One might expect Koa to start prowling through the home like a curious kitten, but the Dragoon does no such thing. Trained from childhood to be polite, the young man stands at quiet attention, perhaps even a little stiff. He's not sure what to touch, where to look, and so he defers to his host, waiting for direction as to where and how he might proceed. It's unsettlingly like and unlike his own home, and the unfamiliar familiarity has him somewhat on edge
The hand on his arm is met with a smile, Koa relaxing a little bit at this friendly touch. "Clean," he answers without second thought, immediately backtracking as he realizes the implication of what he's said. "Not that your place isn't," he clarifies, holding up his hands. "It's just- my Ma, she always made sure we kept the house tidy. Though Noe - my sister - moved out, and I'd been mostly sleeping in my office in the Nest, so who knows what Dad's done with the place..."
He's rambling, he knows it. At least his rambling is still engaging, full of inflection and the easy humor so often used to shield pain. Still, he's grateful when Tal gives him direction, springing eagerly into the task of retrieving and hanging wreaths. Following the trail of nails, he begins to hang the first of the boughs. "Please tell me if I've fucked this up - I'm awful at anything aesthetic. It's kind of a running joke in my family." A lighthearted laugh of self-effacement; a wistful, nostalgic smile.
The hand on his arm is met with a smile, Koa relaxing a little bit at this friendly touch. "Clean," he answers without second thought, immediately backtracking as he realizes the implication of what he's said. "Not that your place isn't," he clarifies, holding up his hands. "It's just- my Ma, she always made sure we kept the house tidy. Though Noe - my sister - moved out, and I'd been mostly sleeping in my office in the Nest, so who knows what Dad's done with the place..."
He's rambling, he knows it. At least his rambling is still engaging, full of inflection and the easy humor so often used to shield pain. Still, he's grateful when Tal gives him direction, springing eagerly into the task of retrieving and hanging wreaths. Following the trail of nails, he begins to hang the first of the boughs. "Please tell me if I've fucked this up - I'm awful at anything aesthetic. It's kind of a running joke in my family." A lighthearted laugh of self-effacement; a wistful, nostalgic smile.
