#selkshe

IM SO EXCITED FOR THEM

ㅤㅤhaving reached a point of annoyance with his current art, he sits on the velvet loveseat with a huff of frustration. one arm resting across his chest, he sits his other elbow upon it, index finger and thumb steadying his chin as he contemplates the canvas. he loathes this part of the creative process, the agony of walking face first into artist's block. before he can hem and haw any further however, he's suddenly not alone, ani wondering into the room. the original simply watches her as she fails to notice him, rather curious to see her trajectory. he certainly isn't expecting it when she suddenly sits upon his lap, fitting rather well sprawled across his splayed legs. ❛ not that i mind, love, but were you aware this seat was already taken? ❜ despite his words, he makes no effort to remove her, hands hovering just a breath away from settling on her hips. but he waits, waits to see if this is an accident or some sort of invitation he can act upon.

Shame. No accounting for taste, Gale supposes, but for this celestial creature, he can afford some lenience. Grabbing his bag, her companion ferries out a packet wrapped in twine and bright parchment. That odd, cloying fragrance of syrupy almonds... It's interesting. Opening it up, he offers her a peek. "Let it be known that Gale of Waterdeep would never suffer the indignity of an empty stomach in his camp. That said, I'll see to fixing a delightful salmon dinner to indulge in tonight, but to tide you over until then, I propose sharing a nibble. It's one of my favorites. Not a soul alive or otherwise can deny one." Kourabiethes. How novel! "Care for a bite?"

we can say it's metaphorical and then it's a full bingo 🥰

he can't manage an even somewhat kind response, his face twisting in response to his state of being utterly aghast. ❛ no, ❜ he responds firmly. he then casually takes her hand, leading her to one of the abattoir's spare bedrooms. releasing her, he opens one of the ornate doors, revealing an expansive walk in closet. he gently pushes her into it, sweeping an arm to point out the three walls of clearly expensive garments. ❛ choose whichever one you want, ❜ the original states, clasping his hands behind his back as he stands in the doorway. ❛ if none here suit your fancy, we have numerous other closets you may peruse. ❜

ㅤㅤperhaps he's simply feeling more philosophical than usual this evening, but his answer is surprisingly honest. ❛ i am not trapped in death, love ⸻ rather, we are more akin to old bedfellows. ❜ he studies the bustling streets from where he stands above them on the abattoir's balcony, hands resting upon the fence that encases it. ❛ death is . . . peace, finally being laid to rest. ❜ there is a part of him that craves it, yearns to be free of his own mind and the weight of eons. there have been numerous occasions over the course of his life where he has experienced temporary death, and they have been the only instances of repose he has managed to find. ❛ the true suffering is found in being trapped in undeath, cursed with the inability to forget and watching those you allow yourself to come to care for inevitably dying. the weight of true immortality is heavier than many realize, until they are staring it down with no end in sight. ❜