ucas' deflated constitution was mildly unsettling. Moment's before, the Sensor had been cajoling with the Redeemer's, specifically the women, and acting as he always had; insufferable and annoyingly brazen. Utilizing his abilities had left him drained and debilitated, slouched unceremoniously against the chilly surface without so much as another word spluttering from his lips. His deadpan stare caused Fallon to cough uncomfortably into his upturned palm, as he solemnly attempted to trace where his flickering pupils were focusing. Nothing in particular caught his attention. Though, he imagined that Lucas wasn't feeling particularly well. Again, subtlety wasn't his strongest suit, but concern lined the corners of his mouth and furrowed his eyebrows together. As they approached, Lucas' lurched forward to catch his footing and straightened with visible difficulty, clearing his throat and swiping the back of his hand across his nose. An enquiring brow raised, then his unspoken question was answered—flecks of blood was slathered across his hand in one grotesque streak, revealing that using his Sensor abilities had taken more of a toll then they understood.
His eyes were like lens-flares; dismissive and quick to divert any questions. Even if Lucas was unconcerned with his sluggishly trickling nose and diminished energy, the Elf wasn't entirely dissuaded. Setting his mouth in a hard line, Fallon's concerned approach stopped short as he caught Lucas' deflective, simpering grin and decidedly shook his head. If he wished to discuss the details of his abilities, then he'd do so on his own terms. Concern was an irrelevant emotion that flared insistently behind his ribcage, ushering soft whispers that reminded him oddly of Amaryliss. It existed in a cruel world, beyond reach of common sense. His bones were glass blown; fragile, and often cracking under the pressure. These were traits that Amaryliss fostered within him and Ezekiel, though Fallon was always weaker, and more prone to becoming a jumbling mess. Instead, Fallon fell into amiable silence with occasionally wary glances.
Fawning over Amaryliss' welfare had always been his top priority, but while Ezekiel seemed more adept at caring for her... he simply watched like a forlorn hound. There was nothing more he could do, and as he grew older, he felt as if his place at her side was dwindling. So, Fallon's smile widened, mere inches from Lilith's exotic face, as she spoke. His gravelly voice rumbled from his lips, accompanied with a strange crinkle of his golden eyes, “That's a hard habit to break. I'll have to do that more often, then.” And then, Fallon withdrew and accepted the flask of whiskey from Lilith's hand. He quickly drew it to his lips, tipped back his head and welcomed the warmth that swept down his gorge. It was stronger than he thought. He made a face, then contorted it into an admirable smile, settling it back into her hands. “And waste good vintage? Never
allon himself added nothing to Lucas' embarrassing attempts to rouse a response from little Nica. Something was entirely offsetting about their present situation, threading onwards with the added company of a hulking knight in peculiar armour, with an unpleasantly silent little girl in tow. It wasn't even her mismatched eyes that made her unsettling, but rather the vacant expression puzzled across her features. Whenever the Elf chanced a curious glance in Nica's direction, he didn't feel as if he were looking at a child. Nothing in the way she carried herself represented a guileless innocence, nor an innocence stolen in the harsh realities of the slums. Did anyone cause her any misery? Perhaps, that's why she chose not to speak. His stomach twisted on itself. Elsewise, Nica wasn't what she appeared to be—old tales of wizened witch-women cloaked in younger vessels came to mind, or haggard beasts who fed on their victims souls whilst slipping into their skins. Such tales circulated the Alienages often, and as children they'd once been mere stories told by the Elder's to instill childish fears. The Elf still remembered them all.
Surely, Lucas hadn't asked whether or not Nica lived by herself. He rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to sneer at the ridiculous question. Couldn't he tell that something was amiss? Fallon's footfalls were ponderously slow, so that he could observe their new comrades without appearing rude. His hawkish gaze was calm, evaluative, taking everything and giving nothing back. But, his mouth was hardened. Amaryliss had always told him that within a child held the brightest innocence; a light that could not be extinguished, no matter the circumstances. Fallon had a hard time believing that. It wasn't because he didn't like children, because he didn't mind them, really, but he understood well enough that if a child harboured hatred, bitterness or venom in their hearts, they could do anything. A child could expand all of those emotions and do the unthinkable, thinking it was justified because they'd been stripped of something precious. Somewhat distracted by Lucas' amiable conversation and irritating use of nicknames, the Elf allowed himself to shake free of those thoughts and trekked quietly alongside his Redeemer allies, allowing himself a few audacious smirks.
The large knight, in turn, took Amaryliss' fingers within his own gauntleted fingers and brought it towards the opening of his helmet, as if planting an imaginary kiss to the back of her slender hand. Fallon's eyes immediately screwed up, eyebrows knitting together. He wasn't sure what he felt at the moment; a mixture of callow apprehension, or dignified homage for his chivalrous manners. He found the more he looked at him, the more it appeared as if his clanking armour was an extension of himself. Odd, very odd. And, he was Vesuvian? Honestly, he'd only heard stories and thought they were grossly exaggerated. Witnessing Zachary in the flesh, perhaps they hadn't been far from the mark. Fallon's mouth crinkled upon hearing that Zachary's band had been ambushed, and slaughtered, by the Tainted shortly before he'd arrived. Well, there went the Elf's beliefs that somehow this knight knew Nica personally. He wasn't her guardian, then. Chancing another glance in the little girl's direction, he mutely admonished that she might've been alone the entire time... tending to her apothecary shop.
