Physical contact is a strange thing for Carlisle: even before he was cursed, he more or less had an aversion to it, having never been the rough-and-tumble sort the rest of his family was. Once he started studying magic, he donned more layers so as not to accidentally expel magic when he ought not, to not release a channel into some unsuspecting person due to a lack of control on his part. Given how panic-stricken he can be, that seemed like a reasonable choice. After they discovered his affliction, he donned even more layers. The vestments of his order not only hide the mark of his curse, but act as a barrier between him and everyone else. Some would call them stifling, but to him, they are protection.
And so he doesn't shed them often, and almost never in front of others. Glacius is a rare exception to this rule. It had been out of necessity at first, as the alien would only allow him to examine his wounds if Carlisle would grant him the same courtesy. It is out of necessity now that so much of him is bare, as Glacius was right -- if they'd allowed the ink and blood to set in, the stains would never come out of the fabric.
And yet, he doesn't feel completely out of his element, doesn't feel unsafe to have so much of him exposed -- not with Glacius right there, checking on his wounds, shielding him, as always. The icy giant continues to be his stalwart protector, no matter how much Carlisle feels he doesn't deserve one. He offers Glacius a weak smile, absolutely grateful.
"I will try not... to disappoint you and force you to reconsider," he replies softly. "I... admit I worry sometimes" —a lot of the time— "that I will make a mistake with... this."
He's not entirely sure what this is, so he makes the barest of gestures with his hand, something vague that is supposed to encompass everything around them -- what they're doing, where they are, them.
"Perhaps if I'd been better at telling you such things, you'd... have had no reason to doubt me at all, or to believe the lies you were told by a creature wearing my face." Though there's another apology on his tongue, he holds it back.
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And so he doesn't shed them often, and almost never in front of others. Glacius is a rare exception to this rule. It had been out of necessity at first, as the alien would only allow him to examine his wounds if Carlisle would grant him the same courtesy. It is out of necessity now that so much of him is bare, as Glacius was right -- if they'd allowed the ink and blood to set in, the stains would never come out of the fabric.
And yet, he doesn't feel completely out of his element, doesn't feel unsafe to have so much of him exposed -- not with Glacius right there, checking on his wounds, shielding him, as always. The icy giant continues to be his stalwart protector, no matter how much Carlisle feels he doesn't deserve one. He offers Glacius a weak smile, absolutely grateful.
"I will try not... to disappoint you and force you to reconsider," he replies softly. "I... admit I worry sometimes" —a lot of the time— "that I will make a mistake with... this."
He's not entirely sure what this is, so he makes the barest of gestures with his hand, something vague that is supposed to encompass everything around them -- what they're doing, where they are, them.
"Perhaps if I'd been better at telling you such things, you'd... have had no reason to doubt me at all, or to believe the lies you were told by a creature wearing my face." Though there's another apology on his tongue, he holds it back.