He had been compelled to collect not one, but both of them when he’d realized what was happening. It wasn’t like either had been his responsibility, not yet, but that changed nothing. He still felt the need, the want, and most importantly - the urge to make sure both were protected through this. It was instinctual, primal almost, and it caused a fear to take hold of him until both eyes could settle on the pair.
After that, he wasn’t exactly well prepared to calm either party. Instead, he watched. Anver allowed the two of them to dictate how this was going to go. Broad shoulders were propped against the wall, giving both equal attention.
“How are you feeling?” He asked the question knowing the answer, but also knowing that sometimes the screaming, yelling, or even just the bite of sarcasm could relieve a little tension. Well, it was either that or propose a quick threesome, which under the circumstances wasn’t probably the best idea.
The loss of power put Vic on edge. Enough that he didn’t fight it when Anver picked him up. Him and Wattson. An interesting development and one he’d pick apart more a little later. But he trusts Wattson and Anver was an enigma on his own. He wasn’t going to argue the shelter and company. Being alone felt reckless. Felt like he might actually come out of his skin. Maybe they could all understand each other a little better without the powers coming between them.
Sitting on the couch, he clears his throat and rolls his shoulder. His eyes haven’t stopped scanning the inside of Anver’s home. It was far better than communal housing. Not that he was going to comment on that. Not yet. Compliments were earned and one kind gesture wasn’t enough.
His eyes return to Wattson. A part of him wants to take her hand and thread their fingers together. He wishes he could push calm into her, but he knows better. So, he clears his throat and shrugs. “Fucking weird, man. I don’t think I like it. Don’t think I hate it. Clears my head a little, but…” He stops to shake his head. “When all you know is the sun or whatever the fuck, then it’s gone.” He snaps his fingers. “What about you? Holding up okay?” His eyes go to Wattson. “What can we do for you?”
It was a grace she wouldn’t question. There was a weight to the company, but one that kept her feet on the ground - and her from flying off the handle. She’d already been in one altercation on the street. Apparently, screaming in someone’s face for answers wasn’t the way to go about all of this.
On the couch, she laid upside down, her legs draped over the back of it, her head just barely hanging off the cushion. It put a pressure on her brain that was familiar. there was a tingle in the tips of her fingers from the pooling blood. “Well,” she said, those hands coming up to run through her own hair, before stretching out in a rather dramatic gesture, “I feel like shit.”
Rolling, she adjusted herself, pulled herself to sit normally, before she slid from the couch all together. Looking from Vic, up to Anver, she gave a small shrug. “If I die like this, you gotta do that creepy thing and burn my body.” Fire wasn’t how she was supposed to go, but it was better than rotting in the ground.
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