[ Sleipnir actively keeps himself from perking up on his seat at the praise. He does not straighten his posture and preen. However, he cannot fight the smile that blooms on his face. He has never thought much about the way he speaks and therefor did not expect to be honored with a compliment for it. The smile is genuine and seems to be one which pairs well with his dress. ]
Thank you, Clive Rosfield.
[ Uncertain of what else to say to such a thing Sleipnir will also take a moment to sip upon his wine. A compliment given not based on his fighting prowess... When Clive responds addressing His Majesty's speech patterns Sleipnir's smile shifts to one looking like he may be suppressing a small laugh. ]
It is true, my liege does so rarely find joy when conversing with others... But I think what you are saying would make it easier for others rather than for him.
[ There is clear delight in Sleipnir's voice as he says that and he punctuates it with another lap at his wine.
But after his rambling explanation, when he looks back to Mythos' eyes, he is surprised to see in them a scorching fire. It's alluring and he is drawn in immediately, leaning a fraction closer to the man. It too, is surprising how intently he listens; most men only converse to respond, but it seems Clive Rosfield does so to understand. Should this be surprising? He is the vessel of the almighty and is this too not a quality of a savior?
But the words spoken then, which Sleipnir pays close attention to, cause his eyebrows to draw closer and his grip to tighten on his wine stem until he sets it down, empty, on the bar. The drink is unimportant, nothing, in this moment. The world has narrowed to this man in front of him who is looking beyond Sleipnir seeing something... something terrible, or hallow... ]
For this to have been your experience... [ Sleipnir's hand which does not grip the bar reaches up and grasps the bow over his chest tightly. Having this intimate act of joining to be reduced to... ] It feels as if a chord has been harshly plucked within the center of my chest. Its hurt pulses through my veins- I can feel it in the tips of my fingers. In my teeth. [ what does this mean ] Numbing and heated all at once...
[ He's searching his saviors eyes now, where before Sleipnir had been observing now he is seeking, beseeching. There is a small pause between his previous words and the next. ]
...You are not so busy now...?
[ Where in some cases this would sound like a come on, and Sleipnir would very much delight in it, but here it's more careful hope in Clive finding anyone to have a better experience with. The hand on his bow's grip has not loosened, the pain in his chest still thrumming; the hand on the bar top still anchoring Sleipnir.
The bartender comes and takes Sleipnir's empty glass and goes to get a refill. ]
no subject
Thank you, Clive Rosfield.
[ Uncertain of what else to say to such a thing Sleipnir will also take a moment to sip upon his wine. A compliment given not based on his fighting prowess... When Clive responds addressing His Majesty's speech patterns Sleipnir's smile shifts to one looking like he may be suppressing a small laugh. ]
It is true, my liege does so rarely find joy when conversing with others... But I think what you are saying would make it easier for others rather than for him.
[ There is clear delight in Sleipnir's voice as he says that and he punctuates it with another lap at his wine.
But after his rambling explanation, when he looks back to Mythos' eyes, he is surprised to see in them a scorching fire. It's alluring and he is drawn in immediately, leaning a fraction closer to the man. It too, is surprising how intently he listens; most men only converse to respond, but it seems Clive Rosfield does so to understand. Should this be surprising? He is the vessel of the almighty and is this too not a quality of a savior?
But the words spoken then, which Sleipnir pays close attention to, cause his eyebrows to draw closer and his grip to tighten on his wine stem until he sets it down, empty, on the bar. The drink is unimportant, nothing, in this moment. The world has narrowed to this man in front of him who is looking beyond Sleipnir seeing something... something terrible, or hallow... ]
For this to have been your experience...
[ Sleipnir's hand which does not grip the bar reaches up and grasps the bow over his chest tightly. Having this intimate act of joining to be reduced to... ]
It feels as if a chord has been harshly plucked within the center of my chest. Its hurt pulses through my veins- I can feel it in the tips of my fingers. In my teeth. [ what does this mean ] Numbing and heated all at once...
[ He's searching his saviors eyes now, where before Sleipnir had been observing now he is seeking, beseeching. There is a small pause between his previous words and the next. ]
...You are not so busy now...?
[ Where in some cases this would sound like a come on, and Sleipnir would very much delight in it, but here it's more careful hope in Clive finding anyone to have a better experience with. The hand on his bow's grip has not loosened, the pain in his chest still thrumming; the hand on the bar top still anchoring Sleipnir.
The bartender comes and takes Sleipnir's empty glass and goes to get a refill. ]