[Teren's first inclination is to glare at her, but surprisingly after a moment she chuckles. Perhaps it's how pathetic Wren looks with her swollen nose and black eyes, or the shared history of doorway mishaps.]
Pardon, I did woo her. [That's a verified fact.] But no, this was a serpent wooing me.
So did I, until I found out the hard way. [She touches the patch, lightly, and winces.] ...perhaps until it stops looking so revolting, though I daresay most won't be able to tell the difference. [A tired, self-effacing smirk. Vanity has never been one of Teren's flaws, but it's easier to avoid it when one's face is relatively un-disfigured.]
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Pardon, I did woo her. [That's a verified fact.] But no, this was a serpent wooing me.
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I always thought the bloody things were stories. [ the crack of an eyelid: ] Cannot leave any heroics for the rest of us, can you.
How long are you leaving that on?
[ the cloth ]
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[ it's, perhaps, a touch too affectionate. better to pull back: verbally, and literally, in the creak of her shoulders.
]
We ought to see about getting you something proper. That fabric won't last.
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It serves its purpose. And there's more fabric where that came from. But I digress. [She gestures around.] What's the occasion?