Desmond paused a little as she calmly pointed out that he didn't really need her assistance in any particular fashion. It was true, of course, but he paused as he rolled the idea around in his head for a moment. "Maybe not, but you didn't know that, and regardless, I do not measure kindness in the weight of the action, but the intent of the heart it comes from." he said quietly. It was not a statement simply to be humble, but really how he measured the kindness of the world. As the world had so kindly just pointed out to him, everyone made mistakes. But unlike some who believed that the road to hell was paved with good intentions, Desmond did not believe that, if there was a higher power in this world that it would bear ill will against those who meant to do good for other people. If anything he thought that the arbitrary laws that had been laid down were likely simply guide posts in the night towards the path to good.
It wasn't exactly a popular theory. But then, Dhampirs weren't very popular with any particular church, not even the ones that hired them.
Sadly, Desmond had no clue that mermaids did not feel the cold in the air. While he had spoken with mermaids before, it was not as if the conversations that he participated in with them had been very deep, especially about such a thing as how they felt the water was. To them, they had simply viewed the way that they were as the only correct way to be, and so they had not brought it up, assuming that Desmond either felt the same way about cooler waters as they did, or was too ashamed to actually admit that he felt somewhat differently. From his perspective it just hadn't been one of the many topics that he had been interested in learning about from the merfolk. Regardless of the fact that she didn't need to cover up to remain warm, Desmond still would have offered his coat, however, if just to keep her from being as exposed as she was.
Desmond shook his head quietly as she asked if the book was of all of his works. "It is actually just a collection of some of his poetry. One of his more profound works was not poetry at all, but instead a collection of correspondences that he wrote in reply to an aspiring poet that was writing to him actively. It is somewhat unique in the bleeding honesty of it, how he looks at his life, and the challenges that he saw in his own writing and his own existence. It is intensely bittersweet, but an amazing introspective into the mind of a writer that you can not often get in written form. It is called 'Letters to a Young Poet', if you're looking for a book to read, it is relatively short, but an intense reading experience." Desmond said softly, as eloquently as if he were teaching a class on the subject. Poetry was something that he found fascinating.
He felt bad as he shook her hand with the wet leather of his gloved hand, but he did not remove the glove, simply because he did not want to expose his hands with their lack of nails to her. It was an old throwback to a time long since passed, when it was a way of indentifying him, and not in the flattering sort of way that one might have presumed. "Raina." he said, repeating it softly with the same reverence as he'd read a line of poetry with. "I would not ask forgiveness if I did not feel it was justified. Regardless of your appearance I disturbed your evening, and that was not my intent. But it is a pleasure to meet you." he said softly to her with a quiet smile.
Desmond couldn't help but watch her as she stared into her eyes. She was a lovely creature, this much was true. But he had been building up his own resistance to his desires as of late, especially with how heartbreakingly awful he'd been around Beth. Thinking of it almost made him frown, but he realized it would be rude and instead brightened his smile a little to Raina, though, as usual, he did not smile so brightly as to show teeth, another old habit to keep himself from being identified by those who might seek to single him out to do him harm, or potentially other things.