He couldn’t quite believe the youth when he said he hadn’t wanted it. His voice and body language said that Anel believed his own lie, but the hard fact was that he could stand, he could move and talk and function. What had happened to the young whore was not rape as Atticus recognised it. It didn’t calm the fury he felt towards the client, however. The damaged done to Anel’s confidence, the disregard shown to Master Ryan, his hand twitched in an aborted movement towards his sword, controlling his desire to touch the hilt.<br/><br/>Atticus nodded at the unsure question. “It will, but less so if you use the oil in a warm bath first. If you find it unbearable even after the bath, dab a little more of the oil on your wrists. Your skin will absorb it. You’ll feel... better. Like you’re on a cloud. Makes getting it up close to impossible for a few hours, though.” He rubbed his chin, the slight growth of stubble rasping, his gaze dropping away from the boy. “I... Anel. I’m sorry this happened, but... the first time is always ugly. I swear, it’ll get better. If you need help, I’ll try to give it.”<br/>