[ The shirt, now open, slips free of Kija's shoulders, the fabric sliding down his arms, leaving Sion to make short work of the spiders now that the other man has been brought down from the throes of panic to calm. The balm of soothing, so invoked by the language of God (and so too spoken by a divinity), gently abates when there are no more small foes which to combat, its haze lifting in increments and degrees, for the King has no wish to keep Kija subdued for any longer than necessary. As beneficial as the magic might be, it infringes far more upon a person's will than Sion would like, and in a moment, perhaps two, (and before Sion has the chance to see the other man dressed again) the spell fades, leaving only...
Sion, Kija, and impossibly dusty room, free of the little creatures who have found refuge in darker places. ]
You are all right now. [ Thoughtfully, he hums, appraising the other man, ever-watchful now that he's reason to be concerned. ] If you should so wish it, we can take our leave from here. This chore might always wait for a little while.
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Sion, Kija, and impossibly dusty room, free of the little creatures who have found refuge in darker places. ]
You are all right now. [ Thoughtfully, he hums, appraising the other man, ever-watchful now that he's reason to be concerned. ] If you should so wish it, we can take our leave from here. This chore might always wait for a little while.