Edea can see quite plainly that Ringabel is a mess, a complete and total mess. Externally, he's sweaty and pale, his hair limp and sticking to his face, the glory of the pompadour destroyed. He looks especially gangly and thin in the shadows, shaking slightly in the cold night. She doesn't know how long he's been awake tonight, and how many times the past few nights he's woken up like this, but it's obvious the man needs to get some sleep before he falls right over. And his state internally, mentally... he's never really been completely all there but it's not her place to judge anymore.

She licks her lips hesitantly, the slight tang of copper dissipating, as she watches him try regain enough control to make it back to the inn without support. Her mouth still feels weird. A little sore? Just... weird. Ringabel hasn't been acting like himself lately, and that's a been a little sad, so it was her duty as his friend to help him in any way she can. Maybe she'd taken it a little too far with the kiss, but how else was she supposed to convey everything to him?

That they're here for him - she's here for him. He's her friend. He's two of her friends, really. And that for as annoying he can be, and perverted, and weird, he's still her friend and she's going to look after him as much as he's looked after her, especially when he's on the edge of losing his mind. She'll protect him.

Her mind slips back to the moment she'd woken up, jarred out of an uneasy sleep by the noise of the door shutting behind him. In the darkness, she had seen Tiz rise as well, and the two of them had shared a brief look before she'd made the decision to follow Ringabel, leaving Tiz behind with Agnes, just in case. She hadn't known what she'd see, but her heart jumped at the memory of him standing on the wrong side of the railing, looking down, his face cold and distant.

Stupid Ringabel.

Didn't he know they cared about him? That he was more than just his fractured memories. He was the person whose book had guided them in their journey, reassured them that they were taking the right path. The person who'd guided them. The person they could count on, whether it be for a comment in poor taste or a weird compliment to cheer them them on. He was… probably the best friend she'd ever had.

In this world and the past.

"Come on, old man." She grumbles, taking him by the arm. He starts, jumping and instinctively tugging his arm away from her, but her grip is firm and she leads - half drags - him back up the path to the inn, away from the railing and the darkness beyond.

Ringabel is stubborn but he knows when to quit, if nothing else, and after the initial surprised stumbling, his footsteps are light and firm beside her as he regains his control. She no longer leads him, but instead they walk together toward the tiny inn aboard the ship they own (commandeered, more like). She still feels a little uncomfortable, like she's intruded on something private, like his memories were never meant to be shared, least of all with her, but Ringabel's no longer falling to pieces in front of her, leaving her helpless and without a clue as to how to fix him.

Edea's more about breaking things. Taking things apart to get to the root of the matter and examine their inner workings. It's fun! But when it comes to fixing things, to piecing together shards and fragments that are supposed to make a whole, she's a little less experienced. Ringabel isn't even technically whole… as much as the thought feeds her guilt. She steals a glance at him.

His color has improved, or perhaps that is simply the lighting inside the lobby of the inn as opposed to the torchlight and stars outside on the deck. His skin still shines with a thin sheen of sweat, and she eyes his hair with distaste when she notes how it clings to his temples. His pompadour is always ruined after a night of sleep, but it seems in worst shape than usual, whether due to the winds on the deck or the tossing and turning he had done. She doesn't know.

"You're not going to sleep like that, are you?" The words are out of her mouth before she knows what she's saying, and Ringabel's hand pauses on the door to the room they share with Tiz and Agnes even now. He glances back at her, eyebrow raised.

"What do you mean?"

He's so gross and sweaty; Edea feels icky just looking at him and their close contact gives her more than enough opportunity to take in his smell - sweat is one thing, but this smells like sick. She can't even imagine how rank his bedsheets will be in the morning.

"You're a mess, Ringabel." And he must be in worse shape than she thought if he didn't notice, or didn't care. Someone has to.

Ringabel pauses, his hand slipping off the door knob so that he can face her, that hand instead slipping up to rake through his hair in an attempt to tame it, if only he had a mirror. For a moment, he is Ringabel again. Annoying. Weird. "Would you like me to freshen up, Edea? Would it make it easier for you to stay the night by my side if I did so?"

She nods. "Yes, actually. That's it exactly."

He did not expect that. His grayish eyes widen slightly, and that hand drops uselessly to his side. She always enjoys making him shut up.

"Er," he articulates. "Well, then."

She's reminded of the conversation that they'd had - in the first world (second, for him?) after she sprung him out of prison. When she'd invited him out on a date. When he'd been too flustered, surprised to take her up on it. How she'd made fun of him. It seems like a lifetime ago, but the memory of it warms her. Encourages her. Reminds her that there will always be a way to pull him out of his stupid dark thoughts.

Ringabel swallows hard, his cheeks growing red. "If it... truly bothers you, I'll go and…"

"I'll go with you!" She exclaims, and doesn't quite miss the look of horror and mortification that dawns in his eyes. A look she cheerfully ignores as she tugs his hand away from the door and toward the washroom just down the hall.

"I hardly think this is necessary, Edea." Ringabel chokes out, but he follows her anyway (as if he had a choice). "It wouldn't be proper for a young lady to see a man in such a state!"

