Thalassa
A smooth sea never made a skilled sailor.
As the crispy exterior of the pastry passes her lips, Thal makes a sound of appreciation for the last morsel. Perhaps her detour here had not been completely in vain. Would the chef possibly be vulnerable to a motivating invitation? Maybe she would be departing with more than just supplies. Thal glances at the man occupying the chair, observing the silhouette of his dark curls and stocky build. Despite the violence of his bulging muscles, the set of the man's shoulders and his relaxed movements convey a sense of nonchalance and calm indifference. When his head turns to meet her gaze, the blue of his eyes seems to glow against his dark figure with the sun setting behind him. It gives him an almost otherworldly sheen.
His baritone voice implies an even deeper strength that Thal finds herself curious of and the open assessment in his eyes piques her senses. She flashes him a grin and chuckles. "Dessert would be preferred, but I suppose dinner is a close second." Thal brushes the crumbs from her hands by running them down her trousers. "Although I have never been one to sit still for long and sunsets are often fleeting."
At this point, she would have chosen to walk away for emphasis, but she finds herself intrigued enough to stay, maintaining eye contact with this stranger in the departing sunlight.
