[ She brushes a soft kiss to the line of his jaw and he smiles, the expression making it all the way to his eyes. It may be earlier than he would ever like to be awake and moving around, but, her presence makes it all the more bearable. ]
I'm alive. [ Mostly. He'll feel better when there's caffeine in his system. So, he does move over to the fresh pot of coffee, taking a couple of stoneware mugs down from the cupboard. Inej isn't usually one for coffee, preferring her tea, but he pours some for her at the lack of tea leaves, fixed on the sweeter side. A bit indulgent himself, he adds a teaspoon of sugar to his cup, stirring idly as she shimmies an egg onto the spatula to flip it.
The light in the kitchen is still dimmer this early, though the rays of the sun are slowly starting to shift from white to a pale butter yellow. Once it was properly over the horizon, the chill morning dew clinging to the air would start to dissipate and make the temperature more pleasant. His past merges with the present again, as he's sure will happen the entire time they're here, the memory of his Da standing in the same spot–at the same time of day–as Inej is scratching at his brain. For a few long moments, he simply watches her, swallowing around the odd déjà vu. Deciding he's idled too long, he pulls his gaze away, striding over to the worn and well-cared for table to begin setting it.
As she comes over with the pan of eggs, he squints out towards the bay window, trying to determine whether the clouds were indicating an overcast. Between the streaky grey-white wisps, the sky is a clear gradient of gradually lightening indigo; probably a clear day. ]
Likely won't have time to see Lij proper until tomorrow. [ He says, turning his attention away from the window. ] The grounds aren't extensive but, they're big enough.
[ There's an unspoken question on his face as he looks at her: does she want to see it all? Not like fields are the most exciting thing, even if he has history in nearly every crumb of dirt surrounding the house, extending out to the lake and a bit of the tree line behind it. He'd understand if she'd rather stay in and leave him to his own melancholy. ]
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I'm alive. [ Mostly. He'll feel better when there's caffeine in his system. So, he does move over to the fresh pot of coffee, taking a couple of stoneware mugs down from the cupboard. Inej isn't usually one for coffee, preferring her tea, but he pours some for her at the lack of tea leaves, fixed on the sweeter side. A bit indulgent himself, he adds a teaspoon of sugar to his cup, stirring idly as she shimmies an egg onto the spatula to flip it.
The light in the kitchen is still dimmer this early, though the rays of the sun are slowly starting to shift from white to a pale butter yellow. Once it was properly over the horizon, the chill morning dew clinging to the air would start to dissipate and make the temperature more pleasant. His past merges with the present again, as he's sure will happen the entire time they're here, the memory of his Da standing in the same spot–at the same time of day–as Inej is scratching at his brain. For a few long moments, he simply watches her, swallowing around the odd déjà vu. Deciding he's idled too long, he pulls his gaze away, striding over to the worn and well-cared for table to begin setting it.
As she comes over with the pan of eggs, he squints out towards the bay window, trying to determine whether the clouds were indicating an overcast. Between the streaky grey-white wisps, the sky is a clear gradient of gradually lightening indigo; probably a clear day. ]
Likely won't have time to see Lij proper until tomorrow. [ He says, turning his attention away from the window. ] The grounds aren't extensive but, they're big enough.
[ There's an unspoken question on his face as he looks at her: does she want to see it all? Not like fields are the most exciting thing, even if he has history in nearly every crumb of dirt surrounding the house, extending out to the lake and a bit of the tree line behind it. He'd understand if she'd rather stay in and leave him to his own melancholy. ]