"Rest. I can manage this one." Eponine's hardly big enough to be a burden, and it is a morbid but true fact that losing a few pints of blood makes one a bit lighter. He removes his hand from her face, watching her pupils shuddering in some pre-mortem seizure, and picks her up.
The airlock isn't far, and bloody footprints leave a clear path to it from his and Molotov's hiding place. When he returns, he's got a bit of a frown at the fact that they'll have to relocate from their convenient two-way glass, or clean. He bends over the blood marks and using small fireballs, starts to scour and scorch away the evidence of the crime.
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The airlock isn't far, and bloody footprints leave a clear path to it from his and Molotov's hiding place. When he returns, he's got a bit of a frown at the fact that they'll have to relocate from their convenient two-way glass, or clean. He bends over the blood marks and using small fireballs, starts to scour and scorch away the evidence of the crime.