Amelia touches his face and he shifts his eyes to look at her, turning his face just slightly and forcing himself to see her and not the heavy red film that's coated everything since they left the Hollow. She speaks, something about finishing their work but he doesn't hear her. He's focused on her lips moving, the blood staining her clothes, drying on her hands, the clear and steely focus in her eyes. All for the same purpose as the mess he's made of himself and their quarry, the necessary sanguine work of revenge born of love.
He ducks down and kisses her, unable to help himself for the emotion that rises to choke him. The kiss is thawing, his skin still chill but mouth hot and needy, a small grunt of pure emotion and adrenaline sounding against her lips and teeth as he pulls her crushingly close for a long moment.
Another and he parts from her, breathing heavy pants against her lips as he nods. There's weariness there now that the deed is done and the feral energy that has suffused and sustained him ebbs and tells him he's overextended his abilities. He's no longer seeing red but coronas of soft color edge her form and that of anything that lives or gives off light, signs of mana imbalance. But she's right, they need to make sure this can't be traced.
"I'll get us down." Another kiss, placed softly on her forehead, and he pulls away entirely to create the disk that can get them silently and safely to the bottom in order to complete their grisly work.
---
No more than an hour later sees them in the elevator back to the Up. Hawke's turned his cloak inside out to hide the splatter, too drained to utilize a cleaning spell for it and not sure he wants to anyway. He needs to feel this still, smell the iron tithe they'd forced due to pay for the wrongs done to one of their own.
He leans against the wall, head lolled back and not dozing but resting his eyes, comforted by having coaxed Amelia up into his side if she's willing. The hand at her back rubs absently but in soothing circles, more just feeling the texture of her clothes than aiming for any meaning in his touch.
The doors part and he's slow to move, bringing Amelia alongside and forcing a natural smile to the SIN guard at the checkpoint, their cover story of a wild night of play with pain and blood given in drunken-sounding pieces until the guard rolls her eyes and waves them out into the much more chill air of the Up.
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He ducks down and kisses her, unable to help himself for the emotion that rises to choke him. The kiss is thawing, his skin still chill but mouth hot and needy, a small grunt of pure emotion and adrenaline sounding against her lips and teeth as he pulls her crushingly close for a long moment.
Another and he parts from her, breathing heavy pants against her lips as he nods. There's weariness there now that the deed is done and the feral energy that has suffused and sustained him ebbs and tells him he's overextended his abilities. He's no longer seeing red but coronas of soft color edge her form and that of anything that lives or gives off light, signs of mana imbalance. But she's right, they need to make sure this can't be traced.
"I'll get us down." Another kiss, placed softly on her forehead, and he pulls away entirely to create the disk that can get them silently and safely to the bottom in order to complete their grisly work.
---
No more than an hour later sees them in the elevator back to the Up. Hawke's turned his cloak inside out to hide the splatter, too drained to utilize a cleaning spell for it and not sure he wants to anyway. He needs to feel this still, smell the iron tithe they'd forced due to pay for the wrongs done to one of their own.
He leans against the wall, head lolled back and not dozing but resting his eyes, comforted by having coaxed Amelia up into his side if she's willing. The hand at her back rubs absently but in soothing circles, more just feeling the texture of her clothes than aiming for any meaning in his touch.
The doors part and he's slow to move, bringing Amelia alongside and forcing a natural smile to the SIN guard at the checkpoint, their cover story of a wild night of play with pain and blood given in drunken-sounding pieces until the guard rolls her eyes and waves them out into the much more chill air of the Up.