[Phoenix...is not good with injuries of others, but is surprisingly sturdy about his own, both phyically and emotionally. Really, it only takes a few hallucinatons or poison to bring him down.
When it looks as if she's comfortable, with her hands situated on her lap, Phoenix moves from the side of the endtable to sit next to her on the couch, far enough away to give her some room and to not jostle Heather's hands as he does so.
And despite now being next to her, he has to lean in just a tad in order to hear her quiet words.
...oh.]
Your--
[For a few seconds, Phoenix dosn't understand why she's so upset -- okay, it was her dad, but she could just see him back at home when she got there, ri--
...
Oh.
The memories of their conversation -- first, of her confiding to him about the fact she even HAD a father in Johto, and second, of her telling him that her father was also sort of dead -- all sort of bundle up into a ball and roll around a bit, and he has to shake his head to sort it all out completely.
Oh, no.]
Heather...
[His arms make some sort of reflexive, jerky movement, instinctively wanting to give some kind of physical comfort -- a hand on the shoulder, a hug, maybe -- but he stops, remembering her battered hands. He didn't want to do anything to risk jostling her and hurting them more.
Instead, he settles for lying his hands rather hopelessly on his legs, fingers twining into the fabric of his pants as he watches the girl with worried, sympathetic eyes.]
...I'm sorry, Heather.
[ooc; waaah, thank you! ;; I do not deserve such praise, my friend! They are such dorks though, I swear.]
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When it looks as if she's comfortable, with her hands situated on her lap, Phoenix moves from the side of the endtable to sit next to her on the couch, far enough away to give her some room and to not jostle Heather's hands as he does so.
And despite now being next to her, he has to lean in just a tad in order to hear her quiet words.
...oh.]
Your--
[For a few seconds, Phoenix dosn't understand why she's so upset -- okay, it was her dad, but she could just see him back at home when she got there, ri--
...
Oh.
The memories of their conversation -- first, of her confiding to him about the fact she even HAD a father in Johto, and second, of her telling him that her father was also sort of dead -- all sort of bundle up into a ball and roll around a bit, and he has to shake his head to sort it all out completely.
Oh, no.]
Heather...
[His arms make some sort of reflexive, jerky movement, instinctively wanting to give some kind of physical comfort -- a hand on the shoulder, a hug, maybe -- but he stops, remembering her battered hands. He didn't want to do anything to risk jostling her and hurting them more.
Instead, he settles for lying his hands rather hopelessly on his legs, fingers twining into the fabric of his pants as he watches the girl with worried, sympathetic eyes.]
...I'm sorry, Heather.
[ooc; waaah, thank you! ;; I do not deserve such praise, my friend! They are such dorks though, I swear.]