That is what you say, is it not? [ The royal you. It's what is always said to Richie, from the little she's gleaned, but it could be what Richie says to Akira as well. The disbelief was tangible beneath her fingers, slackening his jaw, but her own smile remains placid even as he pulls away. ] I can tell quite a lot about you, frankly. Though I would hesitate to call this seeing.
[ That... That's Reading. It's true, his face stands out in a delightfully mappable topography, but really, so would the scales of a sea creature, the knots in a slab of wood, the vicious spines of a desert plant. Anything besides the smooth, textureless floor stands out like a sensory symphony, even just skin that is not her own, warm and worn by years she'll never see. It just so happens that his face is the first thing in centuries she has been invited to touch, when he took and pressed her icy palm to the hollow of his cheek. ]
I believe I have rather lost my grip on how anything should look, by now, let alone a face. My fingers lend me little insight. [ Maybe it's just nice to touch things (to be allowed to touch things) but that's neither here nor there. Her glass filled, Sandra folds to the floor with grace to sit upon her knees. It probably isn't much comfier than standing, but it seems like the better of the two spots to enjoy a drink. She raises her own as if to coax him down to clink it. ] Well? What shall we toast to? Perhaps we could double up our wishes on your health, since mine is hardly in question.
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That is what you say, is it not? [ The royal you. It's what is always said to Richie, from the little she's gleaned, but it could be what Richie says to Akira as well. The disbelief was tangible beneath her fingers, slackening his jaw, but her own smile remains placid even as he pulls away. ] I can tell quite a lot about you, frankly. Though I would hesitate to call this seeing.
[ That... That's Reading. It's true, his face stands out in a delightfully mappable topography, but really, so would the scales of a sea creature, the knots in a slab of wood, the vicious spines of a desert plant. Anything besides the smooth, textureless floor stands out like a sensory symphony, even just skin that is not her own, warm and worn by years she'll never see. It just so happens that his face is the first thing in centuries she has been invited to touch, when he took and pressed her icy palm to the hollow of his cheek. ]
I believe I have rather lost my grip on how anything should look, by now, let alone a face. My fingers lend me little insight. [ Maybe it's just nice to touch things (to be allowed to touch things) but that's neither here nor there. Her glass filled, Sandra folds to the floor with grace to sit upon her knees. It probably isn't much comfier than standing, but it seems like the better of the two spots to enjoy a drink. She raises her own as if to coax him down to clink it. ] Well? What shall we toast to? Perhaps we could double up