'What' is written in Lucius' expression as he twists to take a look himself, then. He'd have bitched more if he'd expected injury beyond a bruise, maybe a nick from a stray piece of glass. Grey eyes, then, seek out the strange stuff illuminated on her fingertips, and for all that he'd ignored it in the same way he's ignored the mud on his shoes and the roughness of stubble from angrily not shaving on his face, he now peers at the glowing moon water that stains his clothing and his skin.
An accusing look is flicked back up at her. "What is it?"
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'What' is written in Lucius' expression as he twists to take a look himself, then. He'd have bitched more if he'd expected injury beyond a bruise, maybe a nick from a stray piece of glass. Grey eyes, then, seek out the strange stuff illuminated on her fingertips, and for all that he'd ignored it in the same way he's ignored the mud on his shoes and the roughness of stubble from angrily not shaving on his face, he now peers at the glowing moon water that stains his clothing and his skin.
An accusing look is flicked back up at her. "What is it?"