[ She doesn't even bother to deny his initial assessment, like she usually would. The rip of fabric is distant, the hot thrum of pain too distracting. Every sensation melts together into some irritating amalgamation seizing at her body. She's not even sure if her nail is the worst part of this anymore, because the spores are more volatile than they were the last she was here. Lottie scrunches her face up, trying to steady her breathing.
Predictably, it doesn't work β she's holding in a cough that's threatening to burst free when he crouches in front of her. It takes her a moment to realize that.. That's what he was doing? She cries, sniffling to herself, all kinds of thankful and relieved when she finally registers his words. It doesn't help her congestion, or breathing, at all β these tears β but she doesn't care, simply folding the torn sleeve into a haphazard square to press against her face.
It's clear this is infinitely better, the only real reprieve she's getting from what's happening, her breathing becoming slow and measured. Focused inhales and exhales, through that sleeve of his. ] Okay, [ Her head nods once, then twice, switching hands so her functional one can fumble and grab for the blade. There's a hiss, a shaky intake of breath, at the nick she gives herself when she grabs blade first. The handle is pressed into that outstretched hand of his, ]
Okay.. [ Fuck. She's really hoping he doesn't make her look goofy as all hell.
(She doesn't want to say this out loud in fear of manifesting it.)
Lottie twists and turns her back to him, acutely aware he has a knife and not a pair of scissors in his hand. Her heart beats even louder, and quicker, than she thought possible. ]
no subject
Predictably, it doesn't work β she's holding in a cough that's threatening to burst free when he crouches in front of her. It takes her a moment to realize that.. That's what he was doing? She cries, sniffling to herself, all kinds of thankful and relieved when she finally registers his words. It doesn't help her congestion, or breathing, at all β these tears β but she doesn't care, simply folding the torn sleeve into a haphazard square to press against her face.
It's clear this is infinitely better, the only real reprieve she's getting from what's happening, her breathing becoming slow and measured. Focused inhales and exhales, through that sleeve of his. ] Okay, [ Her head nods once, then twice, switching hands so her functional one can fumble and grab for the blade. There's a hiss, a shaky intake of breath, at the nick she gives herself when she grabs blade first. The handle is pressed into that outstretched hand of his, ]
Okay.. [ Fuck. She's really hoping he doesn't make her look goofy as all hell.
(She doesn't want to say this out loud in fear of manifesting it.)
Lottie twists and turns her back to him, acutely aware he has a knife and not a pair of scissors in his hand. Her heart beats even louder, and quicker, than she thought possible. ]
Am I okay?