thusia | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Who: Some dude
When: Day 133, late afternoon/evening (forwarded dated a bit)
Where: Level 3, kitchen
What: tea not-date?

[before the sun fully sets, there is a scruffy-looking man puttering around the kitchen, making tea.

... though he's obviously not that great at it.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[fiiiine moooooom. Pushes himself up to sit and lap at the water]

[Good.

. . . and Zexion will just sit down, knee against Luka's shoulder, one hand moving to rest on his head.]

Whatever your state, welcome back.

[. . . he lifts his head to lick at Zexion's face.

And then looks entirely too amused by it]

[. . . tongue.]

Was that necessary?

[srs wuff]

[He smells (and tastes) much as he did before; the faint air of musty books clinging even now. There is just a hint of something else under that, near his neck—sea salt, and blood.

Zexion's hand creeps up to scritch between Luka's ears.]

Disagree as I may, it is good to see you back.

[. . . no, wait, what is that smell.

Pushes himself up and SNIFFS AT YOUR NECK]

[Sea salt and blood, and the faded tang of pheromones—a predator's mark. Not possessive, not sustained, but undeniably there.

Zexion, meanwhile, just continues with ear pets as if not much of anything is wrong.]

Becoming reacquainted?

[snorts softly and flops back down. . . . and maybe tilts his head into the ear pets a little]

[Look there's not only ear pets, there's a lap here, and it's all for you.]

It's safe to assume that it will be a good night's rest and the dawn's light before you'll return to a more verbal form. That said, the kitchen is still not the best of places—shall I take you home?

[I AM NOT A LAP DOG I just so happened to flop that way okay.

The quiet wuff is probably an agreement]

Do you think your current form would handle teleportation with a minimum of upset?

[. . . if dogs could shrug]

[A light breeze, and a lexicon flashes into existence beside him.]

Your environment will seem a bit strange, but please bear with it. Should it be overly troubling, simply whine—I will hear you.

[another wuff, before he settles back down]

[There's a flask of green light, the afterimage of a symbol floating in the air between them—

It's not really that the environment is strange so much as it's just . . . gone. Formless mist swirls in the distance, above, around and below—whatever surface he's laying on, it's so clear as to be invisible.

Above, lexicons circle each other in the air, Zexion's musty-book scent particularly strong among them.]

[EVERYTHING IS STRANGE, WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT.

Lifts his head to sniff at the books]

[They're still a bit far, but it's definitely there—floating around one . . . around that one, there.]

[SNIFF SNIFF 8|]

[That's it. That's definitely the one. There's nothing visible, but it's almost as if there's an outline there—shoes, hands, hair.

That book separates from the rest, drifting closer.]

[he tilts his head, sniffing at it again. Then as it gets close, he reaches out to nose it curiously]

[His nose touches the book—

and like a bubble popping, he's on the bed of the apartment, neck stretched out, nose nudging Zexion's chest.]

Welcome back.

[his ears go straight up and he glances around, surprised, before back to Zexion.

. . . your magic is weird :T]

There is nothing strange about my magic save, perhaps, that it is magic and you are not accustomed to that.

[. . . scritches his neck.]

[just snorts and flops down right on the bed. . . . at an angle that Zexion doesn't have to stop scritching]