The whimpers start up and, curiously, his first thought is that he wishes Sigma had for a moirail. Preferably a moirail what could sit by here. Motherfucker is all about needing the shoosh paps sweet up and on, a soothe against the ache. But Sigma ain't got one and it ain't the sort of thing the Initiate can or wants to give.

The whimpers and noises of pain try as to make him unsteady. He's hurting a tribute, is what his thinkpan whispers on at him. Disobediant. Sinner. He grits his teeth hard to fight against it. His ears flatten against the metal's screech.

He only pauses for true when Sigma speaks. He goes still as he considers all the same things what Sigma does. Now or later? Later, he thinks, would be best. Do it all at once. Get the sting over with and then the relief. Leave no question when it's like to be motherfucking over at last.

Its amazing Sigma should let this happen. Were Sigma a troll, the Initiate would be culled surely for what he's doing now and attempting to do, getting so close to one who was injured and in pain. He thinks on his own self and he can't remember even taking such care with his ownself. Disinfecting a wound? The fuck was that? But here, now, it all makes sense.

And with Sigma, it seems worth it. He hopes this works. He prays not again to try and save someone only to have them die in his grip. He is so tired of that.

With his eyes focused on his task, he plucks one bit after another. He trills lightly, just to see that Sigma ain't fading on him.