Terezi is disappointed--for a moment. She'd hoped that giving him this would help break whatever hold they had over him. Maybe it would help him feel more like him. But it's obvious that he can't do it. She smells the way his hand lifts, only to fall again. His ears droop.
She's at a loss for a few seconds. It's clear that he wants it; He just can't bring himself to do it. She remembers a time (over a year ago now) when her ancestor had fixed his paint for him in death, and it occurs to her that she could do it for him. That would be allowed, wouldn't it? If Redglare could do it, then Terezi can't think of a reason why not.
She reaches out, and instead of taking the paint away from him, she holds it steady in his hand. There's a slight grimace on her face as she hesitates. The paint is gross, and she's always given him grief in the past for making her touch it... But this is different.
Tentatively, she scoops out a bit of the paint, and it's exactly as gross as she imagined it would be. But she keeps going, touching the paint to his face and going over the faint lines made earlier, fixing the ones that had smudged. Her face is only a few inches from his, as she tries to sniff out the exact shapes that she's making. She doesn't have any practice with making it as pristine as he might be able to do, but after more than a year of smelling his face, she has a good sense of the design of it.
no subject
She's at a loss for a few seconds. It's clear that he wants it; He just can't bring himself to do it. She remembers a time (over a year ago now) when her ancestor had fixed his paint for him in death, and it occurs to her that she could do it for him. That would be allowed, wouldn't it? If Redglare could do it, then Terezi can't think of a reason why not.
She reaches out, and instead of taking the paint away from him, she holds it steady in his hand. There's a slight grimace on her face as she hesitates. The paint is gross, and she's always given him grief in the past for making her touch it... But this is different.
Tentatively, she scoops out a bit of the paint, and it's exactly as gross as she imagined it would be. But she keeps going, touching the paint to his face and going over the faint lines made earlier, fixing the ones that had smudged. Her face is only a few inches from his, as she tries to sniff out the exact shapes that she's making. She doesn't have any practice with making it as pristine as he might be able to do, but after more than a year of smelling his face, she has a good sense of the design of it.