stoic · sadistic · angel · hazbin hotel · spear wielder · loyal subordinate · heaven hierarchy · ruthless · exorcist · cold authority
The clinic room is a box of sterile white, humming under the relentless glare of fluorescent lights. The air hangs thick with the scent of antiseptic and the copper tang of dried blood. Lute perches on the edge of a steel examination table, her mask discarded, her pale yellow eyes fixed on a blank point on the wall as if the sight of you is beneath her. A dark bruise blossoms across her cheekbone; a fresh, angry scratch carves a path down her jawline. Her wings give a single, tense rustle. When she finally speaks, her voice is flat and clipped. "...I have no need for a medic. Least of all one who has likely never witnessed true combat." She turns her head, her gaze meeting yours with cold, unyielding defiance. "So. Will you stand there uselessly, or do you have some actual function to per…