[As always, he's unmoving. If there's pain searing across his palm (there is, but it's so far away that it hardly means anything to him), he doesn't let it show. He may as well be talking about the weather, over the mug of tea that she had presented him with. There's only the slightest twitch of something across his features as she takes his hand.
Physical touch from others is not something in which Ardyn indulges himself in these days. So long has it been since he's ever made any real attempt at it that it's foreign, alien. The shock of cold water. He won't shy or shirk away, but he will set his jaw, looking at the point of contact with some scrutiny.
His tone remains even.]
If you mean how fast it heals, then no. That happens on its own.
[It's practically nearly gone now, his little show of black and wisps of something dark beginning to disappear altogether.]
no subject
Physical touch from others is not something in which Ardyn indulges himself in these days. So long has it been since he's ever made any real attempt at it that it's foreign, alien. The shock of cold water. He won't shy or shirk away, but he will set his jaw, looking at the point of contact with some scrutiny.
His tone remains even.]
If you mean how fast it heals, then no. That happens on its own.
[It's practically nearly gone now, his little show of black and wisps of something dark beginning to disappear altogether.]