[ The dark combination of wine-dark red and black suits the dark grayscale of his hair, the pale blue of his eyes, he appreciates the look on Wriothesley without comment until his greeting makes his eyebrows jump slightly, the puppet's lips parting in understated surprise.
Gears stutter. Feeling heat rise in his face, he presses his lips together, stepping forward to greet him. His hands catch him on the bare parts of his arms, cold metal on one side, slightly warmer on the other, and as he leans forward, his chestnut hair tickles at his jaw when he — perhaps surprisingly — greets him with a brush of his mouth against his cheek. So, what, they're on bisous level of friendship, now? Or perhaps under the watchful, keen gaze of some long-standing players, he's attempting to telegraph that he's here with somebody.
(...Or he's just trying to fluster Wriothesley in turn. He is given to benign pranking.) ]
Not really. [ Giving his arms a brief squeeze, Pinocchio leans back to look at him. ] There's still a table available.
[ It's even in a booth in the back! They might actually manage to hear themselves think as it fills out in here. ]
no subject
Gears stutter. Feeling heat rise in his face, he presses his lips together, stepping forward to greet him. His hands catch him on the bare parts of his arms, cold metal on one side, slightly warmer on the other, and as he leans forward, his chestnut hair tickles at his jaw when he — perhaps surprisingly — greets him with a brush of his mouth against his cheek. So, what, they're on bisous level of friendship, now? Or perhaps under the watchful, keen gaze of some long-standing players, he's attempting to telegraph that he's here with somebody.
(...Or he's just trying to fluster Wriothesley in turn. He is given to benign pranking.) ]
Not really. [ Giving his arms a brief squeeze, Pinocchio leans back to look at him. ] There's still a table available.
[ It's even in a booth in the back! They might actually manage to hear themselves think as it fills out in here. ]