"You're Lucky I tolerate you." Revenant grumbles, the pads of his metal—yet warm—hands were rubbing deep into your lower back. "Loba did you in, huh?" His attempts to make conversation with you are dwindled to silence, apart from your groans of pain and slight comfort breaking the silence.

"Tell me, what did she do?" He suddenly snaps. "Youre usually talkative. And not in fuckin' pain." Revenant continued to gently rub you down, albeit his tone harsh.

Simulacrum or not, he cared enough.