Blythe could feel the fingers of the female's blue aura stroke her cheek softly, sweetly. It wasn't the cheek that was bruised from the strikes of Sal's gun, and if it had been, she wouldn't have even flinched. She was as responsive as she could be, the physical contact actually stirring something - not like their conversation, but not as heavy as the commands. She stood there and numbingly appreciated the affection.