It cuts at her that she's even turning to him for this, asking in her own strange way for his help, and not finding a way to utterly pulverize his stupid face till his lungs fill with blood from his shattered nose. But it's true, she has very few she could ask for help with this, and she doubts the Summoner or the Dolorosa would have the skill.

Scowling in his direction she takes the unoffered chair, spinning it before sitting, her arms resting against the back as she continues to glare-watch him. Mother he makes the anger in her only grow, bubbling up till she can practically feel it crawling up her throat and she's so very tempted to just take his, instead of waiting for her own to be fixed. Surely that'd work.

But she inhales, nice and deep, before replying, an act of couldn't care less. "They should make them more sturdy then. I'm surprised your fat hands haven't shattered it into tiny little pieces yet." A childish remark, but no one could ever call her mature. "Just fix it, I don't need the wiggler lecture."