"do you always make this good of a first impression?" /alara, because despite how she was she’s actually hearteyes @ him initially
First Meetings Sentences, Vol. 3
He was drenched—head to toe—in blood. Viscera clung to him in thick, coagulated smears, crimson staining his once-beautiful brunette locks and seeping deep into the fibers of his attire. Gods, this would take hours to clean. Goblin blood was notoriously foul, both in scent and in stain. The last thing he expected amidst the aftermath, bodies strewn across the stone floor, breath still heavy in his lungs, was that comment. A sharp flick of his arm sent droplets of blood scattering across the ground. He turned just slightly… only to spot an eyeball dangling from his shoulder, staring directly at Alara. His face twisted with evident disgust. Without hesitation, he swatted it away and drew a steadying breath, rolling back his shoulders and adjusting his stance until his full height returned, composed, at least in presence, if not entirely in hygiene.
His eyes, still sharp beneath the matted strands of blood-darkened hair, flicked toward her with a wry glint. The scent of death hung thick in the air, yet she stood there—poised, bold—delivering her words as though he weren’t decorated in gore. He exhaled through his nose, half amused, half weary. With a glance toward the floor, where an ear still clung to his boot, he gave a short, rueful shake of his head. "Only on the days when I’m trying especially hard," he said dryly, voice gravel-warm. “Though I’ll admit… I was aiming for something a touch more dignified.” He looked down at himself, then back to her with the ghost of a smile. "Next time, I’ll leave the eyeball at home.”
