"I can't believe someone would do this to you…”
There was a tighter scarf around his neck. Usually he had it on to keep unwanted teeth from it, but it served another purpose now too. He listened to Igraine, in complete silence. Eyes on her with a focus and intent. Weylen had agreed to let him come back to work because his compulsion had gotten out of hand, he needed some empathetic actions to calm the beast for good and regain control. Which, in a ED, plenty to go around.
As the Toreador asked the question, he breathed in slowly. Voice, worked with air, yet he had no voice box that was intact, it was slowly coming back together, but all he could do for now, was merely move his lips and whisper at a supernatural low. "The Sabbat takes, it does not care...for politics or territory or who I belong to." he explained. To younger vampires, they were almost a myth, rarely rapid in bigger cities anymore, not in the US anyway.
"They consume, they are unapologetic about their beast and thus... it was inevitable." He paused, it wasn't pain. It was strain, physical strain. The tissue was not mended enough for a conversation. "I...survived...worse."
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