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Theodore Nott (nottfinished) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

Theo tended to shie from eye contact as a rule, partially from years of being punished for being so presumptuous but also because he was generally downcast as a rule. He watched the good samaritan's throat and folowed along with her breathing and found it did help, his breaths coming deeper now even if his heart still hopscotched a little bit on him. He'd had to do this before and had hyperventilated himself unconscious on more than one panicked occassion but her help brought him back to ground with gentle ease.

He was happy to keep speaking Welsh in line with her, although he tilted his head to the side in confusion - why wouldn't black people speak Welsh? He'd been so indoctrinated in Blood Purity Superiority that it seemed skin colour had passed him by. "I don't understand the correlation." he said, continuing in Welsh before he nodded that he was ready for the next finger to be put straight. He inhaled sharply when she snapped it back but nothing more. "Only two left, right?" He asked, still eerily calm. "I can fix them after that, if you wanted to go. I'm sorry about- about getting blood everywhere. I'm sorry." he faded off now, a little unfocused now if that wasn't more ridiculous than his earlier calm. "I need to clean this up. I made a mess, I need to clear it up." he murmured, still somewhere far away.