#*& ic

Instead of answering in any audible way, Neal dips down, slouching  as far forward as he can without unhorsing himself by accident. That  would entirely shameful -- at least, moreso than he’s equipped to deal  with. Which is saying something. 

It’s true that his expression is often elastic, changing and stretching  into exaggerated positions in the blink of an eye, but that flair easily  distracts from the emotions swelling within. He merely raises one  eyebrow at the prince’s retort, mouth quirking into a half - grimace  that exudes haughty amusement even as he feels like something has  sucker punched his gut. 

The moment he hears the words, he knows they’re entirely earned.  He hadn’t meant the smallest bit of what he’d said -- he is far too used  to using speech as stepping stones, jumping from one to the other so  fast that they lose all meaning and push as many people as far away  as possible, directing them to dizzying heights so they pay him no  mind. But you can only backtalk royalty -- royalty he respects, gods  all damn it -- before you feel the bite. 

Still, he manages to tamp his disappointment, guilt, and shame down  to a manageable place thanks to years upon years of practice, and turns  promptly on his heel to stalk off in the opposite direction. Stubbornness  carries him past the dark, whispering thoughts that want to bubble right  up to the surface -- a truly pathetic excuse for a knight, you are -- and  stubbornness has him flying through the repairs at lightning speed, faster  and neater stitches laid than usual. 

He’d meant to wave it as some kind of trophy (do you see? Look what I  can do) but in the few minutes it takes him to complete his task, Neal’s  bullheaded pride has evaporated almost entirely, leaving him with the  heavy realization that he’s been an ass. An unintentional ass, but still. 

Which is how he finds himself creeping down the halls of Camelot, quiet  and sheepish until he tracks down the prince. 

Of course, when he finds him, back turned and seemingly unaware of Neal’s  presence, the doubt and shame break their bonds and refuse to be denied.  So he waits for a few long moments, clutching the garment and trying not to  feel so small as he searches for an apology. 

What he decides on is a silent entrance, delicately placing the item on the  desk and rocking back on his heels before he speaks. 

❛ -- I can teach you, if you’d like. ❜

His voice is quiet and distant, and he’s fully aware that his apology is not  much of an apology at all. But old habits die hard and that particular skill  is not so readily a part of his abilities. 

[ text : Sir Meathead ] Is this why I’ve been stuck hearing that song coming from our room for the past week? You’ve been practicing?

「 sent • mother dear 」well you can’t just DO these kinds of things. they deserve all the dedication you can give them. 

「 sent • mother dear 」as if I’d disrespect the classics, really. 

「 sent • mother dear 」wo w kel you didn’t even TRY to listen to the song 

「 sent • mother dear 」you’re supposed to GET IT ON, KELADRY 

❛ Don’t take that tone with me. ❜ It’s an automatic response -- felt  shallowly and spoken quickly until he realizes that he should be  taking offense at something else entirely. ❛ -- And don’t with that name. I relate my absolute heartache in return you mock me? You continue to ensure that I will be a laughing stock when I march off to risk life and limb for this realm? ❜

He harrumphs, original point of contention entirely forgotten as he  lapses into huffy silence. Perhaps on a different day he’d question  why he so readily forgot the train of thought that led him to this  moment, but he’s tired and cranky ( and fairly sure that the two are  inextricably linked. ) 

❛ Rude. ❜

( best friend starters ! • accepting )

❛ Why do you hate the fact that I like being tall. ❜

He’s not pouting – he’s a hardened Gem warrior for Homeworld’s sake, not some… well, he’s not sure what, but still. Noble warrior. Who needs no chastising or orders about what roofs he’s allowed to climb onto. In fact, he can climb all the roofs if that’s what he so chooses. And he might choose just that – you can’t see very well from the porch or the beach. 

Still, he’s not about to make her scale a building. The moment he finishes speaking, he peeks over the edge of the roof, letting his arms flop down the side as he decidedly does not pout at her.