[Means, ends, et cetera... Odds are of all people, he couldn't rightly judge.
She seems like a tough motherfucker, given her very brusque approach to bleeding out so far, and he appreciates that. There's something kind of inexplicably comforting about it. As such, he's become increasingly less worried about her keeling over on him—both as he gets the measure of her and as he feels the spell start to take. (It seems to work as expected, which is a relief. It still feels wrong, which ought to worry him. But he'll unpack that all later, when there's time for it.)
So, his air of very carefully maintained calm kind of eases off a bit to something a little less manufactured. He shakes his head, when she fishes for a mending spell. Nope. He's a paladin, not a cleric, regretfully. And he hasn't been around this weird-ass dream long enough to realize that maybe that doesn't matter so much here.
Helpfully, if a little distracted by what he's doing—]
You might just want to finish the job. Open it up some more, make it a whole thing.
[Crop top! Abs-out is more of a monk look, though, huh. (Or is it just a Beau look, what does he know.) She could pull it off, surely.
This is probably not a serious suggestion. Given the messy slash in her tunic and his current low perspective crouched at her navel, he does very politely keep his eyes locked on what he's doing rather than try to look up at her when he says it. (Just, y'know. In case.) He peels his bloody fingers away from the slash in her side and frowns at the progress made on that front. Bleeding seems to have stopped, even if it's not quite healed through yet.
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She seems like a tough motherfucker, given her very brusque approach to bleeding out so far, and he appreciates that. There's something kind of inexplicably comforting about it. As such, he's become increasingly less worried about her keeling over on him—both as he gets the measure of her and as he feels the spell start to take. (It seems to work as expected, which is a relief. It still feels wrong, which ought to worry him. But he'll unpack that all later, when there's time for it.)
So, his air of very carefully maintained calm kind of eases off a bit to something a little less manufactured. He shakes his head, when she fishes for a mending spell. Nope. He's a paladin, not a cleric, regretfully. And he hasn't been around this weird-ass dream long enough to realize that maybe that doesn't matter so much here.
Helpfully, if a little distracted by what he's doing—]
You might just want to finish the job. Open it up some more, make it a whole thing.
[Crop top! Abs-out is more of a monk look, though, huh. (Or is it just a Beau look, what does he know.) She could pull it off, surely.
This is probably not a serious suggestion. Given the messy slash in her tunic and his current low perspective crouched at her navel, he does very politely keep his eyes locked on what he's doing rather than try to look up at her when he says it. (Just, y'know. In case.) He peels his bloody fingers away from the slash in her side and frowns at the progress made on that front. Bleeding seems to have stopped, even if it's not quite healed through yet.
And, a little belatedly—]
It's Fjord. [His name.] And yourself?