen to her words, maybe the slightest quirk in his lips from the way she emphasizes high society, but then she mentions her ladies, and there's that tell-tale pause.
Her ladies. In that split second pause the memory returns to Wash even if he doesn't quite want it to, he always remembers too well for that, Lakshmi still bound in that chair, relaxed, her eyes glazed over, her peaceful smile maybe stalling in a strange stilted way when she'd spoken about them, of what had become of them. It's only a moment, Lakshmi already moving on, and in turn Wash doesn't give her much of a response, his hand squeezing over hers for a moment, in -- sympathy? He doesn't know. Why would she take sympathy from him?
There's a certain tension in him that relaxes noticeably once they're well and away from the party, the buzz of voices and clinking glasses fading back as Wash takes them towards the barracks. ]
I don't know of I'm planning to stay. [ Casual enough that it could be taken any way, in case they're overheard, could easily be talking about just the clothing and the party, but well. He turns toward her again, cocking his head slightly. ] But I might make a fine lady-in-waiting yet.
[ Continued self-deprecation, Wash's foremost technique in comforting. ]
no subject
Her gait might be a little slow, even for this, Wash chalks it up to feeling unwell. In a day or two if she still seems pale and ill he might ask about it, but not for now. He leads them out from the party, turning his head slightly to listen to her words, maybe the slightest quirk in his lips from the way she emphasizes high society, but then she mentions her ladies, and there's that tell-tale pause.
Her ladies. In that split second pause the memory returns to Wash even if he doesn't quite want it to, he always remembers too well for that, Lakshmi still bound in that chair, relaxed, her eyes glazed over, her peaceful smile maybe stalling in a strange stilted way when she'd spoken about them, of what had become of them. It's only a moment, Lakshmi already moving on, and in turn Wash doesn't give her much of a response, his hand squeezing over hers for a moment, in -- sympathy? He doesn't know. Why would she take sympathy from him?
There's a certain tension in him that relaxes noticeably once they're well and away from the party, the buzz of voices and clinking glasses fading back as Wash takes them towards the barracks. ]
I don't know of I'm planning to stay. [ Casual enough that it could be taken any way, in case they're overheard, could easily be talking about just the clothing and the party, but well. He turns toward her again, cocking his head slightly. ] But I might make a fine lady-in-waiting yet.
[ Continued self-deprecation, Wash's foremost technique in comforting. ]