Oh. Maybe that had been a tad too dramatic, Ishmael considered, as the singer keeled over in front of him.
Luckily, he had given him an invitation inside, or Ishmael would have been left lurking outside the window and possibly even feeling a little bad for having shown up so unceremoniously. Instead, he dropped down noiselessly into the room and crouched over the other man. Not dead, thankfully: Ishmael definitely would have felt bad if he’d brought on a heart attack before he’d even figured out who this handsome young fellow was.
He must be young, if he looked like that and was alive. He was most certainly alive: Ishmael put a cool hand to the fainted stranger’s temples, and then lightly to his neck, feeling his pulse and the warmth of him, loosening his collar to help him breathe, and trying to resist the sudden urge to bite.
No, Ishmael. There were questions to be answered. There was a face to study here – Ishmael took a leisurely few minutes to examine it, finding the features more interesting than any other he had ever seen – and since he hadn’t seen his own, this was the nearest he had ever come to seeing himself in the mirror for more than a century, and he’d be damned if he didn’t drink it all in properly – and oh, maybe he should also try to revive him, no?
He poured out some water from a jug into the empty goblet still sitting there, and then knelt back down with it, sliding a hand behind his doppelganger’s shoulders to prop him up to see if he would wake. “I’m sorry about that,” Ishmael added, in case talking brought him round, “truly I am. But I thought it was best I caught you alone.”
Luckily, he had given him an invitation inside, or Ishmael would have been left lurking outside the window and possibly even feeling a little bad for having shown up so unceremoniously. Instead, he dropped down noiselessly into the room and crouched over the other man. Not dead, thankfully: Ishmael definitely would have felt bad if he’d brought on a heart attack before he’d even figured out who this handsome young fellow was.
He must be young, if he looked like that and was alive. He was most certainly alive: Ishmael put a cool hand to the fainted stranger’s temples, and then lightly to his neck, feeling his pulse and the warmth of him, loosening his collar to help him breathe, and trying to resist the sudden urge to bite.
No, Ishmael. There were questions to be answered. There was a face to study here – Ishmael took a leisurely few minutes to examine it, finding the features more interesting than any other he had ever seen – and since he hadn’t seen his own, this was the nearest he had ever come to seeing himself in the mirror for more than a century, and he’d be damned if he didn’t drink it all in properly – and oh, maybe he should also try to revive him, no?
He poured out some water from a jug into the empty goblet still sitting there, and then knelt back down with it, sliding a hand behind his doppelganger’s shoulders to prop him up to see if he would wake. “I’m sorry about that,” Ishmael added, in case talking brought him round, “truly I am. But I thought it was best I caught you alone.”
