His scent, a bouquet of ginger, cloves and nutmeg brewed with a handful of fresh spearmint leaves wafting from his eager footsteps, his presence an electrifying pinprick of pure peppermint evocative of hibiscus and marigold petals steeped in pine needles sticky with spruce tree sap, the fluttering of his coconut crème-coloured lashes accompanied with the upturn of full, well-rounded lips, his vivacious grin bringing about the shimmer and radiance of Tahiti limes and Meyer lemons as his smile widens apropos to his savory gift, the citrusy flavor of magnolia grandiflora and white acacia abound in his grin of honeydew melon, his cheerful expression comforting like the tropical aroma of sun-ripened mangoes and caramelized rose hips; bringing a hand to the tapered nape of his neck ( an abashed gesture, though no less jubilant ), he runs his fingers through voluminous tresses as soft as lilies tinted bright diamond, the whiteness of his hair only rivaled by the nigh-blinding flash of his teeth intensifying with each passing moment, the aforementioned like the illumination of lilac grey iris emerging amidst delicate sheets snow adorning the Earth from low cloud layers making the features of landscapes indistinguishable, his mirth—a shower of chilled crystals coming down in the form of sparkling laughter—swallowing the surrounding verdure with a brilliant mandarin coolness, the frosty notes that slip from his winter solstice lips tasting of dried peels from Laraha oranges. With the tilt of his head comes a slightly raspy breath very pronounced and a bit overzealous—❝Ya shouldn’t’ve had…!❞—but in lieu of reaching for what the elderly woman presents he is cautious in his footsteps despite his excitement, making sure her balance is kept above all else ( a wildhearted gentleman ).
In her outstretched, leathery hands—trembling from the weight of old years and the visible veins that snake up them—rests a dozen pieces of three-inch-thick garlic-braised beef shanks fall-off-the-bone tender wrapped in a makeshift parcel consisting of two kitchen towels, her own smile ( though faint from weakness ) warm and welcoming, greeting him with a glimpse of one of his favourite meals, his reaction upon seeing the chunks of hardy meat emotionally rewarding and the knowledge that he will eat all of it all the more encouraging ( he reminds her more of her son with each passing moment ). ❝This is ta second best gift I’ve ever gotten Grams!❞ It goes without saying nothing beats the surprises Dylan showers him with ( whether they are material comforts or lavish kisses ) but his comment comes so full of love and conviction that the elderly woman could not possibly take offense. ❝Ya really outdid yaself, smelled these beauties from fifty thousand miles away.❞ And they are beautiful, by smell alone he can see every tenderized muscle around every mouthwatering bone, the pulverized bits of parsley and diced sprigs of fresh thyme dressing the gourmet dish with unrivaled sublimity.
Charlene—the woman in question—merely nods her head and continues to smile at that which she does not understand, her chuckles bird-shell-brittle in the face of the Drægeon’s extraordinary sense of smell, repressing the urge to set the food down somewhere and pat at the rough-textured horns crowning his head or gently prodding at his curiously-shaped ears ( his mother must be proud, she thinks, what adorably round cheeks made for pulling ); what began as the other helping Charlene carry heavy groceries resulted in a long-lasting friendship in which he checks on her whenever he can and she—informed of his cosmic beginnings—fully supportive of him and his endeavors ( meeting a prince from another planet an event so thrilling! ). Finally, she sets the meat into his more-than-capable hands and expresses her gratitude with words of wisdom accompanied with a rant about how ‘any old woman’ would appreciate a visitor who ‘scarfs down their meals’ unlike some of their ungrateful ( great- / grand ) children. With her back turned to Froschadei—and moving forward at a slow pace—she is unaware of his salivating and the animalistic way in which he instinctively bares his fangs, anticipating the savory flavours of his soon-to-be meal swirling against his palate with the cærulean sheen of his eyes glazed; to this she laughs audibly, asks if he has not had a meal in days and which snaps him out of his food-induced daze:
❝Grams ya know how it is,❞ he begins with vigor and spirit complimented by his signature grin all sharp teeth and even sharper confidence, ❝still growin’ n’ all that—‘sides, Drægeons like me‘re impatient, gotta fill up when the opportunity presents itself; around me, food ain’t last that long, you feel?❞ A thoughtful pause ( and if he weren’t holding food he would have curled a clawed index finger against his chin ). ❝Sorry for spacin’ an’ shit, sometimes can’t help it when the food’s delectable like this.❞ He gives the beef shanks another grateful glance before it dawns on him that he has brought profanity under her roof ( not that she ever said it was banned to begin with but he feels bad for it nonetheless ), his facial features—æsthetically pleasing in spite of their draconian aspects—contorted with untold regret. ❝Shit, didn’t mean ta curse like that, m’ bad. No swears in the house, Drægeon’s honour. …Damn, didn’t mean ta do it again. Hol’ on a sec, lemme try somethin’ different, I got this—❞
Charlene does not spare anything other than an amused ‘Come eat, child,’ which dispels his worries in an instant, all too eager to acquiesce to her request, his heart growing five sizes bigger when he sees the rest of her lovingly-made banquet laid out on the table ❝Of course, you’re the best!❞
