Let's make tonight the weekend, I don't wanna wait
Orangery is definitely a word that sounds made up, so he feels zero shame at having forgotten it. It is a fitting name, insofar as made up ones go, because the room is taking on a lovely shade of the fruit as dawnlight continues to sparkle into it. The space frames her in a champagne glow that has nothing to do with the mimosa from before, and his smile is an immediate greeting at the bright sight of her. She doesn't have to be done up when the world seems apt to wear itself around her. The simplicity of the white cotton lets the sigh of the coast drift against the fabric, teasing it into extra motion with her every stride in such a way that his gaze can't help but be drawn to the shape of her. The amber coating of fresh daylight highlights her better than any bronzer could hope to, granting her a radiance that treasure seekers would covet the same as gold.
He's changed into his workwear, the typical spa outfit that looks like a hybrid of a nurse and a cult follower, except he kept on his blue socks with little white dragons in different shapes patterning them. A fuzzy white robe hangs off one of the chairs for her, but that'd be later, since for now he needs her to, "strip." He can't keep back the devious tilt to his smile at that request, though he does motion towards a padded chair, which is definitely one of the outdoor patio pieces done up with some couch cushions, a sheet, and a healthy dose of towels overtop to keep all of it intact (hopefully) when this is all said and done.
"Oh?" he asks in pursuit of the tidbit of information she handed him upon arrival, one 'brow rising over the other in interest. "So I'm not just up against trained professionals today, but family legacy then?" There's surely no hope he'll compare, the way you can never cook a meal as good as mom's, because you're facing years of childhood memory and a woman who usually stopped following a recipe decades ago. She hasn't really told him much about her though, and he wonders faintly why it was if her father failed her so, that her mother didn't do more, and how it is she came to depend on a witchy grandmother in the woods most of all. "Was this when you were young?" he asks carefully, grabbing for a platter of hot washcloths, to lay across her once she's ready, an exfoliating precursor to the heated mud.
He's changed into his workwear, the typical spa outfit that looks like a hybrid of a nurse and a cult follower, except he kept on his blue socks with little white dragons in different shapes patterning them. A fuzzy white robe hangs off one of the chairs for her, but that'd be later, since for now he needs her to, "strip." He can't keep back the devious tilt to his smile at that request, though he does motion towards a padded chair, which is definitely one of the outdoor patio pieces done up with some couch cushions, a sheet, and a healthy dose of towels overtop to keep all of it intact (hopefully) when this is all said and done.
"Oh?" he asks in pursuit of the tidbit of information she handed him upon arrival, one 'brow rising over the other in interest. "So I'm not just up against trained professionals today, but family legacy then?" There's surely no hope he'll compare, the way you can never cook a meal as good as mom's, because you're facing years of childhood memory and a woman who usually stopped following a recipe decades ago. She hasn't really told him much about her though, and he wonders faintly why it was if her father failed her so, that her mother didn't do more, and how it is she came to depend on a witchy grandmother in the woods most of all. "Was this when you were young?" he asks carefully, grabbing for a platter of hot washcloths, to lay across her once she's ready, an exfoliating precursor to the heated mud.
Kaisel
Got no reason not to celebrate
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
