Of course there is. She whips her hair with one hand, the one with no neosporin on it, up into a messy half ponytail at the side of her neck opposite the scratch. She reaches back to gently feel for the scrape and has a moment's search before letting out the quietest exasperated breath. She arches her spine and reaches back, one arm bent over her head and back, the other inverted and bent up between her shoulder blades. It's a pretty basic yoga pose, and she can tie herself into knots if she has to. She shouldn't, for this.

"Should I even bother?" she asks.

It may seem petty, but the more scars she avoid accumulating, the happier she'll be. She has her share. She doesn't want new ones. They're unavoidable sometimes, but she'd rather this not be one of them. Getting clawed by a parrot wasn't one par with the rest of her scar stories in terms of being impressive.