There's a beat, a second taken to decide the word, and it doesn't come out with confidence. A retort without the proper bite, when he's distracted by the wound that he sees. An uncomfortable knot in his throat where he wasn't sure where this was going to end, but he's not in the right state to be glad or relieved right now.
"Stay here, don't hobble off." A command given, a hand lifted, while Tidus takes a few steps aside. And then he jogs along the hall to where closest toilet is, opening the door and giving a quick peek out before he completely slips in, like Roland can't be trusted not to run off.
Which he can't be, currently. Maybe Tidus's mind will be changed another day, when it has reason to.
He's quick regardless, kicking the door as he leaves but not resulting in it shutting as he comes back out, his stride taken with large steps. He's got paper towels soaked, a few dried, and he comes to a stop at Roland's leg--and anyone who comes on by and has a problem with him kneeling and taking up room can buzz off.
The dry towels are placed down while the wetter ones are pressed to the wound with a careful hand, a tight-mouthed grimace. The magic returns to his now free hand, white light collecting under his palm as moves to lay it over his one holding the soaked towels in place. A numbing effect taking place, at least not putting Roland through the experience as muscle and skin come and stitch back together.
Tidus watches his hands, his set gaze unflinching.
no tidus the golden retriever is winner B)
There's a beat, a second taken to decide the word, and it doesn't come out with confidence. A retort without the proper bite, when he's distracted by the wound that he sees. An uncomfortable knot in his throat where he wasn't sure where this was going to end, but he's not in the right state to be glad or relieved right now.
"Stay here, don't hobble off." A command given, a hand lifted, while Tidus takes a few steps aside. And then he jogs along the hall to where closest toilet is, opening the door and giving a quick peek out before he completely slips in, like Roland can't be trusted not to run off.
Which he can't be, currently. Maybe Tidus's mind will be changed another day, when it has reason to.
He's quick regardless, kicking the door as he leaves but not resulting in it shutting as he comes back out, his stride taken with large steps. He's got paper towels soaked, a few dried, and he comes to a stop at Roland's leg--and anyone who comes on by and has a problem with him kneeling and taking up room can buzz off.
The dry towels are placed down while the wetter ones are pressed to the wound with a careful hand, a tight-mouthed grimace. The magic returns to his now free hand, white light collecting under his palm as moves to lay it over his one holding the soaked towels in place. A numbing effect taking place, at least not putting Roland through the experience as muscle and skin come and stitch back together.
Tidus watches his hands, his set gaze unflinching.