save your eyes for someone brighter than i will ever be
He follows her on her heels, and much like her he pays little mind to the sounds that leave the rooms. To him, so long as that doesn’t change into silence, then all was good. At least, not without some divine intervention, which he still needs to finish, but that’s a thought for another day as he steps into the room behind Isla and closes the door, muffling out the sounds of the brothel as if he’d extinguished a candle.
His steel gaze follows where she gestures, before his feet take him there to peer up at it as if he might have an idea on how to do it right this second, but he settles with setting the books on his desk before he looks back at her to see her slipping on his shirt once upon a time. “My own little Spire.” He drawls the sentence out, letting his accent linger on each syllable as he speaks before he snorts and drifts toward the closet to slip out of his shirt to toss in the basket.
“I do like the idea. Gives the House of Midnight yet another air of mystery.” His hand lifts to wiggle his lightning scarred fingers alongside the word mystery, as if to give it more of an spooky type of feeling. He's changed soon enough into a pair of soft shorts to sleep in, only because wearing anything else including a shirt would be death for him with overheating, and he returns to the bed to sit on the foot of it and flop back, peering up at Isla from where he's laid. "Hey, so, I know you had a shitty day. Is there anything else I can do to make it less shitty?" He's not good at talking about feelings and the like, but it's a question he has to ask.
His steel gaze follows where she gestures, before his feet take him there to peer up at it as if he might have an idea on how to do it right this second, but he settles with setting the books on his desk before he looks back at her to see her slipping on his shirt once upon a time. “My own little Spire.” He drawls the sentence out, letting his accent linger on each syllable as he speaks before he snorts and drifts toward the closet to slip out of his shirt to toss in the basket.
“I do like the idea. Gives the House of Midnight yet another air of mystery.” His hand lifts to wiggle his lightning scarred fingers alongside the word mystery, as if to give it more of an spooky type of feeling. He's changed soon enough into a pair of soft shorts to sleep in, only because wearing anything else including a shirt would be death for him with overheating, and he returns to the bed to sit on the foot of it and flop back, peering up at Isla from where he's laid. "Hey, so, I know you had a shitty day. Is there anything else I can do to make it less shitty?" He's not good at talking about feelings and the like, but it's a question he has to ask.
don't hesitate to bring me to my knees
SUNJATA
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
