Nairn startled, always a light sleeper, and promptly toppled off of the couch. Too fucked up to catch himself, he'd hit the floor hard. Blearily blinking sleep from his vision, he'd stare at her from where he lay. Processing.
Realizing. And when he realized, he pushed himself upright clumsily. There was no use in (nor any easy way to) hide that he was anything but sober at the moment. She was a healer — and she'd been his healer long enough to recognize when he was drunk or high, or both.
He leaned against the couch, legs splayed out in front of him.
He scrubbed his face with both hands, wincing when he was too rough with his nose, before he reached into his pocket. Almost frantic, because he didn't check that it didn't get lost—
Fingers clasp the small box, and it's withdrawn from his pocket, opened carefully as if he needs to make sure it's in perfect condition. Frowning at the ring, he'd glance over the top of the little box towards her, in the doorway. And immediately realize that he's ruined any hope of surprising her.
But logically, if he were sober, he'd recognize she must have guessed on some level, to wear that dress. It doesn't stop him from flushing, and closing the ring box, though. He doesn't offer it to her, instead he turned and shoved it in-between the couch cushions, like that might help.
@Megara Fern
Realizing. And when he realized, he pushed himself upright clumsily. There was no use in (nor any easy way to) hide that he was anything but sober at the moment. She was a healer — and she'd been his healer long enough to recognize when he was drunk or high, or both.
Ah...He rubbed his face with one hand, carefully touching his nose.
...Barfi-i-i-ght?He furrowed his brows, that wasn't quite right.
Ruth-fight.He nodded, as if that explained everything.
He leaned against the couch, legs splayed out in front of him.
Mmm. Green is your color,he murmured, appreciatively taking in her appearance. And then it dawned on him, that this was a special dress. Yes, she looked good in it. But she rarely wore it.
Wash-nervoush.
He scrubbed his face with both hands, wincing when he was too rough with his nose, before he reached into his pocket. Almost frantic, because he didn't check that it didn't get lost—
Fingers clasp the small box, and it's withdrawn from his pocket, opened carefully as if he needs to make sure it's in perfect condition. Frowning at the ring, he'd glance over the top of the little box towards her, in the doorway. And immediately realize that he's ruined any hope of surprising her.
But logically, if he were sober, he'd recognize she must have guessed on some level, to wear that dress. It doesn't stop him from flushing, and closing the ring box, though. He doesn't offer it to her, instead he turned and shoved it in-between the couch cushions, like that might help.
@Megara Fern
05-24-2024, 05:42 PM
