[and he walks swiftly with those long legs, keeping an idea of where she is and expecting her to keep up. the scent of blood does not abate, though it grows older - it's drying on itself, and he's ignoring it steadily. where he told the child to go isn't too far, and the salt in the air says that they're growing nearer the harbor with every step.]
[ Dantes' silence affords Paloma time to stew on the blood trail following them (in scent, so at least he's not literally dripping figurative bread crumbs) and argue with herself on effective ways of convincing him to sit his wounded ass down.
When her transformed legs force her to trot with some discomfort, the benefit of these great moth-like wings is once again apparent. They even lift her to shoulder-level with his more-than-six-foot self, to her distinct pleasure. What a novelty.
She closes her eyes after the ocean becomes visible, relishing, for a moment, its unpolluted sting. ]
[it's not all his blood, anyway, his black clothes hide many sins. he can hold up for a while still - he remembers his limits.
the building he instructed the girl to go to isn't far, with an oil lamp burning outside the door and closed shutters where light springs forth. it's seen better days, but it's enduring, and he walks up to the door and raps sharply at it, waiting for a voice to call out that they're coming, hold on.]
[ Paloma can't figure out whether his insistence on good health is out of machismo or another unidentified personality quirk. Avenger is, what's the word? Cagey. Cagey and difficult to read, for all that her whole life she's depended on the ability to pick up on someone's moods...
She hangs back, not wanting to crowd him, or risk offense by moving to support him. ]
Her? Oh. Yeah. We met months ago. [ A tiny fist in her skirt, such a sunny gold. Her throat tightens. ]
[but further questions will have to pause for the moment, as the door swings open to reveal a woman there, shorter than him but with more of her years worn on her face, hair streaked with silver and a tilt to her brow that comes from being on guard. for all the world, she looks like another resident of the docks, save the faded tattoo on her forearm, visible from her pushed up sleeves.
she eyes him critically and looks back towards Paloma, only to understand what's going on.
There was a little one who was looking for you, Louis. Have you come to collect?
he shakes his head, lowering his voice as he leans in. no, he's not taking her - he'll repay the favor and soon, as long as she was safe from the madness in the streets tonight. his voice has slipped into a smooth, easy cadence like the locals, and when he turns back to Paloma, it's not so quickly shed.]
Your girl's within. Garadia received her in one piece, if you want to see her. Just try not to knock too much over with those wings of yours.
Nothing inherently objectionable about adopting different faces to thrive in different areas, especially foreign ones. Paloma stares balefully up into the crosses of his pupils, her own nonexistent in a sea of amber, and focuses harder on what is or isn't in his face, as if that will reveal the truth. ]
I won't knock anything over if you can quit bleeding and let Garadia help you.
[there are flickers of the other man beneath this guise - a piercing intensity in his look, a slackening of his commitment to the cheer. but his voice is the strongest, most carrying thing.]
I keep telling her, this isn't mine. Some poor beast lost their head and I had to fight them off, wound them and make them back off so I could make a quick dash. But you're just a worrier, Miss Vasquez, aren't you?
[his eyes meet hers directly.]
I promise, I'm headed straight home to bar the door tonight.
[ The thickness of her brows only renders them more expressive, and now they're lowering into clear belligerence. Only ingrained caution holds back her tongue. That and the sound of a girl's laughter somewhere inside Garadia's property. ]
Yes, I am. If you're off to take care of yourself at home, then, Louis.
[ Not an idiot, she says without saying. Her mouth, being full already, lends to frowning with emphasis. Dantes may not appreciate the nosing in on his business; Paloma does not appreciate the bullying into playing along with his charade. ]
I am, promise. Nothing more strenuous than lighting a fire and resting near it for me. Until next time, then.
[it's fine for him, because he can make amends later. as long as he doesn't have them worry - heaven forbid one of them try to see what the problem was - he can stand it. he can patch himself up.]
