[In her crashed stupor, Helga faintly picks up the whirring noise right before she's lifted. The contact becomes her top priority and she tiredly swings her arms in a very poor attempt to be let go while muttering in a deep moan:]
Leave it, I can handle hedge trimmers.
[It's worth noting that absolutely none of this is actually moving her out of Isabela's grasp.]
no subject
Leave it, I can handle hedge trimmers.
[It's worth noting that absolutely none of this is actually moving her out of Isabela's grasp.]