It wasn't at all difficult to notice her deflated reaction. In hindsight, for the same reason he insisted upon leaving with Basilio, he should have extended an invitation to the ishkia, almost more-so due to the danger she could have been faced with if the desperate power grab he worried about had fallen into the wrong hands. But he also hadn't wanted to take her from the comfort of the Charidus when he hadn't even known where he and Basilio would be going themselves.
A relief swept over him when she finally seemed to be agreeing to his new . . . or well, altered plan.
Feeling himself back upon the ground, he strained to shrug the straps of his bag off of his shoulders. Every movement was taxing, but also a reassurance that he was still breathing. And once he'd regained his strength, he could resume his role as protector for those he cared for.
âGet the shirt from me bag . . . I think I can get these off, but I don't think I can manage the buttons on his shirt meself right now . . .â It was painful to admit he would need help with a task generally so simple, but it would be a pointless waste of time to lie.
Whilst he waited for her to retrieve the item in question, the paripus began the arduous task of undressing. Fortunately, any buttons his suit jacket had possessed were obliterated by the attack he'd endured, so removing it was . . . fairly easy. The turtleneck on the other hand would be another story
At his normal strength, he would have likely opted to just tear away at what fabric remained, but at the moment he was fortunate his body could even support it's own weight. Most movement also seemed to be aggravating the, though closed, fresh injury and sent a wave of pain coursing through him.
Good thing he was more than accustom of dealing with pain . . .
It was his stubborn nature that kept him going until he'd managed to slip out of the garment, the plethora of scars that scrolled the stories of his many trials in this life now on full display . . . accentuated by the addition of the largest that now claimed the center of his chest. If Myria ever wondered why it was the short paripus always insisted upon long sleeves, and keeping his neck covered . . . well she now had her answer.
He was practically panting from the effort, but forced himself to his feet, relying heavily upon the tree behind him to support himself.
âAlright . . . ya ready? I'll also need ya ta ruffle me hair a bit, raising me arms that high right now is a mite uncomfortable . . .â
