[ At last the mug reaches his hand. Louis peers at its contents for only a second— contemplative, reluctant, watching his own reflection— and then lifts the beverage. Crimson kisses his lips, warm and thickened, and he swallows.
A bucolic taste, if a touch salty. A preservative, maybe? He can’t identify the beast used, either, but it was most certainly an herbivore.
(If she could see him now, parched and needy enough to drink from an unknown creature… what sort of monster has he become?)
But with this first gulp, the tension in his brow eases, and now his look turns contemplative. ] Louis. [ He answers, at first absently, but after another indulgent gulp, his tone strengthens. ] Louis Amamiya. [ He looks at the other again. ] And let’s just say it’s been a while.
[ He’d be remiss to not show gratitude when it’s due, however. ] I owe you one, so, …what should I call you?
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A bucolic taste, if a touch salty. A preservative, maybe? He can’t identify the beast used, either, but it was most certainly an herbivore.
(If she could see him now, parched and needy enough to drink from an unknown creature… what sort of monster has he become?)
But with this first gulp, the tension in his brow eases, and now his look turns contemplative. ] Louis. [ He answers, at first absently, but after another indulgent gulp, his tone strengthens. ] Louis Amamiya. [ He looks at the other again. ] And let’s just say it’s been a while.
[ He’d be remiss to not show gratitude when it’s due, however. ] I owe you one, so, …what should I call you?