"yago?" Nasrin keeps her voice small as she crouches beside them. The little hexblade hesitates before reaching out and putting a hand on their back, rubbing gently.
Nasrin holds a piece of ginger candy out that she got from one of the tiefling refugees.
"To help settle your stomach."
Iago's ability to vanish from scenes more unsightly than they can handle is almost impressive. A timely misty step or two is merely a muscle memory instinct that they'd discovered very quickly since waking up on the Nautiloid. Iago had made a habit out of it already, often needing to be chased down by their companions after the fact (which sometimes led them to run even further, a panicked mad dash also a sort of muscle memory to them).
So it was no surprise when a gnoll born from viscera and gore left an Iago-shaped hole in the fight. Nasrin finds them a ways away, crouched on the ground, head tucked between their knees, trying very hard to stay upright. They watch the lady approach from behind a curtain of hair that had fallen over their face (attempts at keeping it tied back have been a frustrating series of trial and error as braiding is somehow not one of their lasting muscle memories).
"I think it's Iago," they murmur miserably without much heart, still not entirely sure themselves. Nasrin's touch is gentle and expected, but makes them jump nonetheless. Iago lets her drop the candy in their palm and sniffs it suspiciously. A squint is aimed at the other for a few long moments, as if they might find 'I am poisoning you' written on her forehead. Eventually, they surrender to their fate.
With mild interest and a candy tucked into their cheek, they ask, "Is everyone still alive? Limbs intact?"
