The air feels a little warmer now; a little easier to breathe.
(Faolan didn't need to say anything about traveling together. But he did, he chose to, and might that not mean something?) (Whatever it means, it's no cause for Dima to rescind thought of caution.)
Whatever those words mean, Dima can't keep himself from smiling just a little, a relieved, minor crook of his lip.
[ It is. It will be; that's so. ] Even if the shrubs are finished, there's no telling what else may fling itself upon them.
Then, nodding to Faolan, he glances toward the room, toward where the thieves seem to have gone, and messages Sen: [ Anything worth lingering over, or are you reciting poetry to the tiefling? ]
<.>
Sen was, in fact, thinking of reciting poetry to Rin. He looks momentarily perturbed, then tsks and leans back so he can see out of the alcove at the waiting men.
[ They're ready to be boring somewhere different ], he observes to Rin. He rises and, on a whim, offers Rin a ride on his back - stealthed, of course!
When the pair reach Faolan and Dmitri, Sen recalls suddenly the pouch he found. Easing Rin from his back, he produces it, dumps the coin (gives it to Rin for dividing up fairly!) and holds it out to Faolan - who seems he might know and appreciate leather bags.
[INS or NAT, f: nat 20]
Faolan stares at it a moment, then slowly takes it. He waits until Sen and Rin move off again to scout ahead before just as slowly passing it to Dmitri.
[ It's human. ]
<.>
Rin of course agrees, wrapping their arms around Sen - not too tight, and making sure not to get in the way of his movement! - and responding, [ They can be as boring as they like; WE'LL have an adventure! ] The coins, of course, go into the bag of holding, for later and very fair dividing, and Rin turns their eyes ahead, because it's time for getting back to work!
Dima—
Well.
In the first place, there's a fluster through his stomach, a clamoring of moths between his lungs. Of course Faolan may only have wanted nothing to do with this object, or may have determined it better suits Dima's use, but—
But it's not not a gift.
It's not not the kind of gift Dima might hope for, if he ever anticipated gifts at all.
Dima holds the bag, brushes his fingertips across the surface. He'll ask Faolan what he thinks, but first, Dima will attempt to examine the bag himself, with a particular eye to any magical properties.
[INS, d: 7; If there's anything magical about it, he can't perceive it, and he can tell nothing else about it other than what Faolan already said.]
Dima's fingertips continue to travel the surface of the pouch as he looks up at Faolan. [ Thank you. It’s— ]
'Lovely,' he was about to say. Or 'beautiful.' Instead, his lip ticks slightly, and he alters his approach: [ What do you make of it? ]
<.>
...It shouldn't surprise him. He's beginning to gather Dmitri dabbles in necromancy. Of course he would be thankful for a pouch made from human skin.
He still gives the man a perplexed glance, then shakes his head. [ It's not unexpected, if this was a place of sacrifice and torture. ]
And, after a beat, he adds hesitantly, [ You're welcome. I think. ]
<.>
[ That's so.
What's strange is that it should have been left behind. An object of this sort— It isn't unheard of, but it's rare. Valuable, among the right circles. ]
He's staring at the pouch again (he thinks, next time he has an opportunity, he just might stow the raven totem in here) (he also thinks that might not be the wisest course), and he blinks, stows the pouch in his pack, and meets Faolan's eyes again.
[ I find interest in it. I find value— And I will find use for it. It was good of you to give. ]
Dima begins to extend his hand, realizes his own gesture, and blanches, turns what would have been a reach for Faolan's hand into a gesture toward the hall.
[ Onward, then. ]
<.>
Faolan saw that.
The hand reaching for his, then withdrawn again. (It's a metaphor for his life.) He saw, too, how Dmitri paled, how he made it something other to cover his error.
He turns away, thinking how no one ever withdrew a hand because reaching for him at all was the error. (Only being reached for in kind.)
As he starts after the thieves, he turns his head just enough to glance over his shoulder - then, eyes forward once more, he draws a hand behind his back, palm out, in subtle offer.
Just in case.
(Just to see.)
<.>
He'd fallen behind, not quite able to move yet, watching after Faolan with something like worry, something like regret. He's finally moving - step after step, it isn't difficult, or shouldn't be - and when Faolan's hand extends—
There's no thinking; no pause to deliberate the meaning in the gesture, or whether it's the offer Dima would like for it to be. He sees what he takes to be an invitation, and he moves, steps suddenly swift, silent, focused on Faolan's hand.
He wraps his hand in Faolan's. With perhaps a little too much pressure at first, so Dima relaxes, lets the hold be something simple. Something... Faolan can slip from, should he wish to. Something that still tells of Dima's appreciation.
He ought to say something. He wants to express how much this offered palm means, but he also doesn't think loquaciousness is wanted here, and what he lands on is—
[ Hello. ]
Smiling softly to himself.
<.>
He grabbed so quickly and held on so tightly.
(No one's ever done that before.)
Faolan's eyes close briefly and maybe for a moment the pressure of their hold is shared.
When Dmitri speaks, Faolan doesn't respond, but there's a faint squeeze of his hand.
They should focus and not make more of this than it is. Any of it.
Sen, meanwhile, is following Rin's lead once more.
<.>
Dima will keep that offered palm, that slight squeeze in his chest as they continue.
Rin, having slipped from Sen's back (they were having such fun! but investigation requires subtleness and focus, alas), leads down the hall with— Oh, those are more steps, aren't they? This is an odd way to compose a house.
