when you are not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives
"Oh - my apologies. Do you not run it, then...?" It slips out before Finn has a chance to inhale it back. One can change one's face apparently, but not one's literal thinking. His mild confusion and the distraction of the woman with the cherries means he's powerless to stop the grabbing hands exposing him to the rest of the lounge, and blue eyes widen a fraction in an expression that's unmistakeably uncomfortable.
"I--" he begins, and regrettably whatever his answer is about to be is cut off by a sudden crack of splintering wood, and a howl of a gale that rips through the Halenani. Finn sits up, suddenly all attention and no flirting, hastily covering himself as he rises to his feet. Clients and workers alike have stopped in their tracks, and there's a distinct air of panic. "What was that?"
"I--" he begins, and regrettably whatever his answer is about to be is cut off by a sudden crack of splintering wood, and a howl of a gale that rips through the Halenani. Finn sits up, suddenly all attention and no flirting, hastily covering himself as he rises to his feet. Clients and workers alike have stopped in their tracks, and there's a distinct air of panic. "What was that?"
Finn?
