some studra, for @adaylitdream.
Zadra touches his face, fingertips smearing dark green blood across his upper lip. “What’s this?”
Stuart jumps a little, lets out that nervous through-the-nose laughter of his, and instantly winces. “Oh, that? Bloody nose, it happens, nothing to be worried about--”
“‘Blood?’“ She cuts him off, clearly alarmed. “Have you sustained internal damage? We must find medical attention at once. Mother should be able to stem the hemorrhaging before too much damage is done, if we move quickly.”
“No, no,” he laughs, wheezing a little, “no internal damage as far as I can tell. Well. No serious damage, just hurts. Teach me to look where I’m going, eh?”
When Zadra’s expression doesn’t relax, he sighs, flicks his ears, and gives her a big fanged smile. “It really is fine, Zadj. I may be an organic, but I ain’t that fragile.”
After a moment of searching his face, her gaze drops to her fingers, which are still just barely touching his upper lip. She takes them away to examine the blood for a moment; then she looks up at him again, her face unreadable.
And then she touches his nose with her fingertips, and his cheek, and looks fascinated by the marks it leaves behind. It’s a strange little moment, and if it were anyone else he’d be a bit concerned; but he gets the sense that there’s a ritual to it, one he doesn’t fully understand.
Then she disengages, putting on the brisk commander voice he knows her well enough to hear as embarrassment, and goes to find first aid.