A wafting scent of blood filled his nostrils, and forced his attention back to the kneeling knight. He peeled his armour and leathers away from his skin as if he were peeling an onion, except far more unpleasant. He unsuccessfully attempted not to wrinkle his nose, though he kept his distaste silent and wondered whether or not anyone else was appalled by this peculiar act. When it came to the Redeemer's transformations, it wasn't unheard of them sporting numerous scars and deformities, but he couldn't recall anyone smelling like fresh slaughter. Fallon arched an eyebrow, blinking twice in quick succession before his sight amplified onto Zachary's alabaster hand; every rancid follicle was magnified, as was the repulsive crypts accessorizing his arms like hostile footprints. More than anything, Zachary put him of the mind of a corpse. Blinking again, Fallon's sight returned to normal. His stomach tightened uncomfortably, reminding how sickly he felt because of the smell. It gurgled in protest. It didn't help that they hadn't stopped for food. The knight pulled a signet ring from his ashen finger and placed it gingerly in Amaryliss' opened palm, retreating just as quickly. He was quiet when they entered the tent, and thankful when Nica purposely moved about, aiding those who suffered injuries. Ezekiel's shadow cast itself across the exterior, dancing against the flaps whenever he paced. Again, the Elf resisted the urge to join him.
Within the confines of the pillared structure, the Redeemer's stood and talked either loudly, or quietly, pondering their next steps in finding this Demigod. A small smile played across Fallon's lips as Ezekiel proposed that they should have brought an offering—flowers, ha! Well, seeing as they knew nothing of this Demigod, it wouldn't be too wild of a proposition that he might have approved of such a frivolous gift. Some of the Demigod's were known to like lesser gifts of nature, whilst others only wanted blood sacrifices and hefty gems. All of these were mere denotations of the worshipper’s, and so the Elf could only snort.
A booming voice echoed off the marble walls, casting it's baritone vibration back across the Redeemer's. Like an alerted falcon, the Elf's head jerked towards the unfamiliar source with an expression that deterred on snarlingly feral and abashed surprise. Not that he'd ever admit to being startled, but he gave an involuntary jump. Goosebumps freckled across his flesh. An amazon of a woman towered above them, complaining of Vincere's ruthless heat. Though, it'd died down considerably and he couldn't justify her complaints. Maybe, it was hotter up there? He found himself staring up at her, wondering why she seemed so familiar. Ezekiel was quick to question who she was, without gentility. The way he glowered reminded him of a rather grumpy dog; all snarls and fangs. Fallon's eyes caught movement just behind Ezekiel's shoulder, where Grey suddenly appeared and growled just as savagely next to Ezekiel's ear. It didn't assuage the sense of squirming, half-caught guilt that whined at his mind for nearly breaking into laughter. Whilst Grey brought an unnecessary amount of sexuality when it came to women, Ezekiel brought an unending disapproval for disrespect and coltish attitudes.
Now, Fallon was looking around the Council Chambers and ignoring the fight that might have erupted between Grey and Ezekiel, before catching Lilith spit against one of the holy pillars, then swipe her hand beneath her nose in an act of defiance. Well, at least he knew what she thought of these holier-than-thou, pious people. The Elf didn't have much of an opinion, save that they needed to find this Demigod without angering any baby-faced monks, priests, or holy worshipper's. He arched his back in a feline stretch, before settling his arms across his chest. “Hookers, chocolate, and flowers.” He finally spoke, then chuckled softly. What would a Demigod want from meagre mortals? Pure virgin sacrifices came to mind, but was quickly dismissed as horrible stories drawn up by the Elder's. Human Demigod's were seen as ruthless, and unkind to it's people, unless they were sated with gifts. Lilith's outburst regarding the colossal woman caused his lips to twitch uncertainly, then falter into another frown. Again, Fallon regarded Manon carefully. He felt dwarfed by the massive solidity of her imposing figure, absurdly like a mild-mannered child trying to decipher a puzzle.
Manon. Manon Hellreigel. Monumental warrior-woman. Yes, Fallon had heard of her. Who else could attain such a reputation as one of the only female Tank's in the Redeemer ranks? Like Deus, every Tank was renown for their strength, their rippling figures, and their tremendous presence. It was a little startling that Manon's countenance was shy, and rather passive. She quickly turned on her heels, daunted by all the yelling, and began retreating towards the entrance. That was when Snow's pleasant voice called after her; mild and nonthreatening, although disarmingly blunt, wholly kind. The Elf found himself nodding placidly, agreeing that they did need another source of strength within the group without adding his voice. Perhaps, like Vivian, she didn't like men?
“Manon Hellreigel—a match in strength with our own Deus, I hear.” He began ponderously. From what he could see, Manon hadn't an ounce of arrogance that Deus so candidly displayed. It was refreshing. The Elf bowed his head, and quickly placed his fist above his heart. Elven procedures of greeting were odd to others, but somewhat familiar to himself. “It's an honour.”