He didn’t say anything as he watched her every move, from the way she walked right down to manner in which she fixed her hair after putting her hat up on a hook. The long strands of it gave the impression of a darkening sunset along the edge of a mountain. He memorized all of it, just as he usually did when meeting with someone of relative importance, or of relative risk.
“Must you weigh every situation thusly?” Isabella-sama rang in his head, sounding amused. Again, he didn’t reply.
Attune as he was, the judgmental lilt in the woman’s voice didn’t go unnoticed. Even so, Marcus was of a culture and generation that once prided themselves on saying one thing and rarely meaning the most obvious. They’d made an art of it, if The Tales of Genji were anything to go on. Far before his time, but as good an example as anything in else in his mind.
He overlooked it.
“I am,” he agreed as he gently took her hand; at the same time he inclined his head downward, informally bowing just so as his eyes shut. His grip was firm as he shook once, but not entrapping in the least. His skin was not cool to the touch, if she took note at all. Warm—as if sucking in the heat of the room. He was. In retrospect, she felt cool to him having just come out of the night air; though, it wasn’t jarring or unexpected. “You are not,” he agreed. “Though it matters little to me so long as I acquire what was agreed to be given.” At that moment the tea kettle decided to let out a cry—telling him the water was ready. “Tea?” he offered as he released her hand. “You may sit anywhere you deem to be most comfortable.”
Marcus had an accent, one that only became more obvious depending on the words he was pronouncing—their vowels and consonants. Even so, he did not fumble with the English tongue.
Not awaiting a reply, he stepped towards the kitchen—stride comfortable and almost always with either purpose or ‘lizardly’ laziness. Tonight, it was the former. Quickly, he removed the tea kettle—stopping it’s screaming as he turned off the gas stove.
“Or would you prefer something colder, Miss O’Rourke?”
“Must you weigh every situation thusly?” Isabella-sama rang in his head, sounding amused. Again, he didn’t reply.
Attune as he was, the judgmental lilt in the woman’s voice didn’t go unnoticed. Even so, Marcus was of a culture and generation that once prided themselves on saying one thing and rarely meaning the most obvious. They’d made an art of it, if The Tales of Genji were anything to go on. Far before his time, but as good an example as anything in else in his mind.
He overlooked it.
“I am,” he agreed as he gently took her hand; at the same time he inclined his head downward, informally bowing just so as his eyes shut. His grip was firm as he shook once, but not entrapping in the least. His skin was not cool to the touch, if she took note at all. Warm—as if sucking in the heat of the room. He was. In retrospect, she felt cool to him having just come out of the night air; though, it wasn’t jarring or unexpected. “You are not,” he agreed. “Though it matters little to me so long as I acquire what was agreed to be given.” At that moment the tea kettle decided to let out a cry—telling him the water was ready. “Tea?” he offered as he released her hand. “You may sit anywhere you deem to be most comfortable.”
Marcus had an accent, one that only became more obvious depending on the words he was pronouncing—their vowels and consonants. Even so, he did not fumble with the English tongue.
Not awaiting a reply, he stepped towards the kitchen—stride comfortable and almost always with either purpose or ‘lizardly’ laziness. Tonight, it was the former. Quickly, he removed the tea kettle—stopping it’s screaming as he turned off the gas stove.
“Or would you prefer something colder, Miss O’Rourke?”
Sometimes I feel like a girl~... sometimes I don't~
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Paper Trail [Closed] - by Blade - 09-04-2016, 08:15 PM
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