[Arm held over an empty glass, he slides the blade across his skin and watches the blood slowly pour, looking up to arch his brows and announce,] It's ten bucks a drop.
[Sotiro takes a handkerchief out of his pocket. He ties it around his wrist like he's done it one-handed before. Then he puts his jacket back on, straightening out his collar.]
[There are two cups of blood, and he leaves them both there with the stranger.]
[He gives Sotiro a look - the kind that wants to ask a question, but believes the answer won't be found anywhere. Eyes silently follow his movements before they return to the cups, sitting neatly next to his own. Would a witch be able to tell them apart? Would the promise of life taste any better than the prospect of Hyperion's ecstasy?]
[he scratches his chin, idly. The tattoo on his hand is one of two wings, and half of an hourglass. (Freedom that he lost, time that was taken from him.) The remaining marks on his arm are shortcuts to spells, given to him by Kaena and her sisters. He is not thankful for them, but he wouldn't try to rid himself of their power. Maybe there's some addiction in their ink, too.]
[He wouldn't be the first man with a tragic childhood. Vicious stories follow those who have crossed paths with Hyperion, whether they're willing to share them or not.]
[He can't help but smile, small and... empathetic, perhaps. He doesn't feel sorry for the other man, even though he should. It's a different sentiment, one he doesn't quite care enough to identify.]
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[Sotiro takes a handkerchief out of his pocket. He ties it around his wrist like he's done it one-handed before. Then he puts his jacket back on, straightening out his collar.]
[There are two cups of blood, and he leaves them both there with the stranger.]
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Be careful with that.
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You are the only human who will ever have tasted it.
[The only person it has ever been offered to willingly. It isn't a secret that Sotiro shares. With anyone.]
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He picks up a cup, places the blood right in front of his eyes, as if looking for something spiraling within.]
So how do you know it'll work?
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My mother.
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But people have different meanings for the word human, don't they. To consider Kaena anything resembling humane was fatally generous.]
Witch?
[He sounds uncertain, one step away from sympathetic.]
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[And witch is not the word he would use to describe the one who did it.]
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Sorry to hear it.
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[But it was a warning. A meaningless one, Sotiro was captive to the same creature that drank her dry, but a warning nonetheless.]
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...Ten, maybe.
[Almost twenty years ago.]
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All of my memories are of watching her die. It was slow. A little more each time.
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Is that why you do this?
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[He was going to die the same way as his mother. He wasn't protecting himself. He wasn't really protecting anyone else either.]
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No.
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I'll take good care of these.
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[He tugs at his jacket nervously.]
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Hyperion. That's my name.
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...Sotiro.
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