Kenza
Specialized? Probably the understatement of the century. She doesn't even know what to think, what to picture; it's easy enough to imagine him by an anvil, hammer raised to swing down on some metal piece he's shaping, but she's someone who can drown. Her brain wants to fill in sweat on that dark skin, fire glistening in his golden scars—but then her imagination promptly dumps, y'know, the sea on that mental picture and Hadama's sodden and the forge put out in wet smoke and how do you look sweaty underwater anyway???
Too many questions. She puts them away for later. Blows some hair out of her face (it falls right back whenever the sea breeze doesn't tug at it) and watches where she thinks his elusive, reluctant prey is hiding in the gentle waves.
I don't know what's normal for mer drinks either she thinks to herself, kind of startled by this realization. "It does," she confirms in vague surprise. "Plain, or with some warming alcohol, perhaps topped with whipped cream and cinnamon, mmh..." You're still not at work Kenza, but I guess it doesn't hurt to be passionate about hot chocolate. There are, after all, worse things to be passionate about.
She hesitates. The million dollar question sits on her tongue.
"Why?"
Plain curiosity.
Too many questions. She puts them away for later. Blows some hair out of her face (it falls right back whenever the sea breeze doesn't tug at it) and watches where she thinks his elusive, reluctant prey is hiding in the gentle waves.
I don't know what's normal for mer drinks either she thinks to herself, kind of startled by this realization. "It does," she confirms in vague surprise. "Plain, or with some warming alcohol, perhaps topped with whipped cream and cinnamon, mmh..." You're still not at work Kenza, but I guess it doesn't hurt to be passionate about hot chocolate. There are, after all, worse things to be passionate about.
She hesitates. The million dollar question sits on her tongue.
"Why?"
Plain curiosity.
