Kaworu turned. This person looked at him, and their face still held an expression he could give a name to. Their words expressed concern. It had been some time since he had spoken to a Lilim, and the gestures of communication were now strange. It was expected that the Lilim would reach out to him and one another in small ways. Movements that held indescribable meaning. Eye contact. A touch. These things he had allowed into his life, and their absence left him too still inside. He welcomed their return. They placated him, and woke him. He smiled at the man who had spoken to him.
It took another moment, sliding out of his hole, leaning against a wall, before he offered anything in return. "I'm not," he said, faintly surprised that this was true.
His arm would not move for him any more. Not as it should have. Not as it always had. The fine movements needed to button his shirt or apply pressure to strings were beyond him. It seemed unlikely his hand would perform such tasks again. The construction of his wrist was open for him to see. He was in less pain now, but it was replaced by a feeling of falling, even when he remained steady and upright. Kaworu brushed his fingers against his torn forearm, only to withdraw with a shocked jerk, the surprise mild on his face.
Upon seeing the injury to the boy's arm, Cross pulled out a satchel at his waist. Ironic, wasn't it? He was an angel, the human incarnation of Metatron, with incredible destructive capabilities,.. but he couldn't heal. He was thankful he at least knew first aid.
The satchel contained bandages, but the best he had for cleaning the wound was a bottle of water and an only partly clean towel. Still, that was better than nothing. He motioned for Kaworu to move closer so that he could tend to the injury, wiping away the blood as best as he could before wrapping it in clean bandages.
"My name is Cross," he offered. Every so often he glanced up to see if any more zombies approached, but they should be safe unless they were corralled into the area by someone or something else. "You shouldn't be out on the streets on your own." Never mind that the angel didn't have any backup either.
It took another moment, sliding out of his hole, leaning against a wall, before he offered anything in return. "I'm not," he said, faintly surprised that this was true.
His arm would not move for him any more. Not as it should have. Not as it always had. The fine movements needed to button his shirt or apply pressure to strings were beyond him. It seemed unlikely his hand would perform such tasks again. The construction of his wrist was open for him to see. He was in less pain now, but it was replaced by a feeling of falling, even when he remained steady and upright. Kaworu brushed his fingers against his torn forearm, only to withdraw with a shocked jerk, the surprise mild on his face.
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The satchel contained bandages, but the best he had for cleaning the wound was a bottle of water and an only partly clean towel. Still, that was better than nothing. He motioned for Kaworu to move closer so that he could tend to the injury, wiping away the blood as best as he could before wrapping it in clean bandages.
"My name is Cross," he offered. Every so often he glanced up to see if any more zombies approached, but they should be safe unless they were corralled into the area by someone or something else. "You shouldn't be out on the streets on your own." Never mind that the angel didn't have any backup either.
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