His brow furrows. They are walking. But he's meant to protect everyone. "Pain will not bring him back, Signora." He steps in front of her and stops, taking her bleeding hand in his own, giving it a critical eye. "Sunday wished for me to protect those on this ship. That means you. I...cannot allow this to go on."
He lets out a slow breath as he picks out the pieces of glass, careful, one by one, ignoring how his own vision is a bit bleary with exhaustion. This is something he can do. By the Law he will do it. "You cannot know that for certain. I could have been delayed by any number of things." As well as there being many things that could have killed Sunday. For once, he keeps that to himself. "Tormenting yourself with hypotheticals such as that also serves no purpose."
His voice is also it's usual monotone, but just a bit softer. Worn. He's using the same cold logic he's been slamming against his own regrets, guilt, fears...it's all he has. Faced with her own numb, agonized resonance, it's all he can do to keep afloat.
So he takes the glass out of her hand (if she lets him. Even if she resists, he might double down.) He pulls out some bandages from a small emergency kit, cleaning and dressing the wound. If she lets him, it will be done in about 5 minutes.
"The sterilization can hurt. But it seems that is your wish. But now it is at least not an active risk of infection." Now they continue walking. His head tilts to her, distantly curious.
"What sorts of death rites do you you perform? Is there something you need?" He's already gathering things for the will...
wrong!! Putting a stop to that when he sees it outside himself. Mans craves tasks.
He lets out a slow breath as he picks out the pieces of glass, careful, one by one, ignoring how his own vision is a bit bleary with exhaustion. This is something he can do. By the Law he will do it. "You cannot know that for certain. I could have been delayed by any number of things." As well as there being many things that could have killed Sunday. For once, he keeps that to himself. "Tormenting yourself with hypotheticals such as that also serves no purpose."
His voice is also it's usual monotone, but just a bit softer. Worn. He's using the same cold logic he's been slamming against his own regrets, guilt, fears...it's all he has. Faced with her own numb, agonized resonance, it's all he can do to keep afloat.
So he takes the glass out of her hand (if she lets him. Even if she resists, he might double down.) He pulls out some bandages from a small emergency kit, cleaning and dressing the wound. If she lets him, it will be done in about 5 minutes.
"The sterilization can hurt. But it seems that is your wish. But now it is at least not an active risk of infection." Now they continue walking. His head tilts to her, distantly curious.
"What sorts of death rites do you you perform? Is there something you need?" He's already gathering things for the will...