Though muffled by her hands, she's perfectly comprehensible. Her fingers curl into her palms, uncovering tired eyes. She stares at him briefly-- surveying the damage, maybe, or wishing she could forfeit consciousness again. Though she suspects the latter wouldn't make her feel any better; sedation itself is somehow exhausting.
She doesn't reach for the glass until he's leaned back in his seat, kept by pride or embarrassment from saying thank you.
[come in to my parlor]
Though muffled by her hands, she's perfectly comprehensible. Her fingers curl into her palms, uncovering tired eyes. She stares at him briefly-- surveying the damage, maybe, or wishing she could forfeit consciousness again. Though she suspects the latter wouldn't make her feel any better; sedation itself is somehow exhausting.
She doesn't reach for the glass until he's leaned back in his seat, kept by pride or embarrassment from saying thank you.