this pair of wings worn and rusted from too many years by my side
Mort's mercy, she hadn't been nearly this aggravating when she was sick.
"Fine. Fine." Tired, worn down, traumatized and sore, Amalia's patience finally snaps like the string of a violin. Releasing Loren with an impatient snarl the Shield rises abruptly to her feet, snatching up the canteen as she does. She doesn't have the time or energy to keep fighting against him; let him stay sick, the girl thinks bitterly, jaw clenched tight enough to creak.
The canteen tucked into her belt, Amalia steps back from the now-crawling firebrand, aggravation written clearly on her face. "Look, Loren- I'm not going to fight you. You don't want to feel better? Fine. I'll come back in a couple days when you're ready to cooperate. Astra, don't let him kill himself." Turning, she makes her way toward the door, preparing to leave with the water in tow.
"Fine. Fine." Tired, worn down, traumatized and sore, Amalia's patience finally snaps like the string of a violin. Releasing Loren with an impatient snarl the Shield rises abruptly to her feet, snatching up the canteen as she does. She doesn't have the time or energy to keep fighting against him; let him stay sick, the girl thinks bitterly, jaw clenched tight enough to creak.
The canteen tucked into her belt, Amalia steps back from the now-crawling firebrand, aggravation written clearly on her face. "Look, Loren- I'm not going to fight you. You don't want to feel better? Fine. I'll come back in a couple days when you're ready to cooperate. Astra, don't let him kill himself." Turning, she makes her way toward the door, preparing to leave with the water in tow.
