Clemente
At least he hasn't fully burned this bridge she is offering him. Perhaps a little singed, but still functional. Clemente follows her at a sedate, ambling pace, hunched awkwardly. His height is one of his least favorite physical attributes. It draws too much attention, gives the sense of intimidation or aggression, and at sixteen he's not trained enough for the attention that brings. 'Trained'. As if learning to throw punches to stay alive fell under such a prestigious title. He follows Rexanna to the living room, hands reaching greedily for the blankets as he makes himself into the smallest cocoon he can in the corner of the couch. Watching her from his little nest and settling in. He misses the sensitivity of his skin more than anything, but at least it means he doesn't feel the sharp ache of cold anymore. That's a bonus in his book.
What follows is a veritable deluge of information that nearly spins his head right off his shoulders. Clem tries hard to focus, to soak it all in and devote it to memory, but he just has so many questions already. Their kind are so similar (though he probably shouldn't separate the two anymore considering he was now one of them) and yet so drastically different in other ways. Only when she ends on a firm, motherly warning does he glance away from her, breaking the intense stare he had been focusing upon her. Sheepish perhaps at her maternal concern. Or overwhelmed to have it placed upon him for the first time in many, many years.
Fiddling with the blankets he clears his throat, ready to talk more than he has with any stranger in a long while. "Okay so we have a Goddess? Like, an actual one? You've gotta be kidding me." Sure they'd had minor magic back home, but that didn't mean they had literal gods. What the hell?
"We don't even drink blood? That's what we did. We had like...donor programs and sy-uh...symee-whatever, relationships with the humans. And the blood helped our organs run. So we don't have any of that?" Clem wouldn't even be able to bleed? Well...it was kinda nice, but the idea of some other fluid was kinda gross. And not going out in the daytime, while a habit of his with his lifestyle, still really sucked. He would deny pouting to his dying day, but his lip definitely stuck out. "Where are the rest of us? Do the others like us?" There had been small factions of prejudiced humans, ones who produced and distributed Ether which had killed his mother, but on the whole they had a pleasant symbiotic relationship with each other. Clem desperately needed to know if that was the case here, if he was at risk of being taken advantage of or hurt like his mother had been.
i stopped being a kid the day
you sent me down here to die
