Belle strides into his study with an impunity generals would envy. "It's torn," she says, voice shriller than usual, as she holds up a dirty coat.
Indeed, it's the one with slashes across the chest. He forgot to trash it away.
It's not until he catches her looking for a matching injury that he understands her meaning. "You've seen me struck before, girl," he sighs impatiently.
"By a magical bow. How am I to know how you fare against normal weapons?"
That's... not a stupid question, actually. "I'm fine." He glares at her, unsettled by her worry. "Is that all?"
.-.
A.N. ...and that's all for this time. Until the next time the muse attacks!
Thanks for reading. If you've got the time, do mention which one of this batch was your favorite.