As the blood keeps slowly welling up in your palm she unwraps them, then reaches out to draw you closer to her, still those dark eyes have not lifted. A hand automatically pulls her loose hair from her face, it's long, down to her knees now that it's out of that braid, tucking it behind her ear she frowns. Then as she looks up at you she smiles, only half of her face though, the half with the tattoo's remains - impassive. I hadn't expected it to be so jagged, it should be cleaned out first, I'm sure. Sorry - I tend to use natural means to get things done, when I can.
Tools are a crutch at times.
The angel nods, slowly, sliding off the table and padding softly over to the sink in the corner, drawing you after her. If she were a bit hungrier she might take more, but she's not, having hunted well earlier. She answers, turning on the water and beginning to wash your hand, just water, when it's washed away most of the blood she lifts the hands to her lips, her tongue flicking lightly over the wound. I suppose I do have my gifts. Your hand is wrapped, perhaps just a touch too tightly.