Lakshmi straightens, rolls her back up and - good - good he's listening. Which is more than frankly she could hope for. Pulling up straight, she grabs the edge of one of the long scarves she seems so fond of ( blue always blue ), and begins to wipe the blood off her hands. Methodical, digging into the space between bones, ringing out her fingers one by one.

"Which part?"

She's at ease, now, in a way she hasn't been since she arrived. There is something to airing what she thinks, feels, who and what she is, and making no repentance for any of it that lets her stretch out inside of her own skin. That fills her up like water in a cup to almost over flowing.