[ it strikes choso now like it strikes him every time that she's so close that... Marcille is small. not tiny, not hedgehog-small, but smaller. from this vantage, as she maneuvers him about like a bemused ox, he can see the uniform strands of her hair worked into obedient place, glittering blonde and bright where they fall over and part around the long arc of her ears in shining little strands. it arrests him, her hair, distracts him so that when he notes the flush of her cheeks spreading over her skin, he forgets to mention it, forgets until the moment the back of his knee meets the chair and re-introduces his hind end to the concept of gravity.
having plopped down so heavily in his seat, choso hands over the cheese box with a puzzled sort of grace, as of a man swept up in the dance of ritual without remembering how he got there. ]
I don' wanna lie down anyway. Are you oh-kay, Marscheel?
[ how horrible, the concern is genuine, glimmering unmistakable as a silver fish in a clear pond (of alcohol).
when next marcille steps into the bubble of his reach, choso meets her with an outstretched hand, fingers curled loosely into his palm as if to nudge against her reddening cheek with the backs of his knuckles. ]
no subject
having plopped down so heavily in his seat, choso hands over the cheese box with a puzzled sort of grace, as of a man swept up in the dance of ritual without remembering how he got there. ]
I don' wanna lie down anyway. Are you oh-kay, Marscheel?
[ how horrible, the concern is genuine, glimmering unmistakable as a silver fish in a clear pond (of alcohol).
when next marcille steps into the bubble of his reach, choso meets her with an outstretched hand, fingers curled loosely into his palm as if to nudge against her reddening cheek with the backs of his knuckles. ]
You're really warm.