[ She tries to smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Her head dips slightly, brow furrowing. It's more of a... her being glad he's healing well. That she didn't gravely injure him, that it was something to come back from.
Not that it makes it any better — she still hurt him, didn't she?
With a soft inhale, she looks back up to him — eyes flicking towards his forehead. She does remember approaching him after; she'd touched his head. She'd felt regretful, but more bitter than anything. Anger had quickly set in, and she'd dismissed him. ]
I remember blood, though. [ Durable, of course. But still fragile like paper. ] Can I see?
[He does not want to deny her. He knows if he were her, he would want to see the harm he'd caused, regardless of the circumstance. But he bites his lip and — with equally soft words, he adds:]
But you — don't have to.
[Punish herself, that is.
Redemption does not mean you have to punish yourself.]
[ Maybe, if it's bad, she can offer something for the healing. Or try to. She's not really sure what she can do, even with her potion-making. But it could be something to make up for it, something to think on.
But she notes his pause and she shakes her head; it's not a terrible injury. He's up and walking — she didn't take it too far, like with Clarisse. That's... something, at least. ]
[He nods after a moment, releasing a soft breath of surrender. As much as he hates the look she'll give him — the look she's practically giving him now — he knows there's little reason to deny her such a request. More than that... it would be something he, too, would wish for. If he had harmed someone else, he would have liked to know. See what sin he'd committed against them.
So he nods and gently pushes back the curling locks to reveal the pink, settled scar there.
His smile is small, apologetic. He knows he has nothing to be sorry for, but he is all the same.]
[ She's still other than the sharp but soft inhale of breath when he moves his hair away. Shame is the first thing she feels, lips forming a thin straight line; of course she's ashamed. And upset, at herself and for him. It's... quite a sizable scar, after all. But she... realises how she's looking at him, and it's not fair Diarmuid.
Slowly, and very carefully, she reaches up towards his head. Her lips purse breifly, a hard swallow, as she gently rests her palm against it — an act of tenderness in contrast to the violence she'd initially dealt him. She's sorry, she really is. ]
... I suppose it would make quite the fearsome story, of going up against a witch. [ There's a weak smile at that, voice cracking a little. Yes, she's trying to find... some kind of positive in all of this. Trying. ]
[Diarmuid does not pull away or shrink at her touch. Of course not. Why would he, when he knows that she would take it all back in an instant if she could? Instead he gently presses a hand over hers and offers a little smile in return.]
Would it not be a better story, for you to say you'd thought I was a pond to skip rocks across?
[... He winces.]
I'm sorry, Luna, that was a dark joke.
I swear, the town is doing terrible things to my sense of humor.
I think mine sounds more courageous on your part. [ Luna can... she the humour in that, but— she winces too, a little. It is a dark joke, but sometimes dark jokes are all that can be said, sometimes.
She... oddly appreciates it, in a way. That jokes can be made about it, despite how awful it was — how awful she'd been. There's a shaky inhale and she manages a sound of amusement, before moving to hug him gently. ]
[He smiles sympathetically, and moves to return the hug without hesitation; this is his friend, and he shall always be there for her, no matter what has happened. He only hopes she knows that, truly.]
[ It's a strange thing to hear, but not a terrible one. The love of friendship is something she's felt, but not heard aloud — certainly not at home. Her friends have never told her that they loved her. And not here either, not in words. Until now. She loves her friends, something freely but silently expressed; hearing it reciprocated is... A Lot.
Luna inhales shakily, tears prickling in her eyes until they fill too full and splash quietly down her cheeks. She's smiling though, and she hugs the boy a little tighter. It's perhaps one of the most wonderful things she's ever heard, and Diarmuid is so very dear to her. ]
I love you, too. [ She is... glad to be herself again. Not causing more hurt. ] Very much so.
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He has never been very good at lying, and the feeling that follows it is a nightmare to endure.]
No, but I was only unconscious for a short time. I was able to make my way back home and all; trust in me when I say I am more durable than I look.
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[ She tries to smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Her head dips slightly, brow furrowing. It's more of a... her being glad he's healing well. That she didn't gravely injure him, that it was something to come back from.
Not that it makes it any better — she still hurt him, didn't she?
With a soft inhale, she looks back up to him — eyes flicking towards his forehead. She does remember approaching him after; she'd touched his head. She'd felt regretful, but more bitter than anything. Anger had quickly set in, and she'd dismissed him. ]
I remember blood, though. [ Durable, of course. But still fragile like paper. ] Can I see?
no subject
... If you wish to see.
[He does not want to deny her. He knows if he were her, he would want to see the harm he'd caused, regardless of the circumstance. But he bites his lip and — with equally soft words, he adds:]
But you — don't have to.
[Punish herself, that is.
Redemption does not mean you have to punish yourself.]
no subject
[ Maybe, if it's bad, she can offer something for the healing. Or try to. She's not really sure what she can do, even with her potion-making. But it could be something to make up for it, something to think on.
But she notes his pause and she shakes her head; it's not a terrible injury. He's up and walking — she didn't take it too far, like with Clarisse. That's... something, at least. ]
It's— I'm alright. Really.
[ She thinks. ]
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So he nods and gently pushes back the curling locks to reveal the pink, settled scar there.
His smile is small, apologetic. He knows he has nothing to be sorry for, but he is all the same.]
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Slowly, and very carefully, she reaches up towards his head. Her lips purse breifly, a hard swallow, as she gently rests her palm against it — an act of tenderness in contrast to the violence she'd initially dealt him. She's sorry, she really is. ]
... I suppose it would make quite the fearsome story, of going up against a witch. [ There's a weak smile at that, voice cracking a little. Yes, she's trying to find... some kind of positive in all of this. Trying. ]
no subject
Would it not be a better story, for you to say you'd thought I was a pond to skip rocks across?
[... He winces.]
I'm sorry, Luna, that was a dark joke.
I swear, the town is doing terrible things to my sense of humor.
no subject
She... oddly appreciates it, in a way. That jokes can be made about it, despite how awful it was — how awful she'd been. There's a shaky inhale and she manages a sound of amusement, before moving to hug him gently. ]
Better to still have one at all, than not.
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I love you, Luna.
I'm happy to have you back, as you should be.
this could be a good place to wrap?
Luna inhales shakily, tears prickling in her eyes until they fill too full and splash quietly down her cheeks. She's smiling though, and she hugs the boy a little tighter. It's perhaps one of the most wonderful things she's ever heard, and Diarmuid is so very dear to her. ]
I love you, too. [ She is... glad to be herself again. Not causing more hurt. ] Very much so.