[ For her efforts, Tohsaka earns a deep inhale pulled through his nose. It's not at the point of painful, but it's uncomfortable nevertheless, the quick pressure against his groin before she pulls off completely, leaving him now cold and weightless. Mostly, it's just annoying, and the twist in his lips conveys it; expected as this outcome was, given their little experiment, he remains liable to getting huffy at an instance of teasing.
But ultimately, he's agreed to come for a specific purpose, so he doesn't fight it. He scoots forward on the couch and leans in, taking the glass between four fingers, pinky lifted yet again. For as fussy as the gesture seems, he doesn't flinch at the murky appearance of the mixture; he swirls it around once, twice, then raises it to his lips and throws it back as though it were a beer he was meant to chug.
The medicine is bitter. The taste of it is harsh going down his tongue, so in that sense, probably better to have it done quickly. His throat bobs with the large gulps he takes, draining the glass clean within a couple of swallows. When it clatters back onto the coffee table, there's only a thin rim of powder left coating the bottom edge. Though Tomura doesn't complain verbally, he sticks his tongue out as a signal of distaste. He's mostly forgotten about the print of a heart now stamped onto it, just red enough to stand out against the flesh; currently, he's just more concerned that his mouth feels gritty. ]
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But ultimately, he's agreed to come for a specific purpose, so he doesn't fight it. He scoots forward on the couch and leans in, taking the glass between four fingers, pinky lifted yet again. For as fussy as the gesture seems, he doesn't flinch at the murky appearance of the mixture; he swirls it around once, twice, then raises it to his lips and throws it back as though it were a beer he was meant to chug.
The medicine is bitter. The taste of it is harsh going down his tongue, so in that sense, probably better to have it done quickly. His throat bobs with the large gulps he takes, draining the glass clean within a couple of swallows. When it clatters back onto the coffee table, there's only a thin rim of powder left coating the bottom edge. Though Tomura doesn't complain verbally, he sticks his tongue out as a signal of distaste. He's mostly forgotten about the print of a heart now stamped onto it, just red enough to stand out against the flesh; currently, he's just more concerned that his mouth feels gritty. ]