Juggling the load of bottles, and the weight contained therein, while trying to open a door, was an interesting challenge. Twice a wine bottle almost rolled from the awkward pile in his left arm, and twice he'd had to stop and stabilize it before he finally succeeded. He had to nudge Zee's basket to the side with his toe to get it all the way open, which nearly resulted in another spill, but luck was with him this time. He left the basket there for the time being, in favor of re-distributing the loose load, letting his eyes adjust again to the relatively dimmer interior
( ... )
"That would be blood," Leirian supplied flatly, observing- with his own eyes finally- the aftermath left from trying to care for Ghost. The piles of blankets, some bloodstained, others by the wall where Phantasy and Niji had been put. The thick black shirt, and the two pools of blood, one where the shirt had landed, and one where Ghost had fallen. "This will need to be cleaned up before the other delegates arrive."
"Ya have a real gift for understatement, don'cha?" Ani remarked sardonically, grimacing his distaste at having slipped on someone-else's blood, and raising an eyebrow at the emotionless boy. Definitely Estevan.
"You knowin' where there'd be a mop?" he asked. Dealing with blood directly, without some kind of sterile boundary like latex gloves, was just asking to be infected with something, and that was certainly not something he relished facing on a world without modern medicine.
Right. Magic. I suppose it checks with whatever he was doing to the chick Robin brought here. Gathering up the blankets that were already stained, he knelt to wipe up what he could of the pooled blood. "I guess someone's gotta do it. Better sooner than later. What happened, exactly?"
When silence greeted his question, he glanced up to find the boy steadfastly ignoring him, swathed in his blanket and leaning against the counter with an expression akin to weariness. Still not recovered yet, I guess.
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"You knowin' where there'd be a mop?" he asked. Dealing with blood directly, without some kind of sterile boundary like latex gloves, was just asking to be infected with something, and that was certainly not something he relished facing on a world without modern medicine.
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Anticipating the protest and question that would come, he states simply and definitively, "Magic."
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When silence greeted his question, he glanced up to find the boy steadfastly ignoring him, swathed in his blanket and leaning against the counter with an expression akin to weariness. Still not recovered yet, I guess.
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