[ Across the small table, the puppet smiles at him. It isn't a broad one by any definition — it's a small, subtle curve of his mouth, in a face rarely given to any extremes — and occupies a complicated space between warm gratitude and reluctance.

It would be easy to accept his freely-offered assistance, but he's not sure he trusts himself with it. He isn't sure he wants to let him down. ]

I understand.

[ He feels his smile pull up more on one corner than the other at Wriothesley's flirtatious, playful grin, warmed by the implication. ] However, if I am in such a state and find I've little control over myself, I'll use the term redline.

[ For a puppet who has no idea what a safeword is, he sure is proposing one. His eyebrows lift, a little pleadingly. ] Promise me you'll take care under the circumstances.