His gaze dropped to the black garment that covered her. He would have some sport with Mr. She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid. His sword done with, he took up the bludgeon; balanced it in his hand; upon the points of his fingers; and let it fall with a smash, intentionally, upon the table. "I suppose it didn't drop through the ceiling, did it? Are you quite sure it's flesh and blood?" asked he, playfully pinching its arm till it cried out with pain. And―and he wanted to help you.
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