Ithalin was rather enjoying his therapy session. It didn't quite compare, of course, to having a living, breathing being writhing in pain beneath his hands, but his imagination was doing its very best to make it 'okay'. His revere was interrupted by the appearance of the medic from earlier, her voice cutting through the rhythmic sound of his fists against leather. His gaze shifted from the bag in front of him to the diminutive woman, taking a mental note of the elf moving out of sight, something he noticed in his peripheral just before his eyes had began to rove over Hermesia. "<span style="color: #ff0000">Assistance?</span>" Ithalin laughed, the sound cold and harsh, echoing many times within his throat before it came forth. He quickly recomposed himself, fists still slamming against the equipment as he pondered how best to answer. He eventually settled on true, and blunt. "<span style="color: #ff0000">Unless you're willing to let me vent some rage on you, little one, I'm afraid you wouldn't be able to do muc--"</span>He paused as the elf spoke up, turning about with his brow raised, studying the man and his rather impressive mustache for a few moments before breaking into a grin of his own--and showing off some teeth that were obviously a bit too sharp to have been natural for a human.<br/><br/>"<span style="color: #ff0000">Ah, yes. It was nearly as insulting as you were to whoever has paid visit to your face.</span>" He let out a short chuckle, his tone suggesting a jest, though with his accent in the common tongue it might be a tad difficult to tell. Turning himself away from the 'elderly' elf, which was probably a poor choice all things considered, he looked once more at the paracelsi, suddenly leaning in towards her, and--sniffing at her? Yes, that would very much be what he appeared to be doing, taking in deep breaths through his nose. His eyes continued to look at her own all the while, which might have been mildly discomforting, but then, that was partially the point. Eventually he righted himself back up to his full height, barring a sudden stab in the back, and adjusted a slightly broken finger on one of his hands, a wonderful snapping noise resounding throughout the room. "<span style="color: #ff0000">I wonder if you'd even do any more for me than this bag does. After all, is one construct so different than another?</span>" Turning even as he spoke, he resumed his 'therapy' by expressing his displeasure on a certain fold in the bag's leather.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>