IC Contact

[soul_sister]

This mailbox is currently useless and I'm not bothering with it. Please try my secretary.

((OOC: She will be answering things here, naturally. She's just a jerk.))

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[soul_sister]

[She recoils as if it was a snake.]

EH! Wait! ... It's....

[Rosette fishes desperately in her mind, seeking out something, anything to delay this for just a few minutes more.]

You're bandages! We need to change them.

[overclocking]

[—GODAMMIT.]

No need for that! I'll take care of it, you should go shower and change.

[A beat.]

You smell.

[soul_sister]

[There's a moment of offense where you can see her riling herself up for an epic comeback.]

Yeah!? Well so do you!

[overclocking]

[With equal brilliance;]

But you smell more.

Just go! We don't have all day!

[soul_sister]

You first!

There's no point in changing them if you're going to shower right after.

[overclocking]

[There is a very distinct sinking feeling that precedes defeat. His only hope is that, if he takes long enough, she'll pass out again.]

... Fine.

Wait here.

[soul_sister]

[Almost as if to give Chrono hope, she picks herself up, dusts off some of the ash, and flops back onto the cushions.]

Don't take too long.

[overclocking]

[He waves a hand dismissively and turns the corner into the bathroom.

He takes twenty-five entirely unnecessary minutes.

At length, hair still loose and dripping upon a dusty floor, he cracks the door to the bathroom and peers around it, cautiously, checking the status of her consciousness.]

[soul_sister]

[For a wonder, she seems to be dozing lightly, propped against the arm of the couch. In front of her on the table, a fresh set of wrapping are laid out, ointments and gels next to them.

And in her lap, is a hair brush.]

[overclocking]

[... Damn. This is a vexing dilemma between deredere and but no.

He sighs, deeply and honestly, and plops the towel on his head (a futile effort, all in all) before proceeding from the bathroom.]

[soul_sister]

[It's those last few steps towards her that she stirs, eyes opening with a wide yawn.]

Mmm the-[And another yawn interrupts.]-re you are.

[overclocking]

[He deposits himself on the floor in front of the couch, the picture of defeat.]

You could've used that time to sleep properly, you know.

[soul_sister]

You'd just be extra mean waking me up.

[There isn't a lot of accusation in her voice at all, possibly cancelled out by the sleepy tone. Her hands are clean -scrubbed up to the elbows where her sleeves are pinned- as she gathers up the length of his hair, gently sorting through it.]

[overclocking]

[He bends under her fingers, letting out another long (lighter) sigh.]

That's not a very nice accusation, you know...

[soul_sister]

[She laughs a little, starting to work on the ends of the wet hair and up towards his scalp slowly.]

It's true, though.

[overclocking]

It'll never happen now, so you can't prove anything.

[Despite the tension and exhaustion, and despite his own looming contrition, this is the one time of the day where he manages to relax. Muscles uncoil from snapping points, posture slips. The rhythm of the brush through his hair rocks him away from the precipice of his own stress.

He's almost grateful for the sheer volume of his own hair, as it drags the process out.]

[soul_sister]

[It is one of the very few things in life Rosette never seemed to rush through. She keeps a firm grip on his hair before the base, working through the tangles and the fussy nature of wet hair with her own serenity.]

You can't disprove it either.

[overclocking]

[His eyes fall closed of their own accord.]

Then it sounds like this is a draw.

[soul_sister]

No help for it, I guess.

[The rest is in a comfortable silence, the brush finally working up to the scalp, the strokes long, parting it into three sections. The braiding always goes quickly, a bright yellow bow tied smartly at the end.]

There.

[overclocking]

[He sits up a bit straighter when she finishes, bracing for the inevitable. In one final, hopeful effort, though;] Breakfast?

[soul_sister]

Go out while I look like this? [She gestures to herself, still half covered in ash and wearing slept in clothes.] You're crazy.

Gimmie your arms.

[overclocking]

[Foiled.

He braces himself and holds out his arms, wearily.]

[soul_sister]

[As it does in many situations, doom takes a little bit to fully settle. It's possibly her preoccupation with getting the dressing off of the burn tissue gently, then cleaning...

The first expression is surprise, and it quickly settles into confusion as she turns his wrist, comparing the burn against the length of her fingers.]

Ccchhhronnnoo...

[overclocking]

[Maybe, if he adopts an expression of genuine shock and ignorance, the doom won't be quite as serious.

Maybe.]

—Oh!

Well then....

[soul_sister]

[Perhaps, indeed, if he had managed anything remotely approaching genuine. There's a comical absurdity in how gently she lets his arm drop... and how bruising the noogie is that follows it.]

Is that all you have to say?