towerofanimus | The weather's annoying, isn't it?

Characters: Enoch and anyone!
Setting: Around the tower, forward-dated to the 12th.
Format: Either is fine!
Summary: Enoch made several cloaks last week and is handing them out....even if he's sick.
Warnings: None yet!

He'd been pressing his luck, going around and trying to give comfort or company to the sick. Though, one couldn't blame him, given that the most illness he's had in a century is a bit of an upset stomach. He's built up quite a resistance.

He'd almost forgotten what it was like to be truly sick, to have a headache behind his eyes and for his limbs to feel weighted. But he wasn't letting it stop him. He was going to give out these cloaks he made before it got even worse. So he wandered the tower, handing out a cloak to anyone who seemed as if they could need one, or anyone who asked.

There were ten of them in his arms, varying colors. All of them were hooded, and about medium-length. They would be large on a child and a little short on someone taller like him, but they would do either way. So even with the occasional cough and sniffle, or the stop to sneeze (not into the cloaks, thankfully) every now and then, perhaps it was worth the risk of being sick for a chance to get a little warmer.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I'm taking advantage of my own strength while I have it." A sniffle, in hopes of clearing his airways to better talk. "To help those that don't."

"Noble," Catarina replied, dismissively. He truly was a good person. How sad.

"Think of it what you will."

As far as he was concerned, the ability to help one another was what held human societies together. Demons could complain all they wanted, but in the end, humans were God's creations and it was all too apparent here.

"They will turn on you."

Her voice was calm, almost amused.

"They will not." Enoch didn't raise his voice, either. "Betrayal is the exception, not the rule. Three hundred years have confirmed this."

"Oh, I am merely a hundred years your elder?"

A sniff while he thinks of that. So she was four hundred. Humanity was only six hundred years or so into its own years in his time, and there's no telling what year Catarina comes from. "...Somewhat less than that. My full age would be three hundred and thirty five."

Actually, he's about as old as Catarina, because his search lasted sixty five years longer than he thinks it has. He stopped counting, and relied on Lucifel's (wrong) count, you see.

"How sad. We're about the same age and yet you still hold that people will always do the right thing."

"Strange. I think it's sad that you don't."

But not as much as it would be if you were human, he doesn't add. He's trying to at least maintain some civility.

She opened her mouth to respond, then stopped. Something about this was... familiar. No, more than that. It had- Her eyes opened wide as she realized she was having fun bantering with him, and more than that- he had the same mindset of a certain lady that had been back in her home that had saved her life. That had poked her nose in where it didn't belong, shared some of her divinity with her to keep her alive, and spoke with her almost he same way.

And it was fun and familiar and nice and- Catarina started to back away, a blush rising on her face.

Enoch watched her reaction curiously. That curiosity turned to concern when she began backing away. It didn't make any sense to him.

"Are...are you all right?"

"Get... get away from me."

Those of the light... why did they like her?!

The weather's annoying, isn't it?

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