He glances up at her 'demands', just in time to see her chewing on a lock of white hair. Any other time, it would be another reminder of why not to do that - 'There are germs, Triss, little tiny bugs that live on surfaces that you don't want in your mouth' - but right now, he simply fans his hand near her cheek. It's a comforting gesture that just so happens to also pull the strands of hair clear of a very chapped lips.
While Hannibal is more than intrigued to see continued displays of their powers - although he is hoping to avoid outright threats-by-way-of-showing-off - he also knows that there is a very real risk of a meltdown from Triss if things get too outrageous. "I will talk to them about that. But as I've said before, Triss, our home offers quite a lot of protection from anyone finding out if magic has happened inside. Little shows of it will not draw anyone's attention." They'd discussed it, in the sense that one or two fearful tantrums had needed to be soothed by Hannibal assuring beyond the shadow of a doubt that any accidental tendrils of magic from Patricia, in their home, would be a) unpunished by him, and b) undiscovered by others. With 'a' of course being the case no matter where her powers manifested.
She tenses and holds her breath - not the best case for ignoring pain, but it's such a very instinctive action. "Breathe, Triss." He coaxes, with no urgency. The rubbing alcohol doesn't fizzle or pop the way abrasive peroxide does, but that belies the sting of it.
He's wiping it away with a sterile cloth moments later, not bothering to let it air dry. This one, at least, can be sufficed without mummifying her entire knee, although he still uses a gauze strip in lieu of a presized bandaid. Even an eight year old knee is a large surface area when 'horse bite' was the cause of injury.
"Alright." Hannibal is packing things back in the kit, tight and orderly, as if nothing had even been removed. He stands and offers a hand. "Did you need anything else from up here?" He asks it lightly, with an easy expression but minimal eye contact.
He's noticed the attachment to Otto, Triss, and there's not going to be any judgment, regardless of her eight-year-old verdict.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2016-06-05 02:33 am (UTC)While Hannibal is more than intrigued to see continued displays of their powers - although he is hoping to avoid outright threats-by-way-of-showing-off - he also knows that there is a very real risk of a meltdown from Triss if things get too outrageous. "I will talk to them about that. But as I've said before, Triss, our home offers quite a lot of protection from anyone finding out if magic has happened inside. Little shows of it will not draw anyone's attention." They'd discussed it, in the sense that one or two fearful tantrums had needed to be soothed by Hannibal assuring beyond the shadow of a doubt that any accidental tendrils of magic from Patricia, in their home, would be a) unpunished by him, and b) undiscovered by others. With 'a' of course being the case no matter where her powers manifested.
She tenses and holds her breath - not the best case for ignoring pain, but it's such a very instinctive action. "Breathe, Triss." He coaxes, with no urgency. The rubbing alcohol doesn't fizzle or pop the way abrasive peroxide does, but that belies the sting of it.
He's wiping it away with a sterile cloth moments later, not bothering to let it air dry. This one, at least, can be sufficed without mummifying her entire knee, although he still uses a gauze strip in lieu of a presized bandaid. Even an eight year old knee is a large surface area when 'horse bite' was the cause of injury.
"Alright." Hannibal is packing things back in the kit, tight and orderly, as if nothing had even been removed. He stands and offers a hand. "Did you need anything else from up here?" He asks it lightly, with an easy expression but minimal eye contact.
He's noticed the attachment to Otto, Triss, and there's not going to be any judgment, regardless of her eight-year-old verdict.