When he grabs her shoulder, Georgia instinctively tenses up as she expects some sort of physical retaliation. As angry as she was, she admittedly wouldnât blame him if he felt he had the right toâ she had put him through quite the ringer for what could have been (but was DEFINITELY not, she refused to believe otherwise) an accidental grope.Â
Of course, if he did, this was liable to turn into an actual fight, because there was no way on the Goddessâ green earth would she let some guy hit her and then not do anything about it.
But thankfully, things donât seem to escalate that far. All he does is pull himself up, and as he starts to speak, Georgia starts to sober a little from her rage. In fact, she sort of feels guilty again when she sees the blood still seeping through his fingers, and considers offering him an arm for support whenâ
She-devil. She. Devil. SHE⊠DEVIL�
Nope. He ruined it. Screw giving him help. Nope, nope, n o p e.
âAnd fight someone who canât fight back? Iâll pass.â Pffft, she wasnât a bully. Glaring, Georgia shrugs him off her shoulder and releases her grip on his collar. If he was too unsteady to stay standing after that, it wasnât her problem. He brought this on himself. âI think youâve learned your lesson, donât you?â
Scoffing, she dusts her hands. âNow go get cleaned up, you look horrible. And keep your hands away from girlâs rear ends, thanks.â
IN RETROSPECT, MAYBE HE SHOULD STOP TALKING. Every time it seems she faces a lapse in anger, it's quickly reignited once he opens his mouth and says something else to infuriate her. Hell hath no fury than a woman scorned, he supposes, though he will readily maintain his innocence. Lest is but a victim in these hapless crimes, he thinks, and it is by sheer misfortune that he happened across her path when he did. He had never asked for this to happen nor had he invited her to punch him in the face and then proceed to kick him headfirst into the aqueduct. Oh, his beautiful face. His beautiful face!Â
How was he supposed to get his portrait done in this condition?Â
Maybe he could spin the incident? A bruise from a vicious battle with some kind of heathen and a broken nose after being injured in due battle. It wasn't as if though it were entirely unexpected, he thinks. How often does he take to the fields in combat? ( The answer is not often at all, but that is besides the point. ) Lest stumbles a little when she pulls her shoulder away, pausing only to shoot her an annoyed glance. Uh, rude?
"I didn't do anything! I'M TELLING YOU, YOU'RE MISTA â" There is a slow pause as gloves hands come together in prayer. He draws in a deep breath, eyebrows knitting in frustration until he accidentally swallows some blood. "You know what. You're absolutely convinced I'll have absconded with having placed a hand on your behind and trying to convince you otherwise is a waste of time." A pause.
He's sopping wet. He's injured. He's bleeding. He's had quite enough of this woman. "So, if it matters that much to you: I'm sorry." A dutiful curtsy, before he steps out of the water. Water drops fall beside him. "Now, give me your name so I can have you banned from the premises."
