The dissociative absence to his pause is enough to indicate that he does know, or that he does mind. Both. But he stirs to wind and flip the blanket aside himself with the arm that’s in better shape, baring out chicken legs (one very well done) and the short rumple of his braies.
The effort puts him out of breath, any semblance of eye contact broken, his dignity set adrift.
Easy to guess he’s spent the better part of his time unsupervised wringing spellwork out of himself like an old rag.
There are old scars layered in under the new: the wicked arc a scimitar once carved up his side, punctures and slashes and the slender track of a sharp blade up the back of his forearm, still fresh enough to shine an angry pink. The burns too have retreated around their edges, deeper charring scabbed over dark behind his calf, above his knee.
When he returns to himself, it's to watch her hands.
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Date: 2021-12-06 07:41 am (UTC)The effort puts him out of breath, any semblance of eye contact broken, his dignity set adrift.
Easy to guess he’s spent the better part of his time unsupervised wringing spellwork out of himself like an old rag.
There are old scars layered in under the new: the wicked arc a scimitar once carved up his side, punctures and slashes and the slender track of a sharp blade up the back of his forearm, still fresh enough to shine an angry pink. The burns too have retreated around their edges, deeper charring scabbed over dark behind his calf, above his knee.
When he returns to himself, it's to watch her hands.