[IC/OOC] Fade Rift Inbox & Contact

[faithlikeaseed]

(( Need to get a hold of Myr? Drop him a line. Notes, in-person visits, sending crystals, spooky Fade dream shenanigans, you name it. Just specify the type of contact in the first comment of the thread and away we go.

Need to get a hold of the player? Plagueheart#0051 @ Discord or a DW PM is the easiest! ))

Comments

[exequy]

[ He’s never comfortable, thanks. But now pulling his feet out of his boots isn’t too presumptuous, so Kostos does so, leaves them at the door, shrugs out of the open heavy robe worn over his tunic and trousers to keep him from freezing dramatically to death in the drafty corridors, and pulls the tunic over his head while he steps closer in his socks—all very practiced and efficient, because it isn’t as if there’s a reason to be showy about it.

He stops close enough to hook his fingers around the highest still-fastened clasp Myr is working on. He doesn’t tug hard enough to move him, just enough to pull the robe taut as an offer, or request really, to handle the rest.

Maybe he should say something, especially given the givens. He takes a breath like he means to. But he isn’t good at that part, so he lets the breath back out without adding any words to it. ]

[faithlikeaseed]

[Given the givens, silence might be better; Myr's still got enough of the Circle clinging to him that someone might hear sits heavy in the back of his mind. Old habits die hard; three years without doesn't erase a lifetime of caution.

He takes his hands from what they're doing as Kostos makes that silent invitation, steps in toward him to rest fingers on his arm and trail them upward. Another step--with a twitch of a smile on his lips at that indrawn breath--and he presses the other hand against Kostos' chest, making free with exploring what he hasn't got eyes for any longer. Fine territory, enough to prompt a little hum of satisfaction in the back of his throat, the downward drag of his palm on exposed skin to catch at the waistband of Kostos' trousers.

One thing to hear the descriptions, another to lay hands on the living article.

He tips his head back, lifts his chin as if he could meet the other mage's gaze--this close he can almost fake it--with an expression of mute intent. Finish up with the robe, that look says.

(before the uneasy feeling in his head grows, gets loose--)]