a thousand faces staring at me, a thousand times i've fallen
Astra’s bleat causes Glas to fidget a bit more, glancing to the Luxere and mouthing a quiet sorry to the creature before his attention focuses briefly back on Loren’s chest. “S-Stripes are popular.” He begins, pausing to contemplate. “I like… Marble mostly, though.” Marble, because it wasn’t perfect, veins and spiderwebbing in random splotching spaces that still somehow looked beautiful and unique every time.
There is some awkwardness surrounding the humor that Loren attempts, and Glas melts a bit more with it, cheeks reddening ever so slightly and unable to come up with a response to that and so he tries to ignore it – forgetting it instead in favor for talking about himself. Or… Perhaps more accurately, less in favor. The questions he’s asked, he’s not sure how to reply to either but then Loren questions if talking to strangers makes him nervous and he shrinks a bit more inward on himself.
“I… I don’t get out a lot.” He begins to say again. “Not after the accident.” It’s quieter, and he hunches a bit closer in himself.
There is some awkwardness surrounding the humor that Loren attempts, and Glas melts a bit more with it, cheeks reddening ever so slightly and unable to come up with a response to that and so he tries to ignore it – forgetting it instead in favor for talking about himself. Or… Perhaps more accurately, less in favor. The questions he’s asked, he’s not sure how to reply to either but then Loren questions if talking to strangers makes him nervous and he shrinks a bit more inward on himself.
“I… I don’t get out a lot.” He begins to say again. “Not after the accident.” It’s quieter, and he hunches a bit closer in himself.
a thousand voices dead at my feet
GLAS
