[As Rosamund is wondering about a Reliver's ability to breathe among the lycoris, Dahut clears his throat, too, in the same stilted and quiet way of someone trying not to be noticed. No one in Arpéchéle is immune, after all - not even Scien.
He doesn't seem at all bothered by it, though. Rather, it's like he doesn't even notice. His gaze is fixed so wholly on this battered woman that it's a miracle he's even thinking to include Rosamund in this mess at all, but he does seem to stay aware of her throughout.
The woman reaches up with her other hand - or tries to, and fails, and Dahut catches that one too and leans down so she can place her bloodied palm on his cheek.
You've made... a friend? How lovely... She wheezes out her words with rattling lungs. Despite the pain she must be in, she carries on like this is a normal conversation and she isn't bleeding out in a poisonous field. She turns her cloudy gaze toward Rosamund.
How wonderful to meet... you, madamemoiselle... What a kind young woman... She looks, maybe, like she's trying for a smile, but doesn't even seem to have the strength for that. As if saying what anyone in this situation would think, gravely but with apology: There is nothing more that can be done... And then, to Dahut: Oh, my darling Liam... I'll leave the rest to you... Never forget that your mother loves you so very, very much...]
Of course, I never will. I'll always remember. I love you, too, Mother...
[She gives his cheek one gentle, shaky stroke and then seems to still, and he just sits there unmoving, too, even with the press of miasma growing more potent with every second. Rosamund might taste iron in her mouth soon enough.]
FEEL BETTER SOON SWEET KABBY AAAAAAA
He doesn't seem at all bothered by it, though. Rather, it's like he doesn't even notice. His gaze is fixed so wholly on this battered woman that it's a miracle he's even thinking to include Rosamund in this mess at all, but he does seem to stay aware of her throughout.
The woman reaches up with her other hand - or tries to, and fails, and Dahut catches that one too and leans down so she can place her bloodied palm on his cheek.
You've made... a friend? How lovely... She wheezes out her words with rattling lungs. Despite the pain she must be in, she carries on like this is a normal conversation and she isn't bleeding out in a poisonous field. She turns her cloudy gaze toward Rosamund.
How wonderful to meet... you, madamemoiselle... What a kind young woman... She looks, maybe, like she's trying for a smile, but doesn't even seem to have the strength for that. As if saying what anyone in this situation would think, gravely but with apology: There is nothing more that can be done... And then, to Dahut: Oh, my darling Liam... I'll leave the rest to you... Never forget that your mother loves you so very, very much...]
Of course, I never will. I'll always remember. I love you, too, Mother...
[She gives his cheek one gentle, shaky stroke and then seems to still, and he just sits there unmoving, too, even with the press of miasma growing more potent with every second. Rosamund might taste iron in her mouth soon enough.]