[ Would he wear comfy lounging clothes? Yes. Would he allow himself to be caught in them? DUBIOUS.
The waves are almost certainly because of the wrap as the comb does bring back a natural tendency to straight locks as the work progresses. Whatever else can be said about the man's grooming habits, they have not done any real harm to the thick mane.
Aerith might even note how he occasionally lifts a hand, intending to comb the long bangs back out of his face before remembering someone's actually working on it. ]
Good.
[ He's going to absolutely ignore the slight shove to his shoulder but stills, this time arresting the motion of bringing the glass of wine to his lips again. Silence. ]
No, I didn't.
[ In fact the times he found his room, particularly after the Otherworld fully descended on the Barge, were only very short visits to wash off the worst of the grime, restock on bullets and get back out to work. But it's not really about how much work he put in. It's what he had to confront.
She's behind him. But still without the cloak's high collar there's more of his face to see or glimpse if she's a mind to. The way his jaw might clench as he thinks of how to answer; there's no real good one here if he wants to be honest. And it's probably not worth it to lie. ]
Same as ever. [ Quietly spoken. A forced dry tone. ] Hmph. It's been a long time since I slept without nightmares to haunt me. Nothing that place could do about that.
[ And it's true in its horrible way. The Otherworld had created elements of his trauma, sure. But what nightmares could it have created that would have matched ones he'd endured for three decades? Well, that's certainly terrible enough to think about.
He finishes the glass of wine and absently twists it in his fingers, looking thoughtful. ]
The worst it could do is expose what I am to others.
[ He almost sounds amused. After all, how out of place was he on the Barge, really? ]
no subject
The waves are almost certainly because of the wrap as the comb does bring back a natural tendency to straight locks as the work progresses. Whatever else can be said about the man's grooming habits, they have not done any real harm to the thick mane.
Aerith might even note how he occasionally lifts a hand, intending to comb the long bangs back out of his face before remembering someone's actually working on it. ]
Good.
[ He's going to absolutely ignore the slight shove to his shoulder but stills, this time arresting the motion of bringing the glass of wine to his lips again. Silence. ]
No, I didn't.
[ In fact the times he found his room, particularly after the Otherworld fully descended on the Barge, were only very short visits to wash off the worst of the grime, restock on bullets and get back out to work. But it's not really about how much work he put in. It's what he had to confront.
She's behind him. But still without the cloak's high collar there's more of his face to see or glimpse if she's a mind to. The way his jaw might clench as he thinks of how to answer; there's no real good one here if he wants to be honest. And it's probably not worth it to lie. ]
Same as ever. [ Quietly spoken. A forced dry tone. ] Hmph. It's been a long time since I slept without nightmares to haunt me. Nothing that place could do about that.
[ And it's true in its horrible way. The Otherworld had created elements of his trauma, sure. But what nightmares could it have created that would have matched ones he'd endured for three decades? Well, that's certainly terrible enough to think about.
He finishes the glass of wine and absently twists it in his fingers, looking thoughtful. ]
The worst it could do is expose what I am to others.
[ He almost sounds amused. After all, how out of place was he on the Barge, really? ]