Charles Henri Sanson

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The executioner raises a fine brow at the accusation as he, for a moment, turns to look at him and away from the medical book that had been so tenderly propped up in his hands.

Then, without a bother, he turns his distant gaze back to the passage he had been reading up on: The importance of Mastectomy.

Honestly, he’s heard of this suggestion so many times that even Sanson wouldn’t be surprised as to what the clever musician had up his sleeve. He felt as if he had witnessed almost anything- yet he knew Marie would give him a (gentle and kind) word that he wouldn’t be able to ignore.

‘Make an effort at least, please Charles.’

So, the executioner turns his head slightly to see what in Gods name Amadeus is doing.

He had not expected for anyone to call over to him (he honestly was spacing out after all the things he had to mentally take note of after being done with a handful of tasks). His attention sliding over towards a familiar golden-locked woman and instantly Sanson could feel the embarrassing reddened color at the tips of his ears.

Why is it that each time this woman calls him by such an intimate name, that he grows nervous like this? In any case, the executioner clears his throat and welcomes the woman with a polite bow of his head.

Once risen, of course, the executioner couldn't help but look warmly at her for a moment.

"It's nice to see you again, Luvia..." Yes, even one of the few people who he refers to their actual name. Formality has long since slowly slid off his shoulders thanks to her, but of course the loyal executioner still maintained a quiet air around him that still made him quite personal.

"It has been so long, indeed. I actually have grown quite loathsome without talking to you..." His voice is as genuine as he looked at her, finding himself casting his gaze when he felt he was being a little too 'readable'.

A familiar voice- one that Sanson could recognize that pulls him away from the text he had been gazing over until this point. The Pharaoh, a glimmer of a familiar friend that he had not spoken to in quite a while, appears to him in all of his glory.

A King in his own right- yet, the assassin welcomes Ozymandias with a gentle smile. Something that is not seen often- but around those he has known... he was glad to find himself someone who enjoyed talking with him.

"It is nice to see you too, old friend. My attention has been focused on the more medicinal studies that are occasionally needed- but as of recently there hasn't been much for me to look over. I suppose it's, how some will say, 'the quiet before the storm', but we're prepared as always." He places the notes down on the medical desk for now. There's no need to look at them when he has a valued guest in his presence.

Happiness is always an emotion he struggled to express-- and thus, the doctor proceeds to retrieve the awaiting kettle of tea he had just brewed a few moments prior.

Hey- if Ritsuka thought he was being slick to get away with such a soft and tender touch, then think again-! The executioner's frosted gaze lowers to his Master, his hand coming up to gently ghost the area where Ritsuka's lips touched the cool of his skin.

Then, he reaches towards him. His hand cold, yet welcoming, as he clasps Ritsuka's own hand and brings it towards himself. His foot moving forward before Sanson could tilt his head to place a kiss upon his forehead.

"-and so~! Before you go~! Just thought you ought to know that some of us have not accepted that you’re leaving and they’re not prepared for grieving~”