[ ...seriously mithrun—? kabru follows the elf's line of sight all the way across the road to— yeah. the bakery. incredible feat of directional awareness. it's on lamb, though, and his cat, weirdly cryptic thing that it is, seems to be looking up at kabru smugly. just because it's made a new friend that it's obsessed with, doesn't give it license to be rude, surely.
the cat doesn't listen to kabru, though, and the odd pair strike off across the street in the direction of the bakery, not paying too much attention to their masters.
instead, kabru turns back to mithrun, reaching to tug that jacket more securely around the other's shoulders. ] It's a pity that you have to work at all today. I'd rather take the time to— you know. We need to talk.
[ yes, mithrun said they can talk at the bakery— but does kabru have any interest in a performative stunt in front of a store full of people, while eating baked goods; none of which he has much of a taste for? no. obviously not. pastries and cakes are the sugared nonsense of elvish tables, and he'd never liked them— something about that recurring thing here again now; after another tragedy. as a child he'd come to associate them with the first days of his new home; milsiril was always staring at him as he swallowed obediently.
there's no move from kabru to go towards the place, and no move to retake mithrun's hand. he looks— out of place. like someone has dropped him there, to stand against the outline of this curiously cheerful city street. ]
no subject
the cat doesn't listen to kabru, though, and the odd pair strike off across the street in the direction of the bakery, not paying too much attention to their masters.
instead, kabru turns back to mithrun, reaching to tug that jacket more securely around the other's shoulders. ] It's a pity that you have to work at all today. I'd rather take the time to— you know. We need to talk.
[ yes, mithrun said they can talk at the bakery— but does kabru have any interest in a performative stunt in front of a store full of people, while eating baked goods; none of which he has much of a taste for? no. obviously not. pastries and cakes are the sugared nonsense of elvish tables, and he'd never liked them— something about that recurring thing here again now; after another tragedy. as a child he'd come to associate them with the first days of his new home; milsiril was always staring at him as he swallowed obediently.
there's no move from kabru to go towards the place, and no move to retake mithrun's hand. he looks— out of place. like someone has dropped him there, to stand against the outline of this curiously cheerful city street. ]