I didn't.

( it's said in a breath of a laugh, a slight wheeze, exaggerated, as he bends at the middle, lurching forward so that he can slide her feet down to the floor. his hands steady there for a moment on her hips, making sure that she isn't going to topple one way or the other before he straightens up again.

there, a small narrowing of his eyes down at her-- )

And you didn't say yours either, princess. What is it?

( it seems to dawn on him, in that moment, how terribly underdresssed she is; he still doesn't think it's really a problem, given the depravity of this place in general, but it also doesn't quite feel right to slap her on the ass and send her on her way. given the kind of people in this place, himself included, that might just be setting her up for disaster.

why does his stupid morality compass have to point in the right directions every once in awhile? pain in the ass, honestly. )

We're not gonna put you in a fucking tablecloth. That's not sexy.

( there's a very dry roll of his eyes, as though that's the real problem. )