[ Something eases in Trevor's shoulders, and the surprise is visible in his expression. ]
Is that all? Alright, I'll return shortly.
[ With that he vanishes off to the kitchens, moving with determination because if he doesn't the doubts will rise up into his throat and choke him. What on earth is he doing? Keeping everyone here safe, he tells himself. Because it isn't even a matter of whether he believes the vampire -- he could feel for himself that it was the truth. And doesn't that just throw everything he knows into question? It's easier to tell himself that their natures can vary across worlds than to question the universality of vampires as evil in his own. Yes. He'll go with that for now, as he draws a glass down from the cupboard and a knife from the block.
The cut doesn't hurt at all, and Trevor is unbothered about one more wound, one more scar. It'll be small and clean, on his forearm... a shallow cut that he lets bleed into the glass until it begins to seal and would require worrying. He considers the amount, shrugs, and pulls out a kitchen towel to tear and wrap around his arm so he doesn't stain his clothing. It'll heal up quickly, he expects, and he's bled nearly double what Godric said he needed. Not even enough to be lightheaded, though he gets himself a snack from the cupboard as well.
His blood is strong in more ways than one... he's basically poured Godric a cocktail and isn't thinking of that at all, as he returns to the bunk room with a disconcertingly warm glass in his hand and an uncertain fluttering in his gut.
It's fine, he tells himself. He felt that it's fine. You do it anyway, he reminds himself, you protect. ]
no subject
Is that all? Alright, I'll return shortly.
[ With that he vanishes off to the kitchens, moving with determination because if he doesn't the doubts will rise up into his throat and choke him. What on earth is he doing? Keeping everyone here safe, he tells himself. Because it isn't even a matter of whether he believes the vampire -- he could feel for himself that it was the truth. And doesn't that just throw everything he knows into question? It's easier to tell himself that their natures can vary across worlds than to question the universality of vampires as evil in his own. Yes. He'll go with that for now, as he draws a glass down from the cupboard and a knife from the block.
The cut doesn't hurt at all, and Trevor is unbothered about one more wound, one more scar. It'll be small and clean, on his forearm... a shallow cut that he lets bleed into the glass until it begins to seal and would require worrying. He considers the amount, shrugs, and pulls out a kitchen towel to tear and wrap around his arm so he doesn't stain his clothing. It'll heal up quickly, he expects, and he's bled nearly double what Godric said he needed. Not even enough to be lightheaded, though he gets himself a snack from the cupboard as well.
His blood is strong in more ways than one... he's basically poured Godric a cocktail and isn't thinking of that at all, as he returns to the bunk room with a disconcertingly warm glass in his hand and an uncertain fluttering in his gut.
It's fine, he tells himself. He felt that it's fine. You do it anyway, he reminds himself, you protect. ]