Re: Loft: Selina & Robert & Eddie
[The touch to his arm made him stop short and jerk to meet her un-sober gaze. His anger still lingered, though his words were sharply present.] You're drunk. And hurt. [His hand wrapped tightly around her uninjured arm (maybe a hair too tight, which he would feel guilty about later), and he walked her backwards to the nearest chair - leading like they were dancing, his long strides combined with her short backwards steps. He didn't stop pushing when the backs of her legs hit the chair, that strong grip easing her down. Easing, but not pushing, a controled guide to the cushion.] You need to sit. And let me calm down. Give me two minutes, Selina, to recover from seeing my friends dying. [There was command there, and an expectation that she would listen, even though he knew that it might not work.
Cats.
The grip on her arm finally began to ease, accompanied by a quick swipe of his thumb over skin that might end up bruising from his fingers. He let go again, turning to pace another line across the floor, and his gaze caught on Eddie, phone in hand and eyes wide. He didn't know anything about the man other than what had been divulged while he worked on Selina's injury, but he knew that sort of expression. The one that began its life when a person was still young. Knew it because he'd felt it on his own face, and he knew where it was born - a survivor's understanding. He pressed the heel of his hand up under the ridge of one brow, and sighed.]