ISKRA
For what it's worth, Iskra would have happily rolled Melita here like the scene from Willy Wonka. Albeit she likely would have turned into a snowball somewhere along the way and become unmanageable, so it's for the best that she waddled.
Biting back a full on grin with his cheek pressing against his teeth, Iskra chuckles quietly. "Being cold is so much better," he says with a pointed arch of his 'brow. "Lots of nice ways to warm up..." if he trails off intentionally, it's to wave a hand towards the glistening hot spring as proof. It shimmers in open invitation, the steam breaking the diamonds scattered on the surface just enough for them to spill and reform elsewhere, the pattern repeating with a tireless shine.
"Warming up by a fire, beneath a cozy blanket, with a hearty soup or drink..." He starts to peel his layers off with each word, discarding it into a pile near the edge. Boots, gloves, socks, scarf, jacket, sweater, shirt...all starting to create a mountain of deepfrost armor. It's as he gets to his belt and pants that his attention lifts wolfishly to her, no less enamored even with all the puff she's buried beneath—not when he remembers too well the outline of curves his hands traced. "Or from someone else," he drawls as his pants give way and leave him just with his Ludo-pattern board shorts.
"Need any help?" he offers with a step towards her after distributing his bottoms with his clothing mountain. Given all her layers, he figures multiple hands might help.
Biting back a full on grin with his cheek pressing against his teeth, Iskra chuckles quietly. "Being cold is so much better," he says with a pointed arch of his 'brow. "Lots of nice ways to warm up..." if he trails off intentionally, it's to wave a hand towards the glistening hot spring as proof. It shimmers in open invitation, the steam breaking the diamonds scattered on the surface just enough for them to spill and reform elsewhere, the pattern repeating with a tireless shine.
"Warming up by a fire, beneath a cozy blanket, with a hearty soup or drink..." He starts to peel his layers off with each word, discarding it into a pile near the edge. Boots, gloves, socks, scarf, jacket, sweater, shirt...all starting to create a mountain of deepfrost armor. It's as he gets to his belt and pants that his attention lifts wolfishly to her, no less enamored even with all the puff she's buried beneath—not when he remembers too well the outline of curves his hands traced. "Or from someone else," he drawls as his pants give way and leave him just with his Ludo-pattern board shorts.
"Need any help?" he offers with a step towards her after distributing his bottoms with his clothing mountain. Given all her layers, he figures multiple hands might help.
Got me singing in the pouring rain
Got me wrapped around her finger
Well pardon my mannersJust something about you turns me to a savage
Got me wrapped around her finger
Well pardon my mannersJust something about you turns me to a savage
