( there’s not really any point of pretense, this deep into the game— yet here he is, following along. the second bottle he brings in gets thunked down onto the counter right next to the first, for lack of anywhere better to put it. there’s a moment, where his hand lingers, as if loathe to part with such a prize. in the end, he relents.
his attention turns towards the rest of the room, considering the differences. there’s no minibar in his version of a 10 suite, for one. perhaps in knowing kirma would be satisfied with less, that’s what he receives. perhaps in showing him he has less, it’s meant to make him want more. there is a certain irritation in it, to know that there is disparity among points that are meant to be “equal,” as much as that concept even exists in the heavily stratified structure of the peacock. when he rolls his eyes, they land on the corkscrew; there’s no direction given, but he picks it up all the same, out of assumption. )
It’s your house ( kinda. ), not mine.
( what does a dog care about cooties, anyway. there’s some struggle with the mechanism of the corkscrew, another moment of inexperience shining through, but it otherwise pops off with minimal effort.
finally his gaze slinks back to dabi, one ear twisted out to face him, as well: ) You first. ( as the person this was for. )
no subject
( there’s not really any point of pretense, this deep into the game— yet here he is, following along. the second bottle he brings in gets thunked down onto the counter right next to the first, for lack of anywhere better to put it. there’s a moment, where his hand lingers, as if loathe to part with such a prize. in the end, he relents.
his attention turns towards the rest of the room, considering the differences. there’s no minibar in his version of a 10 suite, for one. perhaps in knowing kirma would be satisfied with less, that’s what he receives. perhaps in showing him he has less, it’s meant to make him want more. there is a certain irritation in it, to know that there is disparity among points that are meant to be “equal,” as much as that concept even exists in the heavily stratified structure of the peacock. when he rolls his eyes, they land on the corkscrew; there’s no direction given, but he picks it up all the same, out of assumption. )
It’s your house ( kinda. ), not mine.
( what does a dog care about cooties, anyway. there’s some struggle with the mechanism of the corkscrew, another moment of inexperience shining through, but it otherwise pops off with minimal effort.
finally his gaze slinks back to dabi, one ear twisted out to face him, as well: ) You first. ( as the person this was for. )