#continued.

It was bitterly cold, the end of winter had finally come, but spring nights were still brutal to anyone who thought camping was a good idea. Still there they were, braving the elements to bring this girl to the mindless fireflies. He lowers himself down on the stone beside her. His stomach still ached from his wound, but it was much more manageable now. "I know, I know, but how am I suppose to teach you 'bout the stars if I'm way over there?"

Converse clad feet tucked up close, knees pressed to her chest, arms wrapped tight around her legs -- she couldn't have been making herself much smaller if she'd been actively trying to, and the way her body tensed up at his approach probably gave away a lot more about her current mindset than she'd wanted. Not that she'd probably been all that hard to read since the escape from David's compound and everything that had happened before. Playing hide and seek with homicidal maniacs in a mall hadn't exactly been her idea of a fun time.

It has never been said that Daenerys Targaryen is a good patient, and the reason for that is twofold: harm rarely comes to her person, and when it does, she handles it poorly. Like a wounded hunting cat, she seeks to hide herself away — analyzing the damage, licking her wounds, none the wiser to her misery. This isn’t going to be one of those times. For one thing, her erstwhile savior won’t let her; more importantly, she physically can’t. “I’m not — moving, it just—” hurts, she thinks, catching the word behind clenched teeth ( far be it for her to acknowledge weakness ). But it was only fair, given that the skin of her thigh’s opened up: it had caught on some bit of metal she hadn’t seen, tearing like so much tissue paper as it shredded through the skin. Dany isn’t afraid of blood. She isn’t even very squeamish, but there’s something decidedly different about it when it’s your flesh ripped apart, scarlet staining everything. Altogether, she’s not feeling very well. Leans back, exhaling through her nose in a meditative attempt at stillness. Her goddamn head is reeling. “Had my mag boots turned on.” Almost delirious, she’s half joking, but the truth lingers beneath. If the shoes hadn’t kept her on her feet, she would’ve hit something far more delicate as she inevitably toppled forward — like her heart, for instance.

"Yeah, you did," Amos agrees, which is about the closest he gets in this particular scenario to 'I told you so'. His tone is just this side of annoyed, though maybe it's more at himself than her -- he should've known better than to give the diminutive woman hard liquor, especially when she'd seemed so intent on trying to keep up with him ... and that was a feat that even Bobbie had a time doing. He'd figured here on the ship, the worst that might happen was she woke up with a killer hangover or upchucked in his machine shop which, while unpleasant, would've hardly been the worst mess he'd had to deal with on the Roci.

Clearly, though, he'd miscalculated her ability to get herself into trouble. He ripped open one of the pressure packs from the first aid kit that he'd recovered from under his work bench, pressing it onto either side of the gash and giving it the seconds it needed to clench into place - it would serve as a temporary measure to make sure she didn't bleed out before he could get her to the medbay. He took the time to toss the wrapping into the recycler and cork, and shove the bottle and the glasses they'd been drinking out of into one of the cabinets. Habit, hard to break, stow the loose items, then and there.

The old mutant paused at the question, his back to the man as he contemplated whether or not to be entirely honest with him. Though it seemed he'd already decided, turning back, he craned his neck up a little to meet his gaze. "I am Erik Lehsnherr." He told him firmly, notably not offering a hand in greeting as he simply remained largely unmoving, fingers clasped together behind his back. "Though some know me as Magneto." Casually, he began to take a few firm steps, momentarily glancing back to the man as he went. "You will come to no harm, I assure you. I'm simply offering... assistance, in a world that quivers in the face of those who are... different."

random dialogue ･ﾟ✫ @mielmoto

Hana purses her lips as she watches the clear liquor being poured into the plastic bottle, clearly made for children. 'I mean, a wine bottle, maybe.' A beat. 'You're not planning on drinking that all in a day, are you?' She's optimistic, hoping it's a day and not an hour or two. 'Also, you have to tell me where you got that bottle. It's so cute.'

Honey blinks, before tipping her newly-filled kitty container to the light and bobbling her head from side to side— ❝ ...in a day? I mean. yeah? I figured this was going to get me through to, like, the mid-point of the house show, then I'd work from there. Maybe find a cute little place to get cocktails, or something. ❞ Honey's a two-bottle-a-night sort of gal when she's really hitting the town. But miss pretty-and-dubious over here has made her rethink it a little. (and only a little).