Such violent commotion could be heard from underneath the table, that his curiosity got the better of him and he did look at the mess she had made previously, with her heaving and sputtering over a simple apology, one which he hadn’t even asked for in the first place. Furrowing his brows in disgruntlement, he fixed up his posture once more and discarded the journal on the table before she even got a chance to swat it from him, arms crossed to his chest in both disappointment and annoyance.
“If courtesy is so difficult for you to achieve, you should not bother expressing it in the first place.”, he chastised the pained guest, eyes averted with disgust and defiance from the pathetic display of her trying to look in his direction. All interest on the matter was lost, or so it appeared to be, at least for a minute or two while he tried to banish whatever negative thoughts he happened to be feeling towards her. And there were many at the time. Picking at his bandaged arm for what felt like an eternity, he listened to her short-lived explanation before she collapsed again, hearing the thud followed by sobbing. Casually ignoring her flopping about, he reached for the “repaired” glass of juice, only to take a sip out of it and spit it back out, out of sight. He grimaced at the substance, with now the annoyance diverted to himself and his lack of ability. “Tastes like blood.”, his blood, to be precise, having accidentally mixed the two liquids together during the process of recreation. Nothing he had ever done ever came out right.
Whilst he was mumbling to himself, he caught her apology, albeit straining to hear what she was whining and crying about down there. Were those directed towards him…? When she emerged and took his seat, a look of pure befuddlement took over his frowning features. Equally unable to process such raw feelings of unapologetic sympathy, it visibly made him recoil and bring his hands to his chest almost defensively, then waving them about with slight embarrassment. That was not Ezme anymore, from the way she spoke, to the genuine tears and gentleness in her tone, but it did not weird him out in the slightest – he had seen such shift in personality before; two entities struggling to take control, channeling the wavelength of the same body. Though he could not relate with the struggle, having left his body on autopilot altogether, the newfound demeanor of the struggling woman managed to mellow him out considerably. Thus, it was difficult to stay mad at her – if anything, he was nothing short of confused and now he happened to be the one feeling bad for having caused her distress. A merry-go-round.
“S-Stop apologizing already, I said I forgave you…”, he muttered demurely as the violence in his tone dimmed down to a timid squeak of aggression that never did spark into anything more than that. Even when he tried to sound soft, he still sounded defensive; well, he lacked control, impulsive as he was due to his upbringing. But at least he tried to keep it under wraps, now that they were both touchy in some ways.
Fickle, with the emotional authority of a child, he did feel bad for tossing her journal earlier and tried to make up for it by awkwardly inching it towards her side of the table after neatening it up and closing it properly. Moder appeared to want to sit this one out entirely – no smartass comments, nothing to cheer up the mood, no higher consciousness to take over the reign of the situation and turn it back around. Frankly, the outer God became tired of having to moderate the situation with the new guest. The boy was on his own and thus, upon realizing that he couldn’t just zone out of it, he became jittery and would seek to hide his reddened face behind the veil of disheveled strands. After a short, uneasy pause in his movement during which he peered at her to see how she was faring, light footsteps rolled their way towards her seat and stopped behind her. With a hitch of breath and a clumsy tugging of fabric, he placed one of his gloves on the table in front of her. Before she knew it, an unfamiliar coldness gripped her meddling fingers and gently pulled them away from the afflicted scalp before they could damage it any further.
“Stop that. You aren’t making it any better.”, he lectured softly as he began petting at the bump before a light pressing of his palm lingered above it. Naturally, he was embarrassed with how humane he was acting, the sudden softness peering in through the cracks of general emptiness. Her hair was just as how he had imagined…stringy, a bit rough, but it wasn’t the worst texture he had ever touched bare handed. Noticing her uneasiness, he did try to soothe her with a light embrace from behind of his free arm, as awkward as it was for him to do such things. Relax, I was the one crying, why must you cry too?, he grunted to himself as he rested his pained head atop her own, dizzy from the entire ordeal. Though it wasn’t his business to care for her, it was in his nature that he would try to, especially when he felt like he was the cause of all of this. Even if he wasn’t, it was easier to blame himself that reach a consensus. Despite appearing to keep his cool, his heart was threatening to plunge out of his mouth any second with how fast it was beating.
“You are obviously not my interlocutor anymore, why are you shouldering all of this for her sake?”, he mumbled curiously as his hand came up to wipe away the ooze from her eye, his face still very much hidden behind her messy hair. He could guess why Josiah humbled herself to that extent, though he took no pleasure in seeing her beat herself down for it. “You seem nicer. She is the one I want to toss around.”, he confessed through soothing strokes of her hair after the bump subsided and would no longer trouble her from there on out. However, as pleasant as it was to be close to someone, it wouldn’t last, so he ought not get used to it. After a short while, he freed her from his lock and reached out to pick his glove back up from the table top.
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