draven + sera.
He⊠Eyebrows pushed together as a brief flash of confusion crossed her features. He doesnât want tea. It was an entirely new concept for Sera. When she was little everything happened with a side of tea. Happy things, sad things, stressful things. She moved her hands in front of her and wrung them together. This was, no, this was perfectly all right because⊠whenever she had a mug of tea, she always wanted another. She would simply drink both. No reason to cause a panic. No reason for the odd tightening in her chest. âOf course you may,â she said, offering him a kind although slightly hesitant now smile.
Seraphina turned and made her way back toward the side of her kitchen, her attention on picking out a third cup and filling it with water from the basin located just under her counter space. As she made her way back to hand him the drink, she nodded slowly in answer to his question. She had gotten him here, all by herself because no one in this bloody city cared enough to help. Though the âwhat forâ threw her a little off guard. She had explained that bit, hadnât she? Granted, not very well if he was still having trouble understanding. The idea that he didnât believe in the kindness of strangers too fantastical for her to imagine.
âYou donât⊠owe me anything,â she said, her voice reassuring though hesitant. It would be smart of her to be a little less trusting, but she couldnât understand why someone wouldnât trust her. She was sweet, and nice, and gosh darn it! She had only been trying to help! âI-I work for myself? A little perfume shop,â she said, not entirely understanding the last question. âWe passed through it on our way up, though it makes sense you wouldnât remember. I honestly have no ill-intention. I just wanted to help.â
The answers left Draven confused. Which, of course, was his most common state. He watched quietly as she poured him some water, and after receiving the cup, Draven slowly sipped from it. His dry throat loosening the knot that had been formed. Draven couldnât trust her, though, and it was nothing personal, it was simply the way he lived his petty life. In his mindset, everyone was guilty until proven otherwise, not the other way around. The woman seemed as distressed as him, and that was what particularly calmed Draven down. He wasn't under someone's control. He was still as uncontrollable as always.
"You have a perfume shop?" Draven asked after a couple of instants of uncomfortable silence. He looked at her as a convict on the run, expecting to be caught. The situation reminded him a little of how he felt with Alivander in the past. Always waiting for the downside, the rose thorn, because kindness never came for free. Draven finished drinking water, then he gave a step farther to place the cup on the table and waited for reactions. He wasn't imagining this, was he? He didnât remember where he was going, or where he was coming from. What if he was about to do something important? "Do youâ Where did you find me?" He asked logically then, because perhaps he'd be able to remember his purposes if he remembered where he was.
Something about the woman was quite soothing. She didn't seem like a threat at all, which sent mistrust down Draven's spine. He ran one of his hands over the table, allowing himself to redistribute his weight, disarming his position. He had learned enough in his life to know that "thanks" could only be said in scams. And yet he felt compelled to thank her, if her reasons were genuine then that's exactly what he should do. But Draven couldnât be sure. For all he knew he could be imagining her-- Although his mind rarely imagined nice things, maybe he had reached the point in which reality was so unacceptable he had to hallucinate a nice British girl. "It must have been hard to drag me here," that was Draven testing some gratitude. "What's your name?"
