[ He's surprised into a laugh; a real one, though it's a little breathless. His chest is sore; the pressure hurts, but he only winces slightly, that metal hand pressing a little more firmly against his side. ]
I don't think you want to hurt me.
[ She's impatient with him, focused, and he's reminded abruptly of Lune with a sharp pang that has nothing to do with his wounds. Lune, waving aside his prevarications, Lune cutting through his stumbling words, Lune practical and determined, keeping them on track, but always with that kind heart that she keeps tucked prudently away so she can focus, so she can help them complete the mission, so they'll succeed.
She's not Lune. But nothing she's said or done just yet has made him think she's a threat. She could be, it's clear. No one who managed that course that easily could be anything but, if they decided to turn aggressive, and he has no idea of her other capabilities, if she has any weapons, if she might be trying to lull him into a false sense of security for some reason.
But he doesn't think so. On the strength of the delight in her smile when she'd landed so gracefully, pleased with herself and her performance; on the way she'd turned, that complex shadow in her eyes — he doesn't think she's a threat. Not now, anyway.
Gustave leans just a little to look over the edge of the platform, where other competitors have fallen and simply walked away as though it was nothing more than a short hop down. ]
And anyway, if you did, I'm not actually sure the fall would do anything to me. So I'm probably all right, for the moment. Aside from the, you know.
[ A gesture at himself, the wounds she wants to examine. He considers her for another moment — she's not a healer or a doctor, but she is right that he wouldn't be able to leave someone in his condition, either — then carefully lowers himself to sitting. It doesn't feel good, crunching himself up like this, but he leans back a little, trying to keep the pressure off his torso. ]
You make a compelling argument, mademoiselle. And I'm not exactly in any kind of shape to refuse whatever help someone might offer.
no subject
[ He's surprised into a laugh; a real one, though it's a little breathless. His chest is sore; the pressure hurts, but he only winces slightly, that metal hand pressing a little more firmly against his side. ]
I don't think you want to hurt me.
[ She's impatient with him, focused, and he's reminded abruptly of Lune with a sharp pang that has nothing to do with his wounds. Lune, waving aside his prevarications, Lune cutting through his stumbling words, Lune practical and determined, keeping them on track, but always with that kind heart that she keeps tucked prudently away so she can focus, so she can help them complete the mission, so they'll succeed.
She's not Lune. But nothing she's said or done just yet has made him think she's a threat. She could be, it's clear. No one who managed that course that easily could be anything but, if they decided to turn aggressive, and he has no idea of her other capabilities, if she has any weapons, if she might be trying to lull him into a false sense of security for some reason.
But he doesn't think so. On the strength of the delight in her smile when she'd landed so gracefully, pleased with herself and her performance; on the way she'd turned, that complex shadow in her eyes — he doesn't think she's a threat. Not now, anyway.
Gustave leans just a little to look over the edge of the platform, where other competitors have fallen and simply walked away as though it was nothing more than a short hop down. ]
And anyway, if you did, I'm not actually sure the fall would do anything to me. So I'm probably all right, for the moment. Aside from the, you know.
[ A gesture at himself, the wounds she wants to examine. He considers her for another moment — she's not a healer or a doctor, but she is right that he wouldn't be able to leave someone in his condition, either — then carefully lowers himself to sitting. It doesn't feel good, crunching himself up like this, but he leans back a little, trying to keep the pressure off his torso. ]
You make a compelling argument, mademoiselle. And I'm not exactly in any kind of shape to refuse whatever help someone might offer.