She looks back at him, eyebrows raised, as she nudges the washroom door open with her free hand. "What state? What are you talking about, Ringabel?" She means to scold him for whatever weird thoughts he's thinking, but he does have a point. She's bathed with Agnes plenty of times, and he and Tiz have shared baths to save water for as long as she can remember, but they've always kept the sexes separate, for several reasons. She doesn't exactly intend to bathe with him, but it's the first time that they'll share a washroom at the same time.

She tells herself it's because she wants to make sure he won't fall asleep and drown, which he is likely to do in his state - it wouldn't be the first time he'd fallen asleep in a bath. And so that he knows he isn't alone with his suffering. So that he doesn't have to be alone, cooped up in a quiet room with nothing but his thoughts and the sound of water, even if the washroom is much brighter than the outdoors. And she knows she's right. The idea of Ringabel alone in that quiet room is... frightening. She can handle a little nudity for his sake - she's not as shy as Agnes or even Tiz, who still have problems when someone shifts into certain Asterisk clothing.

He attempts to give her a bright, flashy smile. It falls flat. "I mean, a man shouldn't show himself to a lady at anything less than his best. I'll be out shortly, I promise."

"No," she tells him, and there's conviction behind her words that kills any other protests he may have. She knows what she's doing.

The world right now is white. White reflected in the tile underneath their feet and reflected in his pale skin. Her actions right now are entirely right. To protect him. To be there for him.

Alternis - Ringabel. They both have fancied themselves her protector for as long as she's known them. But isn't she his protector too? She swallows, and her face feels hot. She's wholly convinced that her actions - the meaning behind them, the reason behind them - are pure, but that doesn't make it easier, not when he's so broken and she still doesn't know how to piece him back together. She's never known how to piece him together, neither Ringabel or the Alternis she's grown up with.

"I won't…" Look. She trails off, then continues. "Just take a bath! I'll be right here. She turns away, crossing her arms and glaring at the far wall, stamping her feet firmly on the ground.

For a few long moments there is silence. Then slowly, painfully slowly, she hears the sounds of Ringabel crossing over to the large wash bin and pouring water into it from the pipes that lead to a giant tank outside. As a ship in the middle of the sky or the ocean, Grandship doesn't have much in the way of fresh water, but for the sake of cooking and cleanliness, they do collect some nearly every day from fresh water lakes, even if they sometimes have to ration it. She listens to the water, trying to judge how far he's gotten by the sound of it.

"You don't have to do this," Ringabel says a few agonizing moments later, one last ditch effort to rid himself of her. His voice is strained, even to her ears.

Edea shakes her head, her cheeks still red. There's no straying from her chosen path now. "I'm right here, Ringabel."

To that, the man says nothing more, and she listens to the sound of his clothing sliding across his limbs before hitting the floor, to the sound of him entering the water. He hadn't even heated it up, it sounds like. All he's going to do is make himself sick.

She brings her hands to her cheeks despite the urge to resist doing so. She doesn't want him to see her doing so. Doesn't want him to think there's something wrong with him. It isn't him at all.

Ringabel sighs, whether out of embarrassment, or because he's noticed the movement, or because he's comfortable. She can't tell.

"My lovely princess," he says, and she thinks to when Alternis used to call her that when they were children, when she forced him to play the knight to rescue Princess Edea, and then to play the princess that Knight Edea would rescue… "There's no need for you to remain here. I'm quite comfortable. Thank you."

His thanks is genuine, she can tell. But also genuine is the loneliness in his voice. The pain. "How's your head?" She asks instead. His head, his broken, damaged head that has caused him so much pain of late.

He pauses. "It's getting better." He says nothing more, and she listens to the sound of the water gently rolling over him as he washes up. She doesn't have to see him to know how uncomfortable he is with this. Alternis has worn that all-encompassing Dark Knight armor for years. Ringabel has wrapped himself in his own armor, both mental and physical, since before they'd met. Like this, he's completely bare and vulnerable in front of her, of all people. He must hate it.

"Will you wash my hair?" He asks, and there's an edge to voice that she recognizes. Oh, it's a dare. He thinks she won't do it. He might be right.

She takes a deep breath. He might be wrong.

"Oh, sure! I'd love to!" She replies, and though her mind immediately questions her decision-making, she's already turned around to face him before she processes that advice.

Ringabel's eyes are wide, his hands holding a wet washcloth to his chest as though it may afford him some semblance of modesty. His hair is damp, cleanly damp at least, clinging to his face and neck as water droplets roll down his exposed arms, skin paler on his chest and legs than it is on his arms.

She can't help it. She laughs. Because she genuinely finds his discomfort amusing. And because she doesn't know what else to do in times like this.

He at least has the sense of mind to look mildly offended, lowering the cloth down to his lap. "I'm glad someone is entertained by this, at least." But there's warmth behind his words.

"You still need me to wash your hair?" She offers. This isn't too weird.

There's a pause before he answers, his eyes on his hands in his lap. "Yes."

