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Satisfied that she'd stopped her whimpering, Ovaan stood, leaving her where she was. That was the best he could do for her. Besides, she had deserved the punishment. He was being easy on her, considering.

He turned his attention to his broken door, silently cursing Kelala for having broken it. His back to her, he began inspecting the damage.

Ovaan, the door nicely repaired, had been sitting in a home-made chair beside his bed, looking intently at something. But when he sensed her movement, he quickly stuffed it into the nearby dresser, then turned to her, just in time for her to yank up the blanket and bellow at him. He jumped, startled by her outcry. He stared at her for a moment, at a loss for what to say. He'd had way too much time to think, and he'd basically realized that there was no possible way that she was going to like him anymore.

He asked carefully, guardedly, "How are you feeling?"

Then, before he could contain it; "You...you're mad at me, aren't you?" he whimpered helplessly. And before she could say anything, "I...didn't mean to. I just...got mad." His voice was a beg, a pitiful plea for forgiveness. He approached her quickly, kneeling beside her and pulling down the back of the blanket wrapped around her, revealing her nearly-healed skin, baby soft and slightly paler than the rest of her skin, but definetly well on its way to being healed. "Look. See? I fixed you."

She hated him! She was never going to like him again! His thoughts surged helplessly as she pulled away from him, causing his face, if possible, to fall even further. "No, no," he begged desperately, reaching for her, wanting to pull her back and force her to like him again. His expression was stormy as he managed to stop himself and pulled away. He got to his feet and turned his back on her.

"I don't appreciate your breaking my door." He informed her, moving away from her. "It took me all morning to repair, you duchtka." He addressed her with an insult in his native language meaning 'foolish one, not worth the effort', scowling darkly and moving to the dresser beside his bed, which apparently held everything dear to him.

"More clothes for you to ruin?" He scowled, opening one of the drawers of the dresser. He dug around inside it, extracting a button-up shirt missing all but its bottom-most button (he'd used the other buttons to mend other shirts and sometimes as bullets or pellets. Buttons had many uses.) She'd hate it, he thought with malicious glee, feeling particularly unpleasant toward her at the moment. He pulled a long, thin strip of soft leather from the drawer below and made his way back to her, throwing the unhelpfully revealing shirt down in front of her.

He watched her with amusement as she took the 'belt' from his hands, and couldn't help chuckling. Ignoring her statement, he knelt beside her, pulling at the belt. Almost flirtingly, he said, "You put it on wrong." With malicious glee, he pulled the belt and shirt off, keeping his eyes carefully trained on the wall over her head. Despite any protests, he turned the shirt around. "You want the open part on your back," he told her as though this were obvious, "The burn won't heal unless it has oxygen. And this," He held up the leather, "wasn't exactly intended to be a belt. Use this." He tied a cloth sash around her waist, rubbing it in that he was now dressing her - how pathetic she was without him! - and adjusted it beneath the burn.

"Unless you want to show off your bosom," he teased wickedly. He took the length of leather and wrapped it around her waist. He was taking her measurements. If he was going to make her a new bodice, it would benice if it fit well.

"Lift your arms." Ovaan commanded of her, surprised by her sudden obedience. Maybe he had teased her just a little too much? Well, she deserved it. And the quite was nice.

Ovaan pouted thoughtfully as he considered how to approach his next move. Finally, he said simply, "I apologize in advance," And quickly wrapped the 'measuring tape' around her chest, measuring her bust. He pulled away quickly after doing so and turned to write the measurements down.

Ovaan had written down the measurements, and now stared off into space, trying to fathom how on earth to make a bodice. It wasn't like he'd ever had to wear one. So he'd never learned.

And the silence was starting to drive him a little crazy. What was the point of having a guest if they weren't going to talk? "You're boring." He told her immaturely, loudly, to get her attention.