Re: quicklog: May / Rory
[May wasn't dumb. She'd had plenty of years (decades... centuries...) to tuck knowledge under her belt, and she so she knew that the man in her workroom wasn't all he appeared to be. But when someone followed the spell to her door, a sort of contract was made. That person needed help she could provide, and even if that help wasn't perfect, or wasn't exactly what they wanted or expected, she was bound by her own spell to provide it. Which was why the man was in the room and not left out in the woods to fend for himself.
She was leaning in past the doorframe by the time the man asked his question, and her face slipped into a slight smile, a hint of amusement there.] Less nurse, more innkeeper at the moment. [But she nodded as she looked at him. He was obviously taller than her, even situated in the bed, and though she was softer and curved in the way many women grew through their years, he also had some bulk on her. But it was also obvious that someone had helped him inside and into bed, and there was no sign of anyone but her.
Finally stepping over the threshold, her presence in the room barely changed it at all - like the room had held her all along, even when she wasn't there. In addition to those bright yellow gardening clogs, she was wearing wide-legged pants, fabric heavy to stand up to work, but easy to move in. Her sweater was only slightly over-sized, hand-knit, sleeves rolled up toward her elbows to reveal slightly-dirty forearms (one with the pale skin of a inches-wide scar, like the original skin had been scraped away by a rough palm). And her brown hair, only partially streaked through with silver, was pulled back into a loose bun at the base of her skull. Everything about her was a little brown, a little green, a little faded to grey.
And even though she'd just bushed aside the label of nurse,] How are you this morning?