[ Rather than make a show of it, rather than present it in any capacity the way that she has in the past, Claire snatches the knife up in delicately, the weight of it in her hand probably more familiar than anyone should rightfully be comfortable with. Whether to placate him or otherwise, she makes no move toward her normal flourish, doesn't cut the blade - no matter how tiny - firmly down the center of her hand, slicing through tendon and skin and looking for bone.
Rather, she spends a moment looking at him, the slant of her eyes frustrated and cagey and caught up. She should press the tips of her fingers against the tiny apex and slash across the pads just to prove a point but something in her falters, and she's not unsure or second guessing herself even if she can't put an unbloodied thumb on what it is that gives her pause. It's a long moment before she moves or even breathes, never mind saying anything. Instead, she just stares at him, confused and annoyed and breathless despite not having actually done anything.
Eventually, Claire turns the knife in her own hand, offering it back to him. ]
no subject
Rather, she spends a moment looking at him, the slant of her eyes frustrated and cagey and caught up. She should press the tips of her fingers against the tiny apex and slash across the pads just to prove a point but something in her falters, and she's not unsure or second guessing herself even if she can't put an unbloodied thumb on what it is that gives her pause. It's a long moment before she moves or even breathes, never mind saying anything. Instead, she just stares at him, confused and annoyed and breathless despite not having actually done anything.
Eventually, Claire turns the knife in her own hand, offering it back to him. ]
I heal.
[ That's it. He can have it back now. ]