[ At least he gives up on his idiocy easily enough. Clea had been prepared for longer, lengthier argument wherein he tried to save his sense of masculinity by acting like an utter moron. Somewhat. He leans over the side of the platform and Clea wishes she had a newspaper to slap him with. Although she's not certain it would help as apparently 'avoiding pain' doesn't seem to be particularly motivating for him. ]
You don't know that. Even if the fall itself is designed not to hurt -
[ Her mind wonders how. That's magic that belongs in a Canvas, but this is not a Canvas. Clea knows that fact as deeply as she knows the position of her own limbs. ]
There's no guarantee that it won't rip your wounds open as you land. Injured people shouldn't be on this course, it may not have been created to handle your situation.
[ Clea fixes him with A Look. You should not be up here, Monsieur. How had he gotten up there to begin with? And why does he look somewhat familiar? She looks at him again, more closely. There's something... and she can't put her finger on it, which is odd in and of itself. As an artist, Clea does pride herself on remembering faces and details.
Hm.
Leaning forward, Clea moves to support Gustave as he sits, a firm arm supporting his back (but carefully avoiding touching his wounds) while a hand presses to the front of his shoulder so that he can use her as support for the motion. Taking note of how he winces, she considers what the best move would be. Standing is risky. Lying on his back on the floor might irritate the wounds on his back. Sitting isn't advisable for clear reasons.
Perhaps lying on his side? With some support.
Sitting back down behind him, Clea reaches her hands out to support him, offering to let him lean back without falling.]
Does this help?
[ Leaning back.
One of her hands moves and she presses her palm to Gustave's forehead. Not feverish. That's a good sign. ]
All of my arguments are compelling. Now, are you injured elsewhere?
Clea should have paid more attention to the people of Lumiere oops
[ At least he gives up on his idiocy easily enough. Clea had been prepared for longer, lengthier argument wherein he tried to save his sense of masculinity by acting like an utter moron. Somewhat. He leans over the side of the platform and Clea wishes she had a newspaper to slap him with. Although she's not certain it would help as apparently 'avoiding pain' doesn't seem to be particularly motivating for him. ]
You don't know that. Even if the fall itself is designed not to hurt -
[ Her mind wonders how. That's magic that belongs in a Canvas, but this is not a Canvas. Clea knows that fact as deeply as she knows the position of her own limbs. ]
There's no guarantee that it won't rip your wounds open as you land. Injured people shouldn't be on this course, it may not have been created to handle your situation.
[ Clea fixes him with A Look. You should not be up here, Monsieur. How had he gotten up there to begin with? And why does he look somewhat familiar? She looks at him again, more closely. There's something... and she can't put her finger on it, which is odd in and of itself. As an artist, Clea does pride herself on remembering faces and details.
Hm.
Leaning forward, Clea moves to support Gustave as he sits, a firm arm supporting his back (but carefully avoiding touching his wounds) while a hand presses to the front of his shoulder so that he can use her as support for the motion. Taking note of how he winces, she considers what the best move would be. Standing is risky. Lying on his back on the floor might irritate the wounds on his back. Sitting isn't advisable for clear reasons.
Perhaps lying on his side? With some support.
Sitting back down behind him, Clea reaches her hands out to support him, offering to let him lean back without falling.]
Does this help?
[ Leaning back.
One of her hands moves and she presses her palm to Gustave's forehead. Not feverish. That's a good sign. ]
All of my arguments are compelling. Now, are you injured elsewhere?