[ viago shrugs, both to teia's question and her tease at being disappointed that the fledgling made it through. for one, their fascination stemmed from a natural curiosity. for another (and far less forgivable), viago was fairly certain the boy had done it on a dare from his comrades. he had learned his lesson handily, which is what viago really cared about. he certainly wouldn't be touching snakes again for the foreseeable future.
his eyes flicker to her hand resting over his, and he wills himself to uncurl his fingers, gently taking her hand in his. the waiter would be back soon to take orders and drop off a bottle of wine. he tries not to think about what to do next, in terms of testing, and instead focus on the woman sitting across from him. who, despite his many and varied flaws, seems to enjoy spending time with him, and thensome.
he finds he can't answer her question, what has he been doing. she wants something personal, something charming and wholesome, but he truly doesn't have anything to say aside from missing her with such fierce longing that he found himself miserably staring out the window at night rather than sleeping. he does, though, look amused at the thought of teia trying embroidery, and he turns her hand over in his, so he can see her palm. and, most importantly, the tips of her fingers. ]
Is that why you have pin pricks? [ she has no such thing, but his tone is teasing. ] For this holy shroud of the Exalted age.
[ similarly, viago doubts that that is true. but he is glad she is doing something for herself. something relatively benign. safe. she expects him to say something in return, though, and viago hesitates, his thumb running along her palm in thought as he tries to summon... literally anything except miserable solitude. ]
I drew different flora while in Salle. [ that's. something? though it stems back to work, really. a catalog of the local wildlife is useful for harvesting different herbs. but he does enjoy doing it, he supposes. ] Portions of the gardens have gone into bloom, despite the fledgling's best efforts to kill it.
[ it was a mistake to entrust them with taking care of his beloved garden. ]
no subject
his eyes flicker to her hand resting over his, and he wills himself to uncurl his fingers, gently taking her hand in his. the waiter would be back soon to take orders and drop off a bottle of wine. he tries not to think about what to do next, in terms of testing, and instead focus on the woman sitting across from him. who, despite his many and varied flaws, seems to enjoy spending time with him, and thensome.
he finds he can't answer her question, what has he been doing. she wants something personal, something charming and wholesome, but he truly doesn't have anything to say aside from missing her with such fierce longing that he found himself miserably staring out the window at night rather than sleeping. he does, though, look amused at the thought of teia trying embroidery, and he turns her hand over in his, so he can see her palm. and, most importantly, the tips of her fingers. ]
Is that why you have pin pricks? [ she has no such thing, but his tone is teasing. ] For this holy shroud of the Exalted age.
[ similarly, viago doubts that that is true. but he is glad she is doing something for herself. something relatively benign. safe. she expects him to say something in return, though, and viago hesitates, his thumb running along her palm in thought as he tries to summon... literally anything except miserable solitude. ]
I drew different flora while in Salle. [ that's. something? though it stems back to work, really. a catalog of the local wildlife is useful for harvesting different herbs. but he does enjoy doing it, he supposes. ] Portions of the gardens have gone into bloom, despite the fledgling's best efforts to kill it.
[ it was a mistake to entrust them with taking care of his beloved garden. ]