[ Adrian glares at him. He's not particularly adept at lip reading himself, but he can understand the context and the expression well enough. ] You—!
[ He's awfully cheeky for a man with blood running down his arm. Adrian makes a flippant gesture in return, the effect somewhat ruined by the fact that he splashes himself in the face, having momentarily forgotten how high the water has become.
He doesn't forget again.
The moment the man is gone, the water begins rising again, freezing cold and almost certainly bloated with the faces of dead men. That cold seems to slice right into his chest, and though he's able to tread water and keep his head above it, the room between the water and the ceiling shrinks by the second.
Though he knows it's futile, he calls to his patron. ] Raphael— you must hear me. That man—
[ It's a waste of breath that he sorely misses the moment that the water closes over his head. He doesn't know why he expected it to be any different. He holds his breath, lungs burning far too quickly.
Down here, the faces seem endless, the blur of his own memory like a silent accusation. There are so many he can't even remember them anymore. He should simply open his mouth, breathe in the cold, and join them where he belongs. He would, if he was a better man.
He presses a hand to his own chest, golden light bleeding from his palm. Though his lungs still burn, healing magic buys him a few more moments... and moments, it appears, are all he needs.
Bless that man. Literally, perhaps.
The water recedes very rapidly, though not before he takes in a few sputtering mouthfuls of it. The moment his feet touch the ground, he begins wading toward the door, gripping the wall to keep himself upright. His head throbs.
Something is terribly wrong with this place, to say the least. Though he's coughing intermittently, Adrian is already making his way out to look for his rescuer, fear still thick in his chest. Anything could have happened to him. He should have conserved more of his magic. What if—? ] Hello? Are— are you here?
he's never done anything wrong in his life
[ He's awfully cheeky for a man with blood running down his arm. Adrian makes a flippant gesture in return, the effect somewhat ruined by the fact that he splashes himself in the face, having momentarily forgotten how high the water has become.
He doesn't forget again.
The moment the man is gone, the water begins rising again, freezing cold and almost certainly bloated with the faces of dead men. That cold seems to slice right into his chest, and though he's able to tread water and keep his head above it, the room between the water and the ceiling shrinks by the second.
Though he knows it's futile, he calls to his patron. ] Raphael— you must hear me. That man—
[ It's a waste of breath that he sorely misses the moment that the water closes over his head. He doesn't know why he expected it to be any different. He holds his breath, lungs burning far too quickly.
Down here, the faces seem endless, the blur of his own memory like a silent accusation. There are so many he can't even remember them anymore. He should simply open his mouth, breathe in the cold, and join them where he belongs. He would, if he was a better man.
He presses a hand to his own chest, golden light bleeding from his palm. Though his lungs still burn, healing magic buys him a few more moments... and moments, it appears, are all he needs.
Bless that man. Literally, perhaps.
The water recedes very rapidly, though not before he takes in a few sputtering mouthfuls of it. The moment his feet touch the ground, he begins wading toward the door, gripping the wall to keep himself upright. His head throbs.
Something is terribly wrong with this place, to say the least. Though he's coughing intermittently, Adrian is already making his way out to look for his rescuer, fear still thick in his chest. Anything could have happened to him. He should have conserved more of his magic. What if—? ] Hello? Are— are you here?