It wasn't long before the red-headed girl was squirming to release herself from his grasp. His hands loosed and his arms grew limp, and he allowed Mimora to remove herself. She stood before him, her usual calm and collected self. Yet Moses shook and trembled like a leaf, unable to fully reconstitute himself after witnessing something so horrendous. He was glad they were safe, glad they were out of the range of that... that, thing...
At her response and additional comment, his gaze traveled back up to meet hers. His heavy breathing devolved into a ragged chuckle, a hint of surprise enveloping his features. His eyebrows knotted up and a gaping smirk made it's way onto his face. What a statement.
"I look awful," he repeated. His chuckle quickly dove into a strenuous sigh, and he leaned forward to brace his hands on the ground. He felt awful, if anything. He heard the dripping of liquid and he looked up once more. She was pouring water into the cup she used from her Bloodbag days. And then she offered it to him.
My, what a memory flooded back to him. This was the exact same... everything; the night he awoke from his Bloodfiend conversion. How uncomfortable and odd it was, how foreign everything was to him. And he collapsed to this position, much like the one he was in now. But she had stepped forward then just like today, offering him the cup in all the same fashion. Deja vu hit him like a wave when he received it, a grateful nod sent her way. But he couldn't drink it just yet. Instead, his other hand came to rest underneath it at the stem, and he stopped to ponder everything that was happening. Despite his thoughtful state, he remembered his manners.
"Thank you," he said. "You're very kind." When he'd processed long enough, he took a sip of that sweet, cold water, its crisp freshness sitting him a little straighter. But he didn't wish to leave her in silence either, so he invited her to sit next to him.
"What do you make of all this, Mimora? Does any of it strike clarity in you, have explanation?" If she had an answer it would be a miracle. "I don't understand any of this at all..."
At her response and additional comment, his gaze traveled back up to meet hers. His heavy breathing devolved into a ragged chuckle, a hint of surprise enveloping his features. His eyebrows knotted up and a gaping smirk made it's way onto his face. What a statement.
"I look awful," he repeated. His chuckle quickly dove into a strenuous sigh, and he leaned forward to brace his hands on the ground. He felt awful, if anything. He heard the dripping of liquid and he looked up once more. She was pouring water into the cup she used from her Bloodbag days. And then she offered it to him.
My, what a memory flooded back to him. This was the exact same... everything; the night he awoke from his Bloodfiend conversion. How uncomfortable and odd it was, how foreign everything was to him. And he collapsed to this position, much like the one he was in now. But she had stepped forward then just like today, offering him the cup in all the same fashion. Deja vu hit him like a wave when he received it, a grateful nod sent her way. But he couldn't drink it just yet. Instead, his other hand came to rest underneath it at the stem, and he stopped to ponder everything that was happening. Despite his thoughtful state, he remembered his manners.
"Thank you," he said. "You're very kind." When he'd processed long enough, he took a sip of that sweet, cold water, its crisp freshness sitting him a little straighter. But he didn't wish to leave her in silence either, so he invited her to sit next to him.
"What do you make of all this, Mimora? Does any of it strike clarity in you, have explanation?" If she had an answer it would be a miracle. "I don't understand any of this at all..."
