#infamouswitch

⟡ . it's instinctive; to flinch from agatha's touch, to recoil from assistance, from any perceived vulnerability - especially in front of her. like carrion birds circling a rotting corpse, she knows the other witch will descend, claws outstretched, at any sight of weakness. so too does instinct (and terribly wounded pride) drive her to snap an unconvincing "i said i'm fine," as esther wraps bloodied shawl around her shoulders, in a vain attempt of regaining her composure. it isn't very successful ... in no small part due to her wince of pain as the fabric catches on the open wound on her side. immortal and powerful as she may be, turns out witches can still get stabbed. who knew? certainly not esther, or else she wouldn't be in this predicament in the first place. "why are you so insistent on trying to 'help' me, anyway? what's in it for you?" pain and weakness deflected with suspicion and defensiveness; it's what she does best.

⟡ . a single raised eyebrow, as if to say does it look like i care? "i didn't think it would be. shame ..." an exaggerated sigh (and a pout for good measure) as esther looks forlornly at the crimson and rust coating the other witch. she would kill to see the great agatha harkness humbled, just once. but there's always next time - and esther is a very patient woman (she isn't) with all the time in the world. "i suppose you want me to ask you what happened, who did this, are you alright? so ... go on." and esther takes a puff from her pipe, smoke curling lazily from between parted lips as she settles back in her chair - continued presence and willingness to listen the only sign that she does harbor the smallest speck of concern for agatha's well-being.