[ Sylvain gives a noncommittal hum, because the answer to that question is... highly situational. ]
It is at the moment. Does that count?
[ His eyes are still drinking in the sight as he slides fabric back off Wriothesley's shoulders, letting it drop behind him. The lithe muscle that tells a story all its own - one Sylvain recognizes with ease. His fingers momentarily drift over those prominent scars as his gaze flits up to the man's face. Not questioning, because such marks rarely come without darker tales attached to them. But he can acknowledge them all the same.
He has his own fair share, after all. Ones that will be visible when he sheds out of his own shirt. A long line down the left side of his ribs. The jagged entrance where he'd taken a spear to the side to protect Felix. A rake of large claws down the back of one shoulder, thanks to a pissed off wyvern trying to unseat him from his mount. Plenty that tell a story all their own, several of them pointing to a life he's lucky to still be living. ]
no subject
It is at the moment. Does that count?
[ His eyes are still drinking in the sight as he slides fabric back off Wriothesley's shoulders, letting it drop behind him. The lithe muscle that tells a story all its own - one Sylvain recognizes with ease. His fingers momentarily drift over those prominent scars as his gaze flits up to the man's face. Not questioning, because such marks rarely come without darker tales attached to them. But he can acknowledge them all the same.
He has his own fair share, after all. Ones that will be visible when he sheds out of his own shirt. A long line down the left side of his ribs. The jagged entrance where he'd taken a spear to the side to protect Felix. A rake of large claws down the back of one shoulder, thanks to a pissed off wyvern trying to unseat him from his mount. Plenty that tell a story all their own, several of them pointing to a life he's lucky to still be living. ]