[Frustration still brims full within the cup of his sanity, but he tamps down on it with effort as he moves nearer (he is not the man he once was, that much remains true), reaching to set hands across those narrow shoulders.
He cannot feel how cold they must be through the thickness of his gloves.]
[He still gets a light, frustrated growl, echoing the edge in the armored man's voice with his own, but--
Without Bi'an to warn him (Hold, Wujiu) it's his instincts that finally assert themselves. Despite everything, Wujiu still has his self-preservation, and he finally stops holding it down.
And if the man says he can treat him? All the better.
He doesn't say anything, but he does loosen his grip on the umbrella just enough--just enough to wordlessly unfasten his outer robe, letting it drop. The shirt comes next, sticky with black blood. He knows enough about medicine to know it wouldn't do to have the clothes in the way.
So what his companion gets now is a full view of that emaciated back, the spine rising from marked skin like some sort of leviathan in a stormy sea.]
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He cannot feel how cold they must be through the thickness of his gloves.]
Compose yourself. Else I cannot treat you thusly.
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Without Bi'an to warn him (Hold, Wujiu) it's his instincts that finally assert themselves. Despite everything, Wujiu still has his self-preservation, and he finally stops holding it down.
And if the man says he can treat him? All the better.
He doesn't say anything, but he does loosen his grip on the umbrella just enough--just enough to wordlessly unfasten his outer robe, letting it drop. The shirt comes next, sticky with black blood. He knows enough about medicine to know it wouldn't do to have the clothes in the way.
So what his companion gets now is a full view of that emaciated back, the spine rising from marked skin like some sort of leviathan in a stormy sea.]
...There.