10-14-2016, 11:55 AM
Okay, fine, so Princess Smartass might be kind of fun. He even plays back, though the big buffoon manages to rip open an old wound in the doing. I roll my eyes and nudge him so the light’s hitting him better and eye the injury that looks like it’s been healing a while. “Smooth. You clearly need thicker skin, precious. Man, bird legs, tall and woozy, paper-thin skin that leaves you bleeding after one little insult or two, life must be rough on your frail self, huh? Poor baby. Hold still, don't want you hurting yourself again.”
It’s not bleeding badly, just a little trickle really, and for some stupid reason I do my best to tend to it, licking away the blood and making sure it’s not infected or some shit. Looks fine, though. Not inflamed or gross or anything, just a plain old scab torn open because he sassed too hard. Really needs to work on his game, apparently, if one little try has him dripping blood.
“It’s a close call with as fragile as you are, but I think you’ll live.” The words are dry, and if I smirk a bit, well, who’s to blame me? He’s the dumbass who sassed himself into bleeding. Not that I could relate to that at all, ever. Not I. Whatever, anyhow, it was healing just fine before he tore it back open, and it’ll heal just fine now, odds are.
“So.” I step back with a snort, realizing I’m a little bit too close for comfort now that the whole cleanup bit’s done. My bad. I’m out of practice with the whole personal space thing, and most of the people who put up with my mouth like me enough for it not to matter. “You got a name or a story or anything, or should I just keep calling you Princess?” Maybe he’d like that. Sure seems to have brought a bit of a sparkle to his eyes, anyhow.
It’s not bleeding badly, just a little trickle really, and for some stupid reason I do my best to tend to it, licking away the blood and making sure it’s not infected or some shit. Looks fine, though. Not inflamed or gross or anything, just a plain old scab torn open because he sassed too hard. Really needs to work on his game, apparently, if one little try has him dripping blood.
“It’s a close call with as fragile as you are, but I think you’ll live.” The words are dry, and if I smirk a bit, well, who’s to blame me? He’s the dumbass who sassed himself into bleeding. Not that I could relate to that at all, ever. Not I. Whatever, anyhow, it was healing just fine before he tore it back open, and it’ll heal just fine now, odds are.
“So.” I step back with a snort, realizing I’m a little bit too close for comfort now that the whole cleanup bit’s done. My bad. I’m out of practice with the whole personal space thing, and most of the people who put up with my mouth like me enough for it not to matter. “You got a name or a story or anything, or should I just keep calling you Princess?” Maybe he’d like that. Sure seems to have brought a bit of a sparkle to his eyes, anyhow.