Echo's jade eyes fluttered open again as the woman beside him shifted, tucking her shoulder beneath her to lay on her side, now facing him. Unfortunately her shift in position allowed, if only a split second, a glimmer of sunlight that she had up until that moment been shielding his face from to break though, and shoot him square in the left socket. Snorting his irritation, the Dhampir pulled the blankets over his head a rolled away from her, rubbing his abused eyeball. Regretfully, his brief moment of placidity was ruined - unlike the majority of his body, Echo's sensitive eyes were particularly susceptible to injury, and although there would be no long-term damage inflicted by the minor assault, the after burn and itch of any amount of UV light was incredibly bothersome.<br/><br/>Sulking pathetically he pulled the thick dooner cover tightly about his body and sat up, peeping out of the makeshift hood to search his surroundings for his pants. He couldn't see them, and didn't find them until he made to get up, only to discover that he was hobbled at the ankles by the thick waistband of his trousers. Apparently, so consumed in the heat of the moment the night prior, he'd forgotten to kick them off. In spite of his aggravated eye a small, self-satisfied smirk played over his ambrosial lips; he would have liked to have looked at Seria at that moment, just to confirm she was still there and that his mind hadn't simply been engulfed in an incredibly erotic dream. But that would mean turning his face back into the light, and he'd rather not have his eyes burnt out of his skull when scent of stale sex and feminine perfume was enough to confirm her presence and the events that had, indeed, only recently conspired. Instead, he simply lay back down, fishing about a moment in order to de-tangle his pants from the twisted sheets, before pulling them back up his legs and refastening them about his hips.<br/><br/>Aside from his shoes, that was about as well dressed as he was going to get at that point in time. He had possessed a few additional items which were stored in the saddlebag of his Yamaha FJR1300A (by<span style="font-style: italic">'his</span>' he meant '<span style="font-style: italic">his stolen</span>') but he'd been separated and herded away from it during the ambush, and no doubt there wouldn't be much left of the sleek black motorcycle now, nor his belongings. Avgust had learnt long ago that Echo wasn't stupid enough to map out his intended whereabouts for him to find, and any clues the Dhampir did leave were false leads, but that didn't stop the Russian Vampire from ransacking anything of Echo's that he could get his talons into, if only to spite him. Losing such possessions did, on occasion, slow him down, but the Estonian exile was always quick to gather his bearings.<br/><br/>Although the digital age was making automotive theft increasingly difficult. He wondered if Seria had a car... or a broomstick.<br/><br/>The idea excited him a little, if he were honest; he'd never flown before. At least, not in any airborne contraptions the humans made -<span style="font-style: italic">Lennukid</span>or Aeroplanes they called them – and he was quite sure it'd be very different from anything he'd ever experienced. He'd fallen before, many, many times over; off horses, off trains, off buildings and cliffs and trees and, occasionally, even his bed. Sometimes it was because he'd jumped, and other times because he was forced, but it always ended the same way. No matter how much punishment he was capable of enduring, no matter how well he landed, falling was always a shock. His body always felt the impact, and sometimes it was even painful. But flying would be peaceful. It would be sheer freedom. And peacefulness and freedom weren't feelings Echo often had the opportunity to consort with.<br/><br/>He rolled over then, still buried securely within the covers, and peeped out at Seria from beneath twin fans of thick, dark lashes sheltering his emerald eyes. He would feel foolish asking such a childish question of her, so he refrained. It seemed doubtful, at any rate. If she could fly, would she not simply have flown away when she'd sensed the Vampiric threat on the streets? Mildly disappointed in his own conclusion, he smiled sheepishly at her. '<span style="font-style: italic">Tere hommikust, väike nõid</span>', he greeted her, though his voice was quiet and somewhat muffled by the thick layers of fabric protecting him from the daylight threatening to mar him should he emerge.