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[doneisdone]

[Correspond at your own risk.]

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[doneisdone]

Anders won't want to see you.

[Just telling it like it is, no sense in dragging it out.]

If it's your nose what's broken, I can do it myself.

[limier]

Quite mutual —

[ but practicality outweighs pride, where breathing's concerned. ]

The nose. [ she confirms, ] Where are you?

[ praise and gratitude are best saved for later. ]

[doneisdone]

[She could have Wren come to her room, but then Wren would see where she lives and therefore know things about her, and also there's always the chance Anders will show up and make That Face, and frankly Teren doesn't want to deal with any of it.]

Go to the spare room.

[You know, the one with all the furniture you broke.]

[limier]

[ She Knows

if it irritates — just a touch — that they've been at it this long and she's still being shuffled off to a glorified storage closet, well, there's pride again, and what good's it ever done? at least this way, no one will be able to hear her curse.

the downside of destroying most of the furniture in the room (others long since sent to haul away the scrap) is that there's really still only the one table left to perch on. she hunches, holds her face, and tries to focus very hard on cade's basic worthiness as a human being.

it's not inspiring fare. ]

[doneisdone]

[Teren takes her sweet time. Perhaps it's because she knows Wren will wait, and enjoys messing with her on that level. Perhaps she has other reasons.

Either way, it appears Wren isn't the only person who's had a face-altering situation, because when Teren lets herself in she's got a strip of cloth wrapped around her head to cover one eye. It's not a bandage anymore, the wound has healed as much as it's going to, but that doesn't mean people need to see it.

She strolls in like she owns the place, as ever, cracking a tiny smirk at seeing Wren perched so expectantly on the desk.]

Ah.

[There's the offending nose.]

That is indeed broken.

[limier]

[ shrewd as ever, is the sort of thing you say to someone you're not hoping will fix your face. it's the sort of thing (she's quite certain) that teren would say anyway.

but that may not be working out for her either. she can't quite help it when she smirks, the answering twitch of her mouth aside. it quickly draws sharp to glance the cloth — and a wince for that in turn. you never properly appreciate moving your face until it's too late.

she peels her hands away gingerly for a better look. ]

Tell me you've still an eye under there.

[ or this is only half a diagnosis ]

[doneisdone]

For all intents and purposes, yes.

[Teren takes a step forward, inspects Wren's face for a moment, resembling a bird looking for exactly the right place to peck. Then, without any warning, she grips Wren's chin with her left hand and uses the right to crack the offending nose back into place.
Just as quickly, she steps away and folds her hands behind her back, looking very pleased with herself. It worked, like it always does.]

[limier]

[ there are other things, the sort of things you say to someone who just fixed your face, and markedly less point to holding those in. it's not the most coherent or inventive string of expletives — but it's heartfelt. her fist bangs the table once, twice, ]

Happy, [ she grits, finally: ] Satinalia.

[ anyone who looks that smug just received a gift. ]

[doneisdone]

[Teren can't help it that she's amazing.]

Oh, is it that time already. [She sighs, seemingly mindless to the fact that Wren might be displeased as she turns and taps her chin in thought.]

I imagine you'll want to say so to the person who gave you that in the first place. Perhaps they'll refrain from doing it again.

[limier]

[ i much doubt that,

she catches herself before she says it aloud, lets her shoulders hunch; drop again. this isn't helping, isn't working. nothing she does lately seems to be fucking working, and none of that can afford to be confided. as though this were even an association for confidence.

(as though she knows much of teren, beyond absence. there have been glimpses — they have been few.) ]

You know my history with doors, [ her eyes shut, stay closed. ] Is that how you sought to woo the Captain?

[ by running into a door eye-first ]

[doneisdone]

[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.

[limier]

[ a puff of breath back, near enough to amusement. self-pity is unbecoming, unhelpful, and difficult to shake. ]

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 ]

[doneisdone]

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.]

[limier]

Most would not know sense if it knocked on their heads.

[ 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.

[doneisdone]

Many still don't. [A dig at herself? It's possible.]

It serves its purpose. And there's more fabric where that came from. But I digress. [She gestures around.] What's the occasion?