[She's realizing the implications of this - they're gonna need to do stuff like this for healing every time. Oh, this sucks.]
Haaaaauuuuuugghhh.
Okay, okay, we're not engaging in spite-based flaunting then. But you have to promise me no more flagrantly risking your own health until one of us has a healing spell -- and Void witches don't even get those, so I dunno what we're even gonna do about that!
slowly, her hands open and fall from her damaged throat. an element of her can acknowledge, at a distance, the reasoning behind Nessa's suggestion. there are people here who would delight in making her life an even bigger hell if they found out about the collar—and a thousand times that if they found out while she was evidently trying to hide it. ]
There has to be—to be someone. Cleric, or something.
[ wizards don't get healing spells, either. not even scribes do. ]
Okay. Okay. Yes. It's a multi-dimensional nexus, someone here has to be a Cleric or a Harmony witch or a White Mage or whatever dumb thing their world calls someone that casts healing magic.
I'll find someone. I'll find someone and get them on our side.
-- frankly, it looks like the maintenance man left your neck half-finished, so I'll try to do it sooner rather than later.
It will not come off until I have paid his price. [ "a day or so". ] While I wear it, it heals.
[ but, Mammon! it would have fucking healed anyway, if she'd just bound her neck in a torn-up sheet! ]
Nessa. Lapochka. Please... please take me to washroom.
[ it's almost begging; like, you can imagine her begging for something nicer, in this tone. but it's still not sexy, not even with her half undressed and wearing a buckled collar for Nessa's use, because what she's begging for is the chance to wash away the blood. ]
[Look, there's a lot going on. She takes Sprezzatura's hand and tugs her in the direction of the bathroom, hoping that once they're holding hands, she can follow.]
[ it works... mostly. she finds the paralysis faded, somewhat, and stiffly allows Nessa to lead her. releasing a shaky, hard breath of relief as she does ]
It is not about you not being able to protect yourself! It is about luxury of not having to! Of better life! [ again, she tugs at the immoveable leather collar ] Mammon—can I not want that for you?
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[She's realizing the implications of this - they're gonna need to do stuff like this for healing every time. Oh, this sucks.]
Haaaaauuuuuugghhh.
Okay, okay, we're not engaging in spite-based flaunting then. But you have to promise me no more flagrantly risking your own health until one of us has a healing spell -- and Void witches don't even get those, so I dunno what we're even gonna do about that!
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slowly, her hands open and fall from her damaged throat. an element of her can acknowledge, at a distance, the reasoning behind Nessa's suggestion. there are people here who would delight in making her life an even bigger hell if they found out about the collar—and a thousand times that if they found out while she was evidently trying to hide it. ]
There has to be—to be someone. Cleric, or something.
[ wizards don't get healing spells, either. not even scribes do. ]
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I'll find someone. I'll find someone and get them on our side.
-- frankly, it looks like the maintenance man left your neck half-finished, so I'll try to do it sooner rather than later.
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[ but, Mammon! it would have fucking healed anyway, if she'd just bound her neck in a torn-up sheet! ]
Nessa. Lapochka. Please... please take me to washroom.
[ it's almost begging; like, you can imagine her begging for something nicer, in this tone. but it's still not sexy, not even with her half undressed and wearing a buckled collar for Nessa's use, because what she's begging for is the chance to wash away the blood. ]
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[Look, there's a lot going on. She takes Sprezzatura's hand and tugs her in the direction of the bathroom, hoping that once they're holding hands, she can follow.]
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I want you to be safe here.
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And I am not letting you perish again under my care!
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[ FUCK!!! she sits down hard on the edge of the tub. slouches. ]
I do not mean to be this way.
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...
...How long were you standing there, immobile, before you called me.
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Half-two.
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I know you can't stand it to see harm come to me.
I can't stand to see harm come to you either.
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My own fault. It will not happen again.
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There'll be a better chance of it not happening if you let me help you when you need it.
[She leans over slightly, bumping her shoulder into Sprezzatura's.]
I think asking me to spend the night would be a good start.
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bumped! after a moment, she leans back, murmurs, ] Mm. Alright.
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I'll call the front desk and have them bring you up a sleeping bag.
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