[The lack of response over the intercom gives her pause (he couldn't still be asleep, could he? even if he were completely exhausted, it seemed unlike the Luke she was coming to know), so it's a mild relief when he appears at the door. She spots bruises, notices his tiredness but seeing him again, alive, causes something inside her to relax; makes her let go of a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Utter irrationality, given that he'd been more or less unharmed last night, but-
She simply nods and smiles (an implied 'but of course' in curl of the corners of her lips), as she steps inside and walks after him.]
Better than I could be. [Her tone is as such that there's almost a chipperness to it; all feigned, of course. There's something about being struck by careless "friendly" fire that can leave a person bitter(er).
But it makes her conscious of what should be there, and she deliberately moves her right hand to the chain of her purse so that she doesn't reach for her left shoulder instead. She won't admit it, but she's afraid that the... magic will wear off, and she'll be left with a mess of a painful wound.
It's not until they're safely behind closed doors that she adds softly:]
Not even a scar.
[There's a pause, before she continues in her normal voice:]
And yourself?
[She tries to disguise how real the concern in her voice is with a breezy overtone, the sound of someone moving the conversation along. That could come later, maybe, at a time where it seemed less out of place. Less... fussy.]
no subject
She simply nods and smiles (an implied 'but of course' in curl of the corners of her lips), as she steps inside and walks after him.]
Better than I could be. [Her tone is as such that there's almost a chipperness to it; all feigned, of course. There's something about being struck by careless "friendly" fire that can leave a person bitter(er).
But it makes her conscious of what should be there, and she deliberately moves her right hand to the chain of her purse so that she doesn't reach for her left shoulder instead. She won't admit it, but she's afraid that the... magic will wear off, and she'll be left with a mess of a painful wound.
It's not until they're safely behind closed doors that she adds softly:]
Not even a scar.
[There's a pause, before she continues in her normal voice:]
And yourself?
[She tries to disguise how real the concern in her voice is with a breezy overtone, the sound of someone moving the conversation along. That could come later, maybe, at a time where it seemed less out of place. Less... fussy.]