He raises his eyebrows at her, not surprised at the answer but not willing to entertain it seriously either. Her lashing out is a sign that he might be on the right track, that he'd touched a nerve she wasn't expecting.

"What's my problem. Mmhn." He nods, trying to accept that this conversation isn't going to go the way that he'd expected it might. He sets aside the damp bloodied handkerchief and then brings his hand back to cup fully around hers. He doubts that she'll allow it for much longer, but he's not going to be the first one to pull away.

He hunches forward just a little and meets her eyes. He's trying to be tender, but when he speaks there's a new edge to his voice that he can't manage to conceal. "My problem is that you've gone to a half-mad demi-god and asked him to kick your face in. Don't you think that deserves some level of concern?"