[A lyrium ghost body, really, but he can show her that another time. For now: he blinks for a moment, unsure of why she holds out her cloak, before realizing . . . ah, yes, he is rather covered, isn't he? With a little grimace he jerks his head in a nod of thanks and sort of . . . awkwardly dabs at himself. It's fine. He'll be fine.
And then she says that, and he isn't thinking about cleaning at all.]
I— all right.
[She's right, this isn't a good conversation to have in public, but also, what the fuck. Does she mean a god as in the Maker (or something like Him) or a god as Corypheus thinks himself, mortal and yet so powerful that he can almost pass if you don't look too closely? More the latter than the former, surely, and yet still—
Later. Later, later, and he scrubs at himself briskly, wiping away at most of the blood, ignoring what bits he can't instantly get out. People might stare, but people stare at him anyway, and blood isn't such an unknown fluid even in Rialto. By the end he looks . . . well, at least passable enough to get to somewhere quiet, anyway, although he'll assuredly need a proper wash before the stench of copper stops hanging around him.
Odd then, perhaps, how gentle he is as he reaches for her. Licking one (mercifully clean) thumb, he wipes at her cheek, cleaning the blood off her face.]
Come on.
[They take back alleys and quiet side-streets, Fenris keeping his gaze deliberately low as they do. Fortunately, they aren't too far from the palazzo where Riftwatch is keeping them all; it's easy enough to duck past the walls and skip up stairs, avoiding questions until they're safely back in his rooms. Ataashi, mercifully, is out; so are the other two occupants. He ducks into a bathroom and strips off his bloody armor and clothes, and emerges a few minutes later, his skin damp from scrubbing and his gaze fixed on her.]
no subject
And then she says that, and he isn't thinking about cleaning at all.]
I— all right.
[She's right, this isn't a good conversation to have in public, but also, what the fuck. Does she mean a god as in the Maker (or something like Him) or a god as Corypheus thinks himself, mortal and yet so powerful that he can almost pass if you don't look too closely? More the latter than the former, surely, and yet still—
Later. Later, later, and he scrubs at himself briskly, wiping away at most of the blood, ignoring what bits he can't instantly get out. People might stare, but people stare at him anyway, and blood isn't such an unknown fluid even in Rialto. By the end he looks . . . well, at least passable enough to get to somewhere quiet, anyway, although he'll assuredly need a proper wash before the stench of copper stops hanging around him.
Odd then, perhaps, how gentle he is as he reaches for her. Licking one (mercifully clean) thumb, he wipes at her cheek, cleaning the blood off her face.]
Come on.
[They take back alleys and quiet side-streets, Fenris keeping his gaze deliberately low as they do. Fortunately, they aren't too far from the palazzo where Riftwatch is keeping them all; it's easy enough to duck past the walls and skip up stairs, avoiding questions until they're safely back in his rooms. Ataashi, mercifully, is out; so are the other two occupants. He ducks into a bathroom and strips off his bloody armor and clothes, and emerges a few minutes later, his skin damp from scrubbing and his gaze fixed on her.]
A dead god.
[Go on. Explain.]