They're going to move forward slowly, checking for signs of disturbance in the floor, alert for any rooms.
no subject
(Faolan didn't need to say anything about traveling together. But he did, he chose to, and might that not mean something?) (Whatever it means, it's no cause for Dima to rescind thought of caution.)
Whatever those words mean, Dima can't keep himself from smiling just a little, a relieved, minor crook of his lip.
[ It is. It will be; that's so. ] Even if the shrubs are finished, there's no telling what else may fling itself upon them.
Then, nodding to Faolan, he glances toward the room, toward where the thieves seem to have gone, and messages Sen: [ Anything worth lingering over, or are you reciting poetry to the tiefling? ]
<.>
Sen was, in fact, thinking of reciting poetry to Rin. He looks momentarily perturbed, then tsks and leans back so he can see out of the alcove at the waiting men.
[ They're ready to be boring somewhere different ], he observes to Rin. He rises and, on a whim, offers Rin a ride on his back - stealthed, of course!
When the pair reach Faolan and Dmitri, Sen recalls suddenly the pouch he found. Easing Rin from his back, he produces it, dumps the coin (gives it to Rin for dividing up fairly!) and holds it out to Faolan - who seems he might know and appreciate leather bags.
[INS or NAT, f: nat 20]
Faolan stares at it a moment, then slowly takes it. He waits until Sen and Rin move off again to scout ahead before just as slowly passing it to Dmitri.
[ It's human. ]
<.>
Rin of course agrees, wrapping their arms around Sen - not too tight, and making sure not to get in the way of his movement! - and responding, [ They can be as boring as they like; WE'LL have an adventure! ] The coins, of course, go into the bag of holding, for later and very fair dividing, and Rin turns their eyes ahead, because it's time for getting back to work!
Dima—
Well.
In the first place, there's a fluster through his stomach, a clamoring of moths between his lungs. Of course Faolan may only have wanted nothing to do with this object, or may have determined it better suits Dima's use, but—
But it's not not a gift.
It's not not the kind of gift Dima might hope for, if he ever anticipated gifts at all.
Dima holds the bag, brushes his fingertips across the surface. He'll ask Faolan what he thinks, but first, Dima will attempt to examine the bag himself, with a particular eye to any magical properties.
[INS, d: 7; If there's anything magical about it, he can't perceive it, and he can tell nothing else about it other than what Faolan already said.]
Dima's fingertips continue to travel the surface of the pouch as he looks up at Faolan. [ Thank you. It’s— ]
'Lovely,' he was about to say. Or 'beautiful.' Instead, his lip ticks slightly, and he alters his approach: [ What do you make of it? ]
<.>
...It shouldn't surprise him. He's beginning to gather Dmitri dabbles in necromancy. Of course he would be thankful for a pouch made from human skin.
He still gives the man a perplexed glance, then shakes his head. [ It's not unexpected, if this was a place of sacrifice and torture. ]
And, after a beat, he adds hesitantly, [ You're welcome. I think. ]
<.>
[ That's so.
What's strange is that it should have been left behind. An object of this sort— It isn't unheard of, but it's rare. Valuable, among the right circles. ]
He's staring at the pouch again (he thinks, next time he has an opportunity, he just might stow the raven totem in here) (he also thinks that might not be the wisest course), and he blinks, stows the pouch in his pack, and meets Faolan's eyes again.
[ I find interest in it. I find value— And I will find use for it. It was good of you to give. ]
Dima begins to extend his hand, realizes his own gesture, and blanches, turns what would have been a reach for Faolan's hand into a gesture toward the hall.
[ Onward, then. ]
<.>
Faolan saw that.
The hand reaching for his, then withdrawn again. (It's a metaphor for his life.) He saw, too, how Dmitri paled, how he made it something other to cover his error.
He turns away, thinking how no one ever withdrew a hand because reaching for him at all was the error. (Only being reached for in kind.)
As he starts after the thieves, he turns his head just enough to glance over his shoulder - then, eyes forward once more, he draws a hand behind his back, palm out, in subtle offer.
Just in case.
(Just to see.)
<.>
He'd fallen behind, not quite able to move yet, watching after Faolan with something like worry, something like regret. He's finally moving - step after step, it isn't difficult, or shouldn't be - and when Faolan's hand extends—
There's no thinking; no pause to deliberate the meaning in the gesture, or whether it's the offer Dima would like for it to be. He sees what he takes to be an invitation, and he moves, steps suddenly swift, silent, focused on Faolan's hand.
He wraps his hand in Faolan's. With perhaps a little too much pressure at first, so Dima relaxes, lets the hold be something simple. Something... Faolan can slip from, should he wish to. Something that still tells of Dima's appreciation.
He ought to say something. He wants to express how much this offered palm means, but he also doesn't think loquaciousness is wanted here, and what he lands on is—
[ Hello. ]
Smiling softly to himself.
<.>
He grabbed so quickly and held on so tightly.
(No one's ever done that before.)
Faolan's eyes close briefly and maybe for a moment the pressure of their hold is shared.
When Dmitri speaks, Faolan doesn't respond, but there's a faint squeeze of his hand.
They should focus and not make more of this than it is. Any of it.
Sen, meanwhile, is following Rin's lead once more.
<.>
Dima will keep that offered palm, that slight squeeze in his chest as they continue.
Rin, having slipped from Sen's back (they were having such fun! but investigation requires subtleness and focus, alas), leads down the hall with— Oh, those are more steps, aren't they? This is an odd way to compose a house.
They're going to move forward slowly, checking for signs of disturbance in the floor, alert for any rooms.
<.>