inlapida:
@caliginal
The paraSOL can’t be called fickle. It’s an unfeeling machine, subject to the whims of its creators. But the same cannot be said for them. Taking a break from her duties, Carmilla lingers a good distance away from the windows, should the force of the storm shatter them.
Such torrential rains and indiscriminate lightning strikes are a threat. The vampires’ collective rage, thick and oppressive, is powerful enough that even she with her state of emotional compromise is suffocated by it.
One of them must have fallen. Not he who bears the terennial of wind, she thinks sardonically, but it must have been someone formidable if they feel a need for a show of power like this.
The sound of the heavy front door slamming shut rips Carmilla from her thoughts. She’s already off to meet whoever is foolish enough to visit in such weather, as she knows of only one person who would even dare. Perhaps if he hadn’t been in such a sorry state, she might have been as close as she could be to excited.
“Lucian-”
He looks terrible. It’s hard not to after being out in such horrid rain. She rushes to him, quick to take his coat and making a note to herself to get him a towel.
“Traveling in these conditions… I’ll tell Professor Sheridan you’re here, do rest in the meantime. Are you alright?”
The rain had easily soaked him to the bone- perhaps it wasn’t best to walk in this terrible thunderstorm, his whole body trembling in the cold. His muscles wouldn’t quite cooperate, twitching as he shivered rather violently. He had taken Aaron back to the guild himself, shielding the other with his coat even if he was vulnerable to the rain. That was his job, after all- being as young as he was, there was no doubt the gunslinger was much more weak to the cold than he was, especially with the way he was dressed.
Still, Lucian had faced the consequences, hiking up to the isolated mansion in this kind of weather. His coordination had failed him, and the noise of the door closing behind him certainly didn’t help the piercing headache pounding away in his head.
His vision swam- with how blurry everything was before him, with how the world seemed to tilt even as he stood still, perhaps it was simply a matter of recognition that he was able to get there at all. Allowing the drenched jacket to be taken from his shoulders, the swordsman quickly shivered, letting out a short breath- he no longer felt cold, nor hot, only this numbing sensation over his skin.
Getting a word out was much more difficult than he had anticipated, and he had to support himself against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut so he could get his bearings. Even though his skin was icy cold, and his throat burned with every sharp, short, freezing breath, he showed little concern. He could only respond with a slow, sluggish nod, letting out a cough rather than any words. Perhaps, he was worse off than he thought.
