Jude leans slightly into Koa's touch as one strong hand squeezes his shoulder as if chasing after the touch that disappears far too soon, craving the way it had silenced the noise in his brain for all of a moment.
If Koa is freaking out, he's doing a great job not showing it, because the certainty of his voice as it comforts Jude makes his slender shoulders sag immediately. It's exactly what he needs to hear, even if the guilt gnaws at his insides. Maybe if he just thinks of that phrase as absolving Edmund it will make his own guilt decrease. It had needed to be done. It was Edmund or them - right?
Right.
His hands flex and curl against his thighs, nails catching on the slight texture of his fitted leggings. It's the only comfort he has for his anxiety, the only way to minimize it enough to nod slightly when Koa warns him of impending questions. He tries for a shaky smile in return, truly grateful if nothing else for Koa's calming presence. Clearly, he'd made the right choice in who to seek out.
[say]"Um, Edmund. Edmund Ansel. He's um Maeve's son."[/say] Is that relevant? Jude bites his lip, uncertain. Maybe it would make things easier for Koa if he needed to find Edmund to question him, to know his relations and homeland? But as soon as he's asked to remember the people in that field Jude's pallid complexion goes sickly, and he swallows spasmodically. [say]"T-They were calling my brother names. Freak, abomination. Traitor. But they didn't have anything on them visually - I think?"[/say] He sways a little as he tries to remember because he admittedly can't recall anything they were wearing. All he can see in his mind's eye is the blood and viscera, the contorted faces of people who had died in agony. Bile burns at the bottom of his throat, and he tries to swallow down most of the whimper that emerges from underneath. [say]"Five, maybe? No more than seven."[/say] It's barely a whisper by the end, the anxious movements of his hands flattening out to spread over his thighs and go still, feeling queasy.
If Koa is freaking out, he's doing a great job not showing it, because the certainty of his voice as it comforts Jude makes his slender shoulders sag immediately. It's exactly what he needs to hear, even if the guilt gnaws at his insides. Maybe if he just thinks of that phrase as absolving Edmund it will make his own guilt decrease. It had needed to be done. It was Edmund or them - right?
Right.
His hands flex and curl against his thighs, nails catching on the slight texture of his fitted leggings. It's the only comfort he has for his anxiety, the only way to minimize it enough to nod slightly when Koa warns him of impending questions. He tries for a shaky smile in return, truly grateful if nothing else for Koa's calming presence. Clearly, he'd made the right choice in who to seek out.
[say]"Um, Edmund. Edmund Ansel. He's um Maeve's son."[/say] Is that relevant? Jude bites his lip, uncertain. Maybe it would make things easier for Koa if he needed to find Edmund to question him, to know his relations and homeland? But as soon as he's asked to remember the people in that field Jude's pallid complexion goes sickly, and he swallows spasmodically. [say]"T-They were calling my brother names. Freak, abomination. Traitor. But they didn't have anything on them visually - I think?"[/say] He sways a little as he tries to remember because he admittedly can't recall anything they were wearing. All he can see in his mind's eye is the blood and viscera, the contorted faces of people who had died in agony. Bile burns at the bottom of his throat, and he tries to swallow down most of the whimper that emerges from underneath. [say]"Five, maybe? No more than seven."[/say] It's barely a whisper by the end, the anxious movements of his hands flattening out to spread over his thighs and go still, feeling queasy.
