[ As is quickly becoming pattern, Mordrake is waiting with bated breath (...figuratively speaking, for a being that no longer truly breathes) to see what truths his strange new associate will actually claim as true, and which may be less than that. (Will she really eat the bird or is this simply an impish little trick to see if he'll obey her? Or perhaps it's a tease.)
But what it comes down to is that he'd asked her explicitly about sustenance, and when faced with providing it for her, there is to be no hesitation. He'll care for her, as promised. And despite the curl at the corner of his mouth of faint disgust as he holds the bird inbetween pinched digits, he'd repeat the violent (and dramatic; he does enjoy a show) act if it would satisfy her.
When it does, indeed, become known that it will satisfy her, something is affirmed within the spectre, and it is that he has fulfilled a true need for the girl, that it isn't a tease. He stares at the shuddering hand that she lifts to show him, with that same mixture of bemusement, true startle, and some sort of horrid awe — 'the horrors we'll unleash' — there's no time to let the words absorb before she's scarfing down the dead thing like a starved beast, and Mordrake casts his wide gaze to watch the entire gruesome act.
...Gruesome, but not off-putting. Not really. It would be a pure lie to claim that each rip of her jagged teeth to flesh and feather doesn't enchant him further to Millie. She's more monstrous than most any adult horror he's encountered. He's come across souls holding the weight of so many dark things, but this.... The spirit stares as though in wonder as he watches her eat, raw and unforgiving, leaking blood all over. She'd actually eat his hand off if it did get in the way. He's slowly withdrawn it, letting both of his hands fold politely across his torso as he watches her feed, and when the demon hoarsely whispers Its delight, he barely flinches. (How deeply does his own darkness go? He'll never know where he ends and worse things begin.)
When the girl moves to stand before him, head lifted up almost expectantly — eyes shut, which is a strange display of.... not quite vulnerability from her, although maybe, perhaps something somewhat trusting, a momentary guard let down around him, or perhaps he still has no true idea what to make of her — his thought-process is already aligned with what she's expecting, because goodness she's made a mess. And he is prepared for it, hand flicking with a quick flourish to extract the neatly folded handkerchief from within his breast pocket.
It's a familiar gesture, even if he's never used it for anything quite like this before. But it's a part of him, a phantasmal extension of himself — the cloth. Offered to many of the souls he comes to claim, for often their owners weep with either fear or relief to see him. Edward lifts it to her, but the girl's eyes are still closed, and he realises— ...another first. ]
Now I'm the one trembling at the mess you've made. My word.[ It's not quite a chastise, even if he says it with all the sternness of an unhappy butler coming across a spilled mess on a freshly-washed floor. But the cloth to her cheek is soft and careful as he fusses over the state of her, free hand gently coaxing her face to one side and then the other as he wipes the blood, as much of it as he can, from her wan visage. ]
There. If you become hungry again, do tell me and I'll find more. We mustn't have you tearing out the throats of passerby on the streets.
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But what it comes down to is that he'd asked her explicitly about sustenance, and when faced with providing it for her, there is to be no hesitation. He'll care for her, as promised. And despite the curl at the corner of his mouth of faint disgust as he holds the bird inbetween pinched digits, he'd repeat the violent (and dramatic; he does enjoy a show) act if it would satisfy her.
When it does, indeed, become known that it will satisfy her, something is affirmed within the spectre, and it is that he has fulfilled a true need for the girl, that it isn't a tease. He stares at the shuddering hand that she lifts to show him, with that same mixture of bemusement, true startle, and some sort of horrid awe — 'the horrors we'll unleash' — there's no time to let the words absorb before she's scarfing down the dead thing like a starved beast, and Mordrake casts his wide gaze to watch the entire gruesome act.
...Gruesome, but not off-putting. Not really. It would be a pure lie to claim that each rip of her jagged teeth to flesh and feather doesn't enchant him further to Millie. She's more monstrous than most any adult horror he's encountered. He's come across souls holding the weight of so many dark things, but this.... The spirit stares as though in wonder as he watches her eat, raw and unforgiving, leaking blood all over. She'd actually eat his hand off if it did get in the way. He's slowly withdrawn it, letting both of his hands fold politely across his torso as he watches her feed, and when the demon hoarsely whispers Its delight, he barely flinches. (How deeply does his own darkness go? He'll never know where he ends and worse things begin.)
When the girl moves to stand before him, head lifted up almost expectantly — eyes shut, which is a strange display of.... not quite vulnerability from her, although maybe, perhaps something somewhat trusting, a momentary guard let down around him, or perhaps he still has no true idea what to make of her — his thought-process is already aligned with what she's expecting, because goodness she's made a mess. And he is prepared for it, hand flicking with a quick flourish to extract the neatly folded handkerchief from within his breast pocket.
It's a familiar gesture, even if he's never used it for anything quite like this before. But it's a part of him, a phantasmal extension of himself — the cloth. Offered to many of the souls he comes to claim, for often their owners weep with either fear or relief to see him. Edward lifts it to her, but the girl's eyes are still closed, and he realises— ...another first. ]
Now I'm the one trembling at the mess you've made. My word. [ It's not quite a chastise, even if he says it with all the sternness of an unhappy butler coming across a spilled mess on a freshly-washed floor. But the cloth to her cheek is soft and careful as he fusses over the state of her, free hand gently coaxing her face to one side and then the other as he wipes the blood, as much of it as he can, from her wan visage. ]
There. If you become hungry again, do tell me and I'll find more. We mustn't have you tearing out the throats of passerby on the streets.