All he did nowadays was fret.
They didn't let him go with Duis all the time when she had "jobs" and so he stayed in the Vanguard headquarters and worried, moped in their little room, tried to hear her song from where he stayed, buried his face in the pillows, slept too much and had bad dreams.
How could they do this to them?
She had been getting better, just a little, but any progress was still progress. But no, now she had regressed, they were feeding the flame of her bloodlust.
He just waited and waited for the day to come when she did something terrible, unforgivable.

But, at the very least, it was good to smell fresh air again. Ashmol hadn't been out and about for a while, just cooped up in that dark little room.
He walked the streets, squinting in the sunlight that lighted on his cinnamon skin and his dense, curly hair. He was young still, with a soft face, a small chin, bright green eyes and pink lips. In the hustle and bustle of the street, no one really noticed him, no on really saw the sadness aching out from him.
He turned into the first tavern he saw. Price didn't really matter- the Vanguard supplied him and his sister with more than enough money. He might as well waste it because he wanted nothing other than to have Duis back and safe.
Inside it was cooler, smelt of spices and smokes from exotic varieties of tobacco.
The people inside didn't even turn a head, so he just slumped his way over to the bar and looked to the bartender.
He shook inside. He'd never even tasted alcohol before. But not he wanted to relieve something.
He asked for anything, it didn't really matter, and he got some tankard of something. He payed, sat himself down alone at a table and paused, placing the mug before him on the table.
He eyed it, fought a silent war with it and lost.
It came to his lips, he drank, and the first drops of corrupted bitterness fell into this throat.