#support || forsyth

The girl had pushed herself so far she'd simply collapsed at school. Forsyth wonders if he would have joined her had he not forced himself to rest, and feels a level of guilt that he had not noticed how poorly his housemate was doing.

"If there's anything I can do to facilitate your recovery, please let me know." While this may seem like an idyllic little town, Forsyth has learned that nothing is as it seems when it comes to missions like this. He worries greatly how this may affect Thrasir's real body. "I'll make certain the staff here cares for you, but I'll utilize what I can personally, as well."

(He can't help but think about the way she had spoken of the excuse for a caretaker she was assigned here. The anger in his chest bubbles, but he holds it down for her sake.)

Worry... This wasn't something that Thrasir was used to receiving. From anyone, not... not even when she was Veronica. Líf used to be concerned for her. Eriella had been concerned for her too. This feeling was new. When Forsyth entered, Thrasir stared at him, blinking owlishly, not fully comprehending that someone was concerned for her.

"It's alright, Forsyth," she said on a scratchy voice. "Our investigation comes first. I wasn't strong enough."

She sighed and brought her hand to her cheek. She looked more like Veronica than Thrasir than ever right now. A small expression of loneliness crossed her face. She wanted Eriella's gentle concern back...! Líf, where are you, this world is messing with my head. Eriella's voice had been comforting, her mere presence was warm.

"I worried her, Forsyth," she murmured. "I have to rest like she told me too."

"Thrasir! It looks like your wounds are healing well." He finds her far from others, as usual. "You were integral to our victory, though I worry about you putting yourself so directly in the line of fire."

He brings with him some water and a ration, offered freely but with an underlying insistence befitting a mother hen.

Thrasir looks up in mild surprise to hear Forsyth's voice. Not only that but his concern as well. He was worried about her? There was something... odd... about that to the lich. Someone worried about her when she got hit. When had the last time someone had worried about her... She and Líf had learned they couldn't die as Hel's puppets.

Perhaps... that had trained a recklessness in her.

"I am alright, Forsyth," Thrasir hummed. "It looked worse than it was." She got hit in the stomach with an arrow. "It would take much more than that to down me." ... What would it take to destroy her? Not just knock her unconscious for an extended period, but fully destroy her?

Offered the water and ration, Thrasir now faced the awkward decision of either turning the offer down or just accepting it. With... a moment of hesitation she shook her head.