( with a warm, lofty sort of tone--past the glass of the elevator, he can see the city of midgar sparkling beneath them, his little playground tucked away into sleep for the late hour. the reactors glow, large beacons that draw with them the tiny speckled lights of bars and brothels and other places, open so late at night, and there's a sort of satisfied smile that smooths over his features, as though he's content to leave it just like that. another night where nothing too pressing will happen: or at least that's his hope. for now, the only pressing issue is tseng, and dark nation, and the comfort of a bath that's waiting for all of them.
with a slight glance, sidelong, he lets tseng's expression speak for itself. the shadows of the floors rising with them cast themselves out across tseng's dark eyes, and there's a comfort to be found in the depths there, too, something that has him feeling remarkably contented, as the elevator door split open to the hallway to his suite.
dark nation, ignorant of the both of them, lumbers forward to sniff along the path, as though reassuring it's safe for the both of them: with a quirked, playful brow at tseng, he follows after her, letting tseng round out their party at the back. another code, keyed in to the suite door, and a confirmation of his fingerprint over the lock, and the door opens; he reaches to turn on the lights, letting dark nation trod ahead of them to find her bed--with a soft, almost fond sigh, he turns to look over his shoulder at tseng, already sliding the heavy shoulders of his jacket down to let them hook in at his elbows. )
Will you wipe her mouth off, at least? She'll rub blood all over the carpets.
( it's not a command, though it might sound like one--here, safe behind a locked door, he doesn't mind the muddying of the lines between them, blurring them for his own benefit; his jacket gets tossed onto the back of a chair, reaching up to loosen his tie, next, shoes kicked off, leaving an obvious path of his discarded clothing on the way to the bathroom door.
there, he doesn't close it behind him: rather, he turns on the light and leaves it open, tie lost onto the floor, fingers working open the buttons of his shirt with delicate care--and then, with a moment of forethought, he pauses so that he can reach to turn on the shower, first, heating up the water while he continues to peel out of his shirt. it would be nicer to start with the bath, but: while he doesn't necessarily mind soaking in pink water, tinged with blood, a shower to start is far more beneficial. )
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( with a warm, lofty sort of tone--past the glass of the elevator, he can see the city of midgar sparkling beneath them, his little playground tucked away into sleep for the late hour. the reactors glow, large beacons that draw with them the tiny speckled lights of bars and brothels and other places, open so late at night, and there's a sort of satisfied smile that smooths over his features, as though he's content to leave it just like that. another night where nothing too pressing will happen: or at least that's his hope. for now, the only pressing issue is tseng, and dark nation, and the comfort of a bath that's waiting for all of them.
with a slight glance, sidelong, he lets tseng's expression speak for itself. the shadows of the floors rising with them cast themselves out across tseng's dark eyes, and there's a comfort to be found in the depths there, too, something that has him feeling remarkably contented, as the elevator door split open to the hallway to his suite.
dark nation, ignorant of the both of them, lumbers forward to sniff along the path, as though reassuring it's safe for the both of them: with a quirked, playful brow at tseng, he follows after her, letting tseng round out their party at the back. another code, keyed in to the suite door, and a confirmation of his fingerprint over the lock, and the door opens; he reaches to turn on the lights, letting dark nation trod ahead of them to find her bed--with a soft, almost fond sigh, he turns to look over his shoulder at tseng, already sliding the heavy shoulders of his jacket down to let them hook in at his elbows. )
Will you wipe her mouth off, at least? She'll rub blood all over the carpets.
( it's not a command, though it might sound like one--here, safe behind a locked door, he doesn't mind the muddying of the lines between them, blurring them for his own benefit; his jacket gets tossed onto the back of a chair, reaching up to loosen his tie, next, shoes kicked off, leaving an obvious path of his discarded clothing on the way to the bathroom door.
there, he doesn't close it behind him: rather, he turns on the light and leaves it open, tie lost onto the floor, fingers working open the buttons of his shirt with delicate care--and then, with a moment of forethought, he pauses so that he can reach to turn on the shower, first, heating up the water while he continues to peel out of his shirt. it would be nicer to start with the bath, but: while he doesn't necessarily mind soaking in pink water, tinged with blood, a shower to start is far more beneficial. )