[ She leans on him as he works, and for a moment he's startled. Not in that it's improper, it's just - her hair is wet, and when you can't see where water is coming from, it's startling. It makes him laugh lightly through his nose, and his mind nearly slips up on the piano keys in his head. He lets out a calming hush and he moves from her back to her neck, shifting her hair from one shoulder to the other with the upmost care.
He'll keep the mental music playing for her as long as she needs, because he truly does believe in it's power to return her to her senses. It makes the task of repeatedly wringing the cloth and washing the dirt from her skin pass by more pleasantly, too. Even when he finally feels that spark of herself returning, he doesn't stop mentally playing or washing. Just smiles to himself and wrings the cloth out under her chin, letting the water drip down his arms and her chest as he gently pushes with his mind. ]
(There you are.)
[ He drapes the damp cloth over her shoulders and gently places his hands at the sides of her temples. From there he runs his fingers back, then forward, back, forward - dragging them over her scalp to massage her head. It is something he remembers long ago from a loved one, and it's hard to keep the memory down. But his concern for her in the present outweighs the irrelevancies of the past easily enough, and his mind remains a pool of calm, of darkness, of music - all for her. ]
no subject
He'll keep the mental music playing for her as long as she needs, because he truly does believe in it's power to return her to her senses. It makes the task of repeatedly wringing the cloth and washing the dirt from her skin pass by more pleasantly, too. Even when he finally feels that spark of herself returning, he doesn't stop mentally playing or washing. Just smiles to himself and wrings the cloth out under her chin, letting the water drip down his arms and her chest as he gently pushes with his mind. ]
(There you are.)
[ He drapes the damp cloth over her shoulders and gently places his hands at the sides of her temples. From there he runs his fingers back, then forward, back, forward - dragging them over her scalp to massage her head. It is something he remembers long ago from a loved one, and it's hard to keep the memory down. But his concern for her in the present outweighs the irrelevancies of the past easily enough, and his mind remains a pool of calm, of darkness, of music - all for her. ]