[The rippling under her skin isn't a standard aftershock. He spreads his fingers, lightening his touch but tracing that skitter of movement as far as the span of his hand. It's leaving him feeling like he should blink and look again (like nightmares he's had, to drunk to wake himself. Like catching sight of something in the darkness - but just shadows, just shadows after all)
With a slow exhale, he sits down in the chair beside her.]
[action]
With a slow exhale, he sits down in the chair beside her.]
It's a start. Next we should get you stitched up.
[It's a delicate face he pulls, then.]
And I can get something to wash your mouth out.