[If the universe were keeping tally, it could count the number of times Sypha Belnades has been shocked into stillness on one standard five-fingered-human-hand.
It might need two hands now.
There's a lot to process all at once, a flood filled with thousands of rocks and pebbles engraved with things like 'oh he's warmer than I thought' and 'he doesn't want this he didn't even want to touch KNEES' and 'but Trevor' and 'that one portrait of Lisa Tepes where she's looking incredibly smug' and 'ow my ankle' and 'he doesn't want this' and 'ow is that a fang' and 'there were little dolls of us in his Horizon were those carried over from real life like the library' and 'but he's actually kissing me and I think I'm kissing him also' and 'oh' and--
Sypha's hands spasm where they're still gripping Alucard's. His grip is tight but the rest of him hasn't gone as frozen-prey-animal as she's seen from him recently. She's able to slip her hands free and move them to his shoulders, where she can steady herself a bit more reliably. Enough to get her balance fully back on her feet and to pull away the fraction of an inch allowed by the crowd. Her hands rise, hovering just above the cut of his jacket.]
I'm sorry! [At least she doesn't have to worry that he can't hear her in the din] I didn't--it was--are you okay? Do you need to...
[Do what, exactly? Flee into the night? Retreat to a cactus?]
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It might need two hands now.
There's a lot to process all at once, a flood filled with thousands of rocks and pebbles engraved with things like 'oh he's warmer than I thought' and 'he doesn't want this he didn't even want to touch KNEES' and 'but Trevor' and 'that one portrait of Lisa Tepes where she's looking incredibly smug' and 'ow my ankle' and 'he doesn't want this' and 'ow is that a fang' and 'there were little dolls of us in his Horizon were those carried over from real life like the library' and 'but he's actually kissing me and I think I'm kissing him also' and 'oh' and--
Sypha's hands spasm where they're still gripping Alucard's. His grip is tight but the rest of him hasn't gone as frozen-prey-animal as she's seen from him recently. She's able to slip her hands free and move them to his shoulders, where she can steady herself a bit more reliably. Enough to get her balance fully back on her feet and to pull away the fraction of an inch allowed by the crowd. Her hands rise, hovering just above the cut of his jacket.]
I'm sorry! [At least she doesn't have to worry that he can't hear her in the din] I didn't--it was--are you okay? Do you need to...
[Do what, exactly? Flee into the night? Retreat to a cactus?]