"I'm not trying to prove anything to anyone," Ieza says, testiness audible, putting pique in the peaks of her words, "I am trying to learn a new skill. No more and no less." And while this is the truth as she understands it, she sounds undeniably defensive. If she had the vocabulary for it, she might say that she resents being psychologized. As it is, she makes a move to shift responsibility for her failure.

"It would help if I could understand the fundamentals of your discipline." She's not quite there yet, but there is definitely the ghost of blame in her voice, a risk of rising petulance that sours the cant of her lips and puts strain at the corners of her eyes. "This is a fairly ambitious praxis. You can't expect me to acquire it without some context." Though apparently she was ready to expect it of herself.

More whinging might be in the offing, more revelations as to the less attractive aspects of her ethos, but her body does her the service of interrupting. With little to no warning, Ieza descends into another burst of coughs, this time almost doubling over with the force of her hacking exhalations. It seems less and less likely that dehydration is the culprit. Something is clearly amiss, that much is clear from the worry that etches Ieza's brow, chasing away the irritation that was settling in so comfortably just moments before.

It is all the clearer when her sleeve comes away speckled with blood.

"Sanctissima…" Ieza wheezes.