She waits, careful on her haunches. It's like watching a wounded animal, curling over himself. Seen it before, seen it in herself. The nervous, waiting for the blade to drop. The need to lick wounds and hiss at everyone and everything out of sheer rejection of intentions. Once she remembers as a child, her father showed her a wounded horse, badly treated, it could not bare to be touched. Patience was how it was coaxed to the hard, not force, and patience, when you're twenty five going on sixty, is easy to cultivate.
Well, sometimes, when she's not in the middle of her own wars.
So she waits, when he looks like he might fall, she braces herself to catch the considerable size of him, a hand that hovers to assistance for him to take if he wants. But there's no jumping, no forcing him, he will take it, or he won't and when he does gather the scarf from her, she offers the barest of a smile. Flicking up at the edges of her mouth, crinkling in the corner of her eyes. She might have a pretty smile under all that ornamentation and severity.
When he writes and does not speak, she is not bothered by it either, or even inclined to speak up until that drawn ... C? With dots? Her English tutors hadn't taught her what that meant. Perhaps it was just a ... emblem of gratitude? Didn't assume either way, just graciously nodded her hand and where her hand is loose from the wrist, she waves it away. "No matter, I assure you. Keep it as long as you need."
A moment where she almost reaches out - he's not one of her men, she does not have the right. So she taps the corner of her eye on the same side of her face to where she means on his. "There is a little there still, I think."
Maine you are a big dumb cutie wth
Well, sometimes, when she's not in the middle of her own wars.
So she waits, when he looks like he might fall, she braces herself to catch the considerable size of him, a hand that hovers to assistance for him to take if he wants. But there's no jumping, no forcing him, he will take it, or he won't and when he does gather the scarf from her, she offers the barest of a smile. Flicking up at the edges of her mouth, crinkling in the corner of her eyes. She might have a pretty smile under all that ornamentation and severity.
When he writes and does not speak, she is not bothered by it either, or even inclined to speak up until that drawn ... C? With dots? Her English tutors hadn't taught her what that meant. Perhaps it was just a ... emblem of gratitude? Didn't assume either way, just graciously nodded her hand and where her hand is loose from the wrist, she waves it away. "No matter, I assure you. Keep it as long as you need."
A moment where she almost reaches out - he's not one of her men, she does not have the right. So she taps the corner of her eye on the same side of her face to where she means on his. "There is a little there still, I think."