[There was that idea again, that service rendered to his Bonded somehow meant servitude. A frown--confusion, dismay--crosses Myr's face, but he hasn't the wherewithal to chase that idea in the moment. Not when there is so much else about their present situation that requires repair; unpacking the assumptions of their so-similar, so-different upbringings can wait. Maybe wait a very long time, if it must.
(How much time would it take, indeed.)
He clasps L's hand with his own.]
No, [he agrees,] I'm not that. But you're a mess and we'll both feel better if I help you through this. Will you let me?
no subject
(How much time would it take, indeed.)
He clasps L's hand with his own.]
No, [he agrees,] I'm not that. But you're a mess and we'll both feel better if I help you through this. Will you let me?