Ambrose Drak
"Look at me." He motions with his hands. "Right here."
Mercy turns a wild-eyed gaze on him. "Help me."
"That's it, look at me." He removes his belt. "You have to calm down. And for the love of the Gods, stop moving."
As spirited and stubborn as she is, he knows just how hard it is for her to ask for help, his help.
"Hey," he says to get her attention again, "can you do that for me?"
Now that she looks to him for aid, he doesn't want to let her down.
She nods but doesn't speak.
"I need you to stand, slowly. The key word here is slow, you got that?"
"Aye." Dense ripples wave around her chest and arms. They match the movement of her trembling frame. She holds on to her legs then pulls herself to a semi-standing position. "Like this?"
"That's good." He inches closer to her. "Now, I'm going to toss the end of the belt to you."
He kneels, holds on to the buckle, and pitches the flat end to her.