[ His limbs are sluggish because he's cold (and his teeth were chattering lightly when first he stumbled out of the pod of ice, keeping him from responding immediately) because the world so rudely interrupted before Shouto could fully warm him back up, so Allen grabs blindly for him as they fall and he hears his ice form. Careening with him as they descend in a more controlled fashion, a phosphorescent glow from glyphs etched into the stone casting the cavern in a dim light.
He grips Shouto's arm tight as they do though, like he means to convey something more than he needs him for balance. I'm fine. An answer to the half-asked question. Breathing a little shakily as he continues to warm up and re-orients himself, it's something he thinks he merely thinks aloud to himself as he focuses on that sense of connection and tries to convey that through touch. But it rides that same tether to touch Shouto's mind, with a voice soft but steady, as the ruins reveal themselves.
It looks like perhaps there might have been a recent battle, or maybe an explosion at one point that wrecked the place. Hallways can be seen reaching back further in out of sight, the architecture appearing ancient and ornate, but not abandoned. There are more modern or at least Victorian sconces, railings, and each pillar bears the engraving of a cross on it. Four-pointed in the same manner as the crystal on the back of Allen's hand, but filled out to become a Christian cross instead -- even if this place doesn't look like a church at all. They touch down at the base of one, and Allen steps off the ice to stare at the broken arena around them, stunned and a touch apprehensive.
Shouto's voice and the alarm in it snaps him back out of it, and he shakes his head for a moment as if to clear it as he looks back at him. The wounds from the butterflies are still with them, but Allen is used to bearing such things without complaint until there's time to actually deal with them later. None of blood is flowing alarmingly fast, nothing life threatening, so it gets shelved back somewhere where he can try and shut off the pain.
It stains his clothing though. Something that had shifted from the pajamas he'd been wearing in their house after they left it to a plain off-white uniform that looks like it belongs to some form of Chinese martial art, and it's lightly tattered now from where the butterflies tore in with their thimble-sized mouths. ]
It's... the Asia branch of the Order. [ The organization he once belonged to, the Exorcists. One of the branches at least. Allen sounds uneasy though, pale eyes shifting around to take in the silence of the place in the dim light. There's nothing there of course, the water is placid.
But there is the sense of something watching back. Waiting, but not yet hostile. ]
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He grips Shouto's arm tight as they do though, like he means to convey something more than he needs him for balance. I'm fine. An answer to the half-asked question. Breathing a little shakily as he continues to warm up and re-orients himself, it's something he thinks he merely thinks aloud to himself as he focuses on that sense of connection and tries to convey that through touch. But it rides that same tether to touch Shouto's mind, with a voice soft but steady, as the ruins reveal themselves.
It looks like perhaps there might have been a recent battle, or maybe an explosion at one point that wrecked the place. Hallways can be seen reaching back further in out of sight, the architecture appearing ancient and ornate, but not abandoned. There are more modern or at least Victorian sconces, railings, and each pillar bears the engraving of a cross on it. Four-pointed in the same manner as the crystal on the back of Allen's hand, but filled out to become a Christian cross instead -- even if this place doesn't look like a church at all. They touch down at the base of one, and Allen steps off the ice to stare at the broken arena around them, stunned and a touch apprehensive.
Shouto's voice and the alarm in it snaps him back out of it, and he shakes his head for a moment as if to clear it as he looks back at him. The wounds from the butterflies are still with them, but Allen is used to bearing such things without complaint until there's time to actually deal with them later. None of blood is flowing alarmingly fast, nothing life threatening, so it gets shelved back somewhere where he can try and shut off the pain.
It stains his clothing though. Something that had shifted from the pajamas he'd been wearing in their house after they left it to a plain off-white uniform that looks like it belongs to some form of Chinese martial art, and it's lightly tattered now from where the butterflies tore in with their thimble-sized mouths. ]
It's... the Asia branch of the Order. [ The organization he once belonged to, the Exorcists. One of the branches at least. Allen sounds uneasy though, pale eyes shifting around to take in the silence of the place in the dim light. There's nothing there of course, the water is placid.
But there is the sense of something watching back. Waiting, but not yet hostile. ]
This is where I got it back, my Innocence.