you are such a soft and messy thing, nobody knows how to take care of you
The color in his cheeks would inspire a coo, or perhaps even something charmed in the pit of her stomach, but this time she has to stare at the edges of his tattoos to keep control of herself and her thoughts. There aren't exactly excessive therapists in Caido, but Hotaru has been forced to be quite introspective given the effects of the war, and she doesn't want to doubt or hope in the aftermath of his...admission? Joke? Regardless.
"Ruin? You barely had it in place to begin with," she refutes teasingly, though he'd been close for a moment when he'd pulled her close and entrapped her, disarmingly suave. Mysterious hadn't even been on the table though.
Books is not what she expects to hear, and though she valiantly tries not to laugh she can't help it, those childish mean girl tendencies positively gleeful at the idea of something so nerdy. "Really? You can't just leave it at that! What genres? How many do you even have? Where do you keep them?" Eyes practically gleaming with the hunger for more ammunition, needing the details before she can twist them to use against him.
Of course that's when he turns the tables, and Hotaru goes suspiciously silent, immediately regretting the trade she'd offered. There are easy answers she could give. Half-truths and diversions. But if he'd been even remotely honest with his earlier joke then maybe he deserves something in return. "I have a lot of the standard den items; furs, pillows. A few scented sachets, though I'm very particular even when I'm not shifted." She always has been; perfumes, candles, incense, all of them subjected to her incredibly sensitive and picky nose. To say the least Sunjata's magically-accurate scent is distracting with its rare appeal. But now it's her turn for her eyes to slide away and her cheeks to darken, but also for the bond to slowly narrow as if against her will, wanting to simultaneously be honest but finding the idea of being seen nearly unbearable. "But I have a horrible habit of stealing clothes from loved ones for their scent, even once it fades. I - I have one of your very old shirts in there." Having accidentally been thrown in her bag the day she'd left, and yet she'd never been able to part with it after all these years. Vainly searching for a diversion, she laughs, a little strained. "Half the fun is playing dumb when people complain about missing items, or sneaking certain ones back to trade out for fresher things." Something that brings her no end of entertainment, a never-ending game of thievery she has yet to be caught in.
"Ruin? You barely had it in place to begin with," she refutes teasingly, though he'd been close for a moment when he'd pulled her close and entrapped her, disarmingly suave. Mysterious hadn't even been on the table though.
Books is not what she expects to hear, and though she valiantly tries not to laugh she can't help it, those childish mean girl tendencies positively gleeful at the idea of something so nerdy. "Really? You can't just leave it at that! What genres? How many do you even have? Where do you keep them?" Eyes practically gleaming with the hunger for more ammunition, needing the details before she can twist them to use against him.
Of course that's when he turns the tables, and Hotaru goes suspiciously silent, immediately regretting the trade she'd offered. There are easy answers she could give. Half-truths and diversions. But if he'd been even remotely honest with his earlier joke then maybe he deserves something in return. "I have a lot of the standard den items; furs, pillows. A few scented sachets, though I'm very particular even when I'm not shifted." She always has been; perfumes, candles, incense, all of them subjected to her incredibly sensitive and picky nose. To say the least Sunjata's magically-accurate scent is distracting with its rare appeal. But now it's her turn for her eyes to slide away and her cheeks to darken, but also for the bond to slowly narrow as if against her will, wanting to simultaneously be honest but finding the idea of being seen nearly unbearable. "But I have a horrible habit of stealing clothes from loved ones for their scent, even once it fades. I - I have one of your very old shirts in there." Having accidentally been thrown in her bag the day she'd left, and yet she'd never been able to part with it after all these years. Vainly searching for a diversion, she laughs, a little strained. "Half the fun is playing dumb when people complain about missing items, or sneaking certain ones back to trade out for fresher things." Something that brings her no end of entertainment, a never-ending game of thievery she has yet to be caught in.
