āIf I do this, if I give you this, I canāt promise things will ever be the same.ā
He knew the owl was making fun of him. Apparently, familiars just thought it was okay to do that. Well, whatever. Maybe it was. Heād never stoop so low as to attack a familiar, unless it tried to go after him first. Perhaps they all knew that. Or maybe they just knew something about him that he didnāt. It was an old magic, the kind used to create them, and he wouldnāt put it past them to understand things their vampiric masters did not.
He was surprised to hear of what had happened after he left Rosenkreuz to his fight. Apparently those who had trespassed here really meant business. Then again, you would have to in order to set off that many bombs in the area. It was an act not only of violence, but of war, and the two were quite different. He would know, perhaps better than anyone. Violence, he understood. Death was simple as breathing. War had always been beyond him, just conceptually. Maybe that meant there was something left of him after all, aside from the hollow shell he thought he was. Or perhaps that was just more wishful thinking.
He was not, however, surprised to hear that Fujiwara had offered her blood to his roommate. That seemed like just the kind of thing she would do in that situation, even if Snow seemed somewhat displeased by it. It was all highly irregular, against those rules that had been put in place, at least if one considered the prefect to be a human.
But she wasnāt quite, was she? She was Fujiwara, whomever that person wanted to be, and right then, he suspected that things like human and vampire hadnāt mattered much. It was a sentiment that he, surprisingly, understood quite well. The lines had always been more blurred for him than they should have been, something that was entirely their doing. Sheād probably just seen someone who needed help, and known that she could offer it. No further reasoning would have been necessary for her.
He knew, because heād been like that, once.
He shook his head, though, at the question. āDoesnāt matter,ā he replied to Snow. āShe did what she did. Probably even for the right reasons. Isnāt that enough?ā He could understand where the familiar was coming from, but he wasnāt going to fault the girl for doing as she had done. As for him, wellā¦ maybe she would have, maybe she wouldnāt have, but he was honest when he said it didnāt matter to him. At least, not in the same way it might have mattered to someone else. He was used to starving and probably would have had problems accepting charity anyhow.
Yetā¦ maybe he hoped she would have.
He turned as she rose, looking out over the grounds instead of into her room, in case she decided to do anything requiring the privacy. He wasnāt one for bullshit notions of honor or whatever, but he did have a certain sense of chivalry in him somewhere, buried deeply within the layers of bitterness and blunt speech. It was then that he felt the first raindrop land on his feathered head. Heād smelled the storm coming a while ago, but it was here a bit earlier than heād expected. Or had he simply been thinking for too long?
He might have stayed that way for a while, only Snowās words drew him out of his reverie. His eyes found her faster than he would have guessed, and seeing that her knees were about to buckle, he had no time to properly consider his course. He simply acted, diving off the roof and hurtling towards the ground with all the speed of a raptor and then some. As he dropped, he transformed, the feathers drawing back into his sin as his limbs lengthened and deposited him on the ground, where he took off running, reaching the prefect just before she hit the ground and slipping his arms under her shoulders to brace her head against his chest. Looking down at her thus, he could see that she was pale, drawn; classic symptoms of nutrient starvation.
Shifting her with care, Sora adjusted himself so that he was carrying her with one arm under her knees and the other holding her to him, then glanced around for somewhere to go. Her room was out of the question, as she might wake up and try to feed on her roommate again, something she probably didnāt want. So was hisā¦ he wound up applying a burst of speed and carrying them out into the forest, sending directions to the owl in case he wanted to come. There, her condition would be far removed from prying eyes and curious questions, as would be what he was going to do next.
He reached a clearing and gently set Fujiwara down in the grass, crouching beside her and removing his knife from its place at his leg. He wasnāt the kind to offer or ask permission, and so he simply did what he intended, slashing open his left forearm and bracing his fingertips against the side of her head, tilting it so that she was facing straight upwards.
And here he had a conundrum. If he just let his blood drip into her mouth as heād been planning, he risked choking her on it, which would make matters much worse than they already were. There was a field training procedure for this, but he was hesitant. It rather resembled a certain intimate gesture, and whatever the reason, he did not want her to think poorly of him. Snorting softly, he glanced up at Snow. āJust so you know, Iām doing this so she survives. If she gets angry at me for it, will you at least tell her as much?ā
It didnāt really matterāit was necessary regardless of what the owl thought about it. Raising his arm to his lips, Sora sucked his own blood into his mouth, holding it there. Lowering himself, he braced his bloody arm on Fujiwaraās other side and pressed his lips to hers, releasing the blood slowly so he knew she wouldnāt inhale it rather than swallowing. She drank, as he knew reflex would demand, and so he repeated the process twice more, backing up into his crouch thereafter. Sheād need more than that, but it should make her strong enough to at least drink it on her own. The wound on his arm was already healed, the last remnants of his blood smeared there, but he could always make a new one there. Heād probably let her take it from his neck, if she preferred, though that remained to be seen. It was a gesture of quite a bit of trust, and he did not know his own mind on this one. Perhaps it depended somehow on what she did next.
