"A stroke of luck," Raven echoed, eyes darting to Hank's face for barely a second before they went straight back to the boots she had on. They really were quite nice ones, reaching just over the knee and giving her a decent height boost with the heel on them. And this was all distraction techniques so that she didn't actually have to look at Hank, she knew this train of thought well, and rather than start to chew at her nails like she seemed to desire to do more than anything, she started fiddling with a small section of her hair. With the hairs twirling around her finger quickly to keep her hand occupied (the other remained firmly in her jacket pocket, it was far too cold to remove them both) she finally raised her eyes to Hank's shoes as he began apologizing.
"Hank, I really don't think this is the time or the place," she said, but her voice was soft, and there was at least a suggestion that the apology would work - when and only when she got it on her terms, anyway. "We're very close to the manor. It's where everyone is staying, I'll show you."
Without waiting for a reply, or even an indication that he agreed, she grabbed hold of the sleeve of his shirt and pulled Hank rather forcibly in the direction that she now wanted to walk. There were a lot of things spinning through her mind, namely you don't need a cure, and you hurt me so much that night, perhaps even a you're a dick thrown in there for good measure, but she kept herself silent. As she had said, she didn't want to do this out in public like this. She was not having some almost-lover's tiff where everyone could see. What if she got upset, or worse, cried? It would be horrifically embarrassing. Raven didn't cry, not in front of people. Even Charles had only seen it happen a handful of times.
Still, she didn't totally ignore the apology. She kept her mouth tightly shut for all of three or four steps before she threw a sideways glance at Hank, offered a very small, weak smile, and just mumbled under her breath, "Thank you, though."