"...<span style="font-family: courier;">Hrrmph.</span>."<br/><br/>Nit was taking a particularly long time to reciprocate, feeling reluctant about even touching Coup. After persevering through her justice, they felt extremely wary around her, as if it were likely that she would hurt them again. The eldritch looked up at Marcial, who quietly nodded their way while giving an equally tender grin. In a sense, he was silently asking Nit to forgive. Coup's attempt at a meaningful metaphor was  a tad confusing at first, but he could get what she was trying to say.<br/><br/>"<span style="font-family: courier;">I'm not one for... apologies</span>," Nit admitted as they pressed their dorsal arms against the ground, attempting to find alternate ways to get up on their feet. "<span style="font-family: courier;">A sorry is... not a good... substitute for medical treat... ment</span>." They propelled themselves off the ground with their respective arms, swaying as they attempted to balance while at the same time trying to not put too much weight on their sprained ankle. They hobbled about like an unskilled tightrope walker attempting to scale a large waterfall. They looked rather goofy to say the least.<br/><br/>"<span style="font-family: courier;">Dammit, it's so... fucking hard to stand... with this leg pain... Wait, shit, shit, ¡<span style="font-style: italic">PINGA MADRE</span></span>!" Nit rather humorously toppled over right on top of Coup, clinging to her hair and arms. Some strands of dead protein wriggled their way in between Nit's artificial finger joints, albeit only a few. Their eye was bulging wide, a prominent shock in their expression. They glanced over at Coup with this same shocked look in addition to a slight blush. "<span style="font-family: courier;">I still... hate you</span>," Nit attempted to reassure her, although they remained clung onto her like a fat tick. Marcial could not help but giggle at Nit's little goof-up, although he was quickly shushed by an irate glare from them.