body of sheer ice moves forward to be faced with the thin figure, her eyes meeting his. hand delicately placed onto hip (as to not damage -- to not scratch.), the blonde eyebrows furrowing in concern, yet she herself remains somewhat unnerved, for who is she to allow worry to seep through her now, when it had been doing so her whole life? stiles fulfills the place of an acolyte in her book, the utmost respect she resides for him, in her gracious consideration, after a few seconds had passed; “would you like something to drink?” gesturing toward the kitchen, “help yourself, there’s cranberry and apple, maybe some mango & orange left. and tap water, of course. i could get the kettle going, if you would like?” a ramble, she watches him examine. almost too attentively, she pauses herself, speaking reproachfully, a sense of regret in her tone. “sorry to bother you so late. do you know what to do?” @lesziye.