The answer is simple enough, and Edea moves closer, kneeling on the floor beside the washbin - for only a moment before she stands, dismayed and shocked. "Ringabel! There's water on the floor!" And now her last clean pair of sleeping clothes are wet below the knee. The feeling is uncomfortable, and she eyes the floor with distaste before noting how wet the washbin itself is as well. Water is wet.

"Ah, forgive me. I'm messier than it seems." He leans over the edge, keeping the cloth in his lap, to inspect the tile. He's so busy doing so, that he does not notice Edea slipping her pants off her hips until she nearly hits him in the face with an errant pant leg. "Wh-what are you doing?!" He exclaims, eyes closing (either because of the close call or because he's caught a glimpse of her legs, she isn't sure). Funny, she thought she would have been happy looking.

"This is my last clean pair." And tomorrow isn't laundry day, she thinks grumpily. If this doesn't dry cleanly, maybe she can borrow some clothes from Agnes. "You want me to wash your hair, right? I can't do it like this."

His voice has risen to an interesting octave. "Then there is no need- I can wash it alone. Please Edea." He all but begs. "I can take care of myself."

This she is firm on. "Ringabel. I'll wash your hair for you." I'll take care of you. So let me take care of you like you try to take care of us. I'm not leaving you alone… is left unsaid.

The white shift she wears as a top to bed joins her slacks on the far edge of the room, folded messily on top of a clean towel (his clothes smell just as foul as he did, after all. She doesn't know what he's going to wear back to the room). Despite her conviction, Edea wraps her arms around her bare chest and moves quickly, quietly, to the edge of the washbin. Ringabel is hunched over, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees, his head tucked down. He might be shaking. Whether that's due to the chill of being half submerged in water or for some other reason, she doesn't know, though she wants to find out.

Her fingers gently slide into wet hair, catching not-so-gently on tangles.

"It's alright," she tells him. Because she thinks he needs to hear. "I don't mind."

He lifts his head to look at her. "Edea," his voice sounds desperate.

As soon as their eyes meet, she headbutts him. His cry of surprise is quite honest. Well Edea, she thinks, that probably didn't help his headache. Good going.

"If you really want me to go, I'll go." She says. Because even she isn't so cruel. He's nursing the bump on his forehand with a slightly wrinkled hand, cringing. "But you're my friend, Ringabel. And you're more than that, too. You're one of my most precious friends. So please, let me take care of you."

His eyes search her face - and nothing but her face, she can tell he's straining to keep his eyes above her shoulders. He swallows twice before he answers. "Alright. Please stay."

The water is warmer with two people in it, she finds, as she settles easily behind him. And the washbin is big enough for both of them, though his legs are bent, and her own are a little cramped on either side of his hips. But Ringabel's always been a solid warmth in those rare moments she's been close enough to discover such and that is no exception now, as she scrubs a new wet washcloth across the skin of his back and wrings it over his head.

He apparently finds her feet amusing, his fingers running across her toes and underneath. It tickles. She kicks him in the side. "Hold still," she demands and he obeys, hands moving instead to his lap as though he were an innocent child.

All they have for washing up right now is soap, and while she knows that's a terrible thing to use on hair, especially hair that usually is taken care of (taken care of too well), it smells clean and fresh and he doesn't protest as she lathers him up. It's fun, his hair is fun to play with. While not nearly as long as Agnes' or even her own, there's still enough there for her to play with. She remembers putting Alternis' hair in pigtails as a child, and contemplates doing the same now. Just because. He owes her.

"If you wouldn't mind," he says after a moment, once Edea's done styling his hair to her satisfaction, and she realizes he's tilting his head back a little into her touch. "I would like to return the favor one day." He doesn't even flinch when she suddenly pulls on his hair a little too hard.

Now she feels like hiding under the washcloth, aware of just how close they are. "I have a lot of hair, you know."

She can hear the smile in his voice. "I know."

The water seems cold by the time she's finished rinsing out his hair and while she's back there, making sure his back is clean of grime as well, running water especially gently over scars she'd never noticed before. She gets out first, and Ringabel averts his eyes like a true gentleman until she's dressed, albeit still slightly damp. At least she now knows it dries cleanly - the pant leg seems no worse for wear. His clothing on the other hand… she wrinkles her nose at the wall as she hears him dressing.

"You're really going to wear that still?"

"For now, at least." He says, voice muffled slightly as he tugs the loose top back over his torso. "I have a few extra pairs in the room, but this will suffice for tonight."

"Ringabel, it smells rank. Why are you boys so messy?" She complains. "I don't want to smell it all night."

He doesn't ask what she means. She doesn't explain. But once he takes her hand, his fingers wrinkled and cold from the washbin water, she turns to meet his gray eyes. There's still pain there, so much pain she hurts just looking at him, but for now his face is calm. Calmer perhaps than she's seen in a long time, a world or two ago.

"Thank you," he says, and it is sincere as Ringabel ever is.

She frowns. "That wasn't a compliment!" Really. What is he thinking?

But she says nothing more as he leads the way back to the small room they share with their companions.