#rhadris

Feet: ”I will serve you forever.”/Deep devotion and and feelings of servitude/extreme fealty

Fingers: Friendship/amicable

Top of head: Sibling affection/parental affection

—-

Rhadris’ actions startle Bebe; their eyes widen and their brows rise almost comically as they watch him sink to his knees and rest a hand on their armored boot after it falls from their fingers. It takes a handful of long moments and consideration for them to finally react.

A gentle, gauntlet clad hand settles atop the Warlock’s head for the shortest of moments, a soft, nearly paternal touch, before they lay their fingers across his own - still resting on their boots.

"Friend of mine, Rhadris Emberblade, you have my affection and respect as much as I seem to have yours. Thank you, truly."

The question brings Lear pause, stalling his string of practiced motions, a trained sequence. He wipes sweat from his brow and rubs his eyes, peering at Rhadris with a frown.

"Like… a sword? Or did you have something else in mind?"

The warlock smiles, inclining his head, "Sword, that is what you are best with, right?" There's an amused glint in his eyes and Lear glances away as a flush takes to his face. If anything, Rhadris could just flirt his enemies to death.

"The least I can do is try. Come here," he taps the tip of his sword against the dirt at his feet. "First things first, I'll show you how to hold it."

The plate Lear had been washing falls from his hands, clattering against the bottom of the sink as he whips around to face the guilty and sheepish Rhadris standing behind him.

Waking up with Sath gone and Rhadris still asleep next to him wasn't really abnormal, but when Lear makes it to the kitchen, he can't help but be surprised by the flowers on display. Carefully, he pulls the note off the stem of a blue flower, reading it slowly as a lovestruck smile takes to his face.

Oh Sath... you are sweet some days.

Lear wasn't quite sure if the words made him want to laugh or cry; but in the end, he was in no shape to do either. It was exhausting to breathe, even more so to talk; he had expended too much energy and taken too many hits in the - admittedly foolish - fight he had lept head-first in to.

Yawning, he rolls over and buries his face in the pillow to his left, taking slow breaths through his nose. Smelled like Sath… and Rhadris, but mostly the Brawler. It was a pleasant kind of scent, really, nice to wake yourself up with at the very least.

The mage stayed like that for a while, face down and slowly rousing himself, keeping an ear on the quiet house. Seems the two were out… Lear wondered absently if they would be home for dinner. Maybe they could make noodle soup, he hummed happily at the idea. He'd make it. He should start now, so it was done when they got home.

A good plan, but he would need to get out of bed for it…