He was surprised to hear of what had happened after he left Rosenkreuz to his fight. Apparently those who had trespassed here really meant business. Then again, you would have to in order to set off that many bombs in the area. It was an act not only of violence, but of war, and the two were quite different. He would know, perhaps better than anyone. Violence, he understood. Death was simple as breathing. War had always been beyond him, just conceptually. Maybe that meant there was something left of him after all, aside from the hollow shell he thought he was. Or perhaps that was just more wishful thinking.
He was not, however, surprised to hear that Fujiwara had offered her blood to his roommate. That seemed like just the kind of thing she would do in that situation, even if Snow seemed somewhat displeased by it. It was all highly irregular, against those rules that had been put in place, at least if one considered the prefect to be a human.
But she wasnāt quite, was she? She was Fujiwara, whomever that person wanted to be, and right then, he suspected that things like human and vampire hadnāt mattered much. It was a sentiment that he, surprisingly, understood quite well. The lines had always been more blurred for him than they should have been, something that was entirely their doing. Sheād probably just seen someone who needed help, and known that she could offer it. No further reasoning would have been necessary for her.
He knew, because heād been like that, once.
He shook his head, though, at the question. āDoesnāt matter,ā he replied to Snow. āShe did what she did. Probably even for the right reasons. Isnāt that enough?ā He could understand where the familiar was coming from, but he wasnāt going to fault the girl for doing as she had done. As for him, wellā¦ maybe she would have, maybe she wouldnāt have, but he was honest when he said it didnāt matter to him. At least, not in the same way it might have mattered to someone else. He was used to starving and probably would have had problems accepting charity anyhow.
Yetā¦ maybe he hoped she would have.
He turned as she rose, looking out over the grounds instead of into her room, in case she decided to do anything requiring the privacy. He wasnāt one for bullshit notions of honor or whatever, but he did have a certain sense of chivalry in him somewhere, buried deeply within the layers of bitterness and blunt speech. It was then that he felt the first raindrop land on his feathered head. Heād smelled the storm coming a while ago, but it was here a bit earlier than heād expected. Or had he simply been thinking for too long?
He might have stayed that way for a while, only Snowās words drew him out of his reverie. His eyes found her faster than he would have guessed, and seeing that her knees were about to buckle, he had no time to properly consider his course. He simply acted, diving off the roof and hurtling towards the ground with all the speed of a raptor and then some. As he dropped, he transformed, the feathers drawing back into his sin as his limbs lengthened and deposited him on the ground, where he took off running, reaching the prefect just before she hit the ground and slipping his arms under her shoulders to brace her head against his chest. Looking down at her thus, he could see that she was pale, drawn; classic symptoms of nutrient starvation.
Shifting her with care, Sora adjusted himself so that he was carrying her with one arm under her knees and the other holding her to him, then glanced around for somewhere to go. Her room was out of the question, as she might wake up and try to feed on her roommate again, something she probably didnāt want. So was hisā¦ he wound up applying a burst of speed and carrying them out into the forest, sending directions to the owl in case he wanted to come. There, her condition would be far removed from prying eyes and curious questions, as would be what he was going to do next.
He reached a clearing and gently set Fujiwara down in the grass, crouching beside her and removing his knife from its place at his leg. He wasnāt the kind to offer or ask permission, and so he simply did what he intended, slashing open his left forearm and bracing his fingertips against the side of her head, tilting it so that she was facing straight upwards.
And here he had a conundrum. If he just let his blood drip into her mouth as heād been planning, he risked choking her on it, which would make matters much worse than they already were. There was a field training procedure for this, but he was hesitant. It rather resembled a certain intimate gesture, and whatever the reason, he did not want her to think poorly of him. Snorting softly, he glanced up at Snow. āJust so you know, Iām doing this so she survives. If she gets angry at me for it, will you at least tell her as much?ā
It didnāt really matterāit was necessary regardless of what the owl thought about it. Raising his arm to his lips, Sora sucked his own blood into his mouth, holding it there. Lowering himself, he braced his bloody arm on Fujiwaraās other side and pressed his lips to hers, releasing the blood slowly so he knew she wouldnāt inhale it rather than swallowing. She drank, as he knew reflex would demand, and so he repeated the process twice more, backing up into his crouch thereafter. Sheād need more than that, but it should make her strong enough to at least drink it on her own. The wound on his arm was already healed, the last remnants of his blood smeared there, but he could always make a new one there. Heād probably let her take it from his neck, if she preferred, though that remained to be seen. It was a gesture of quite a bit of trust, and he did not know his own mind on this one. Perhaps it depended somehow on what she did next.