So Joan's hand skitters away from the webbing. Her fingers trace up Beta's arm, feeling for prickling skin, gooseflesh. Joan has plenty of her own, hairs raising. She shivers.

People are not usually this gentle with her, or this commanding in their gentleness. She asks them not to be gentle-- it's not their fault. She likes for someone to have all the control, is all. Either her, or the other person. Beta has all the control, now, but she's... so gentle with it. Decisive, unrelenting, shockingly gentle.

And she has a sense of humor. Joan gives a hoarse laugh. "Not- not bad. Just, heh, different. I'm still getting over that party, that's all." Joan rambles when she's nervous, when she's angry, when she's happy, when she's scared. She's only two of those right now. "I'm finally not sore anymore, and you're- this is good, this is good. Touch my chest?"