#also x2 hi coming back again to just...... takes hal's hand. puts artemis' bare hand in his

[bcneheaded]

"Hush, now. I've got you." (oh how the turn tables, old skellybones ;P)

𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐝 “𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮” 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 (with @winterfollows !)

Long, bony fingers are plucked with the utmost care from within their blood-soaked gloves-- once a pristine white-- the material catching stubbornly. Coat long since discarded, the sleeves no doubt ruined-- he stands rather despondently by the guest-room's bathroom sink, Haleir at his side. Determined for some reason or another to help in ridding him of the ghastly crimson that spattered most of his arms and upper body. A creature. A mindless abomination roamed the streets, causing chaos among the area and striking fear into its inhabitants. It could not be allowed to live and infect the city. So he killed it. It was.. perhaps a tad more difficult than he'd anticipated, and as such, he may have gotten a little frustrated by it. But in all fairness... in all his time, he had never encountered one of these. He did not know they exploded upon death. He does now. Had he the key components of doing so, surely he'd have retched when the half-digested blood of the creature's victims sprung from it's swollen belly and spattered his attire. Hot and rancid in feel, even upon his tar. And now he was here. Had it been that the other had already been at the shop, wondering where Artemis had been-- only to be shocked at the sight of the poor, reeking sap walking through the door? Perhaps so. But now... He takes Artemis' bare hand in his and sponges clean the stickiness from the bones and tar as gently as one would for a Living. And for a long moment as he stares down at their hands, he finds himself... confused. Why was he so gentle with a creature such as he? Yellow eyes languidly wander up to meet Hal's gaze in the mirror before glancing back down at the mess upon his button-up shirt; red and black alike soaked through the material. Audibly, he tuts; silently admonishing himself for ruining so much of his tailor's fine work. And when Hal looks at him, for the first time in.. perhaps a little too long, he speaks again. "Truly," he tries one more time, not nearly as convincing as he'd been the first couple tries. "you needn't... I can clean myself." A long pause, and he sighs quietly, eyes falling back to Hal's hands, pale as porcelain compared to his own. "You'll... dirty yourself with tar--" he tries, pushing once more, voice barely but a croak. "It's... difficult to wash off."