a display of frustration escaped through blade's low murmurs. taking damage, being hit by projectiles, and enduring the bleeding in his favor had always been a skill he acquired after his sin. an immortal body that doesn't know what it's like to rot away in death or fall asleep in a worthy funeral. he placed his hand over the detective, stopping his procedure as if he were the nurse in the situation.
"i don't want you to do that" the tone of his voice came out almost as if yingxing were begging. there was no possibility of him refusing the man's desire, since ashveil had never forced him to escape from that horrible prison. "i've survived countless blades stirring inside my body βΈ» the scars speak of my immortality because of you". he withdrew contact, took the bandage back, and did the work on himself. the hunter had been offended by the term 'big boy' βΈ» as if yingxing had been frozen in time as a craftsman who would get drunk even on bad water.
"la mancha", the pronunciation of the name came out softly, without any trace of irritability. it was rare for him to address him differently, carrying on the gratitude that blade had persisted in even through his madness. "what happens if your prosthetic arm is hit? don't be reckless with yourself. you'll insult my forge work as trash."