He had to finish. It was important. They would all see soon enough. See and feel and if they were truly unlucky, burn. It was important, so important to get the flames right. If only he could draw the screams, that would make it even better. Yes.
If Tristian sensed the second presence in the room, he didn't show it; his attention was focused solely on what he was doing. It was only when a hand took hold of his wrist, preventing him from carrying on, that the younger Kindred bother to turn around and look.
His hair was tatty and unbrushed, the ends stained with dried blood, make up smudged and tracked down his cheeks. Although Tris' clothes weren't dirty per se, he'd clearly been wearing them for several days; something he'd normally consider tantamount to a war crime were he feeling more like himself.
The younger Malkavian blinked at Cian, slow and calm and bovine, as if the Elder's presence and his tone were of no concern to him. There was no recognition of the person he was facing, hand wrapped around his wrist. "I'm busy. I need to finish."