You freeze a little when she gets that close, and a little thrill runs down your spine automatic-like at having someone else's mouth so close to your sensitive yet terrible excuses for quasi-earfins. Then you relax in a rush and nuzzle back, smiling fit to burst. "Ain't never met no kind of real miracle 'til I met you, Appie. You got every shade of my trust on this." Then you lean back again and reach up, untie the mussel-pearl and shell-studded cord that keeps your raggedy topknot in shape. Then you fingercomb your hair out as best you can, looking at Appie all shy - somehow this feels even more naked than smearing your paint, ain't no-one seen you with your hair down willingly not ever. Hair loose like this, it's damn near long enough to sit on, and the thought that she could easy grab it and use it as a leash to bring you to heel makes you shiver. You glance at her, smiling self-consciously. "You want me to turn round, or this any kind of okay?"