[ You always leave me with more questions than I'd think to ever have, Paloma would like to say, recalling their bizarre and brief dialogue on what makes a ghost or demon. Now "Avenger" is leaving, and this new facade with it. ]
Next time, yeah. [ Smaller city than they'd think. She does not believe they'll go very long without their paths crossing again, and he'll leave probably just as quickly.
Stepping away first, Paloma convinces her mouth to relax into a tight smile. ]
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no subject
[and he walks swiftly with those long legs, keeping an idea of where she is and expecting her to keep up. the scent of blood does not abate, though it grows older - it's drying on itself, and he's ignoring it steadily. where he told the child to go isn't too far, and the salt in the air says that they're growing nearer the harbor with every step.]
no subject
When her transformed legs force her to trot with some discomfort, the benefit of these great moth-like wings is once again apparent. They even lift her to shoulder-level with his more-than-six-foot self, to her distinct pleasure. What a novelty.
She closes her eyes after the ocean becomes visible, relishing, for a moment, its unpolluted sting. ]
Your wound's clotting.
no subject
[it's not all his blood, anyway, his black clothes hide many sins. he can hold up for a while still - he remembers his limits.
the building he instructed the girl to go to isn't far, with an oil lamp burning outside the door and closed shutters where light springs forth. it's seen better days, but it's enduring, and he walks up to the door and raps sharply at it, waiting for a voice to call out that they're coming, hold on.]
...You seemed familiar with her.
[the child, he means.]
no subject
She hangs back, not wanting to crowd him, or risk offense by moving to support him. ]
Her? Oh. Yeah. We met months ago. [ A tiny fist in her skirt, such a sunny gold. Her throat tightens. ]
She likes fireworks and sparklers.
no subject
[but further questions will have to pause for the moment, as the door swings open to reveal a woman there, shorter than him but with more of her years worn on her face, hair streaked with silver and a tilt to her brow that comes from being on guard. for all the world, she looks like another resident of the docks, save the faded tattoo on her forearm, visible from her pushed up sleeves.
she eyes him critically and looks back towards Paloma, only to understand what's going on.
There was a little one who was looking for you, Louis. Have you come to collect?
he shakes his head, lowering his voice as he leans in. no, he's not taking her - he'll repay the favor and soon, as long as she was safe from the madness in the streets tonight. his voice has slipped into a smooth, easy cadence like the locals, and when he turns back to Paloma, it's not so quickly shed.]
Your girl's within. Garadia received her in one piece, if you want to see her. Just try not to knock too much over with those wings of yours.
no subject
Nothing inherently objectionable about adopting different faces to thrive in different areas, especially foreign ones. Paloma stares balefully up into the crosses of his pupils, her own nonexistent in a sea of amber, and focuses harder on what is or isn't in his face, as if that will reveal the truth. ]
I won't knock anything over if you can quit bleeding and let Garadia help you.
[ Snitches get, uh, Avenger some stitches. ]
no subject
I keep telling her, this isn't mine. Some poor beast lost their head and I had to fight them off, wound them and make them back off so I could make a quick dash. But you're just a worrier, Miss Vasquez, aren't you?
[his eyes meet hers directly.]
I promise, I'm headed straight home to bar the door tonight.
[drop this subject. I'm giving you an excuse.]
no subject
Yes, I am. If you're off to take care of yourself at home, then, Louis.
[ Not an idiot, she says without saying. Her mouth, being full already, lends to frowning with emphasis. Dantes may not appreciate the nosing in on his business; Paloma does not appreciate the bullying into playing along with his charade. ]
no subject
[it's fine for him, because he can make amends later. as long as he doesn't have them worry - heaven forbid one of them try to see what the problem was - he can stand it. he can patch himself up.]
no subject
Next time, yeah. [ Smaller city than they'd think. She does not believe they'll go very long without their paths crossing again, and he'll leave probably just as quickly.
Stepping away first, Paloma convinces her mouth to relax into a tight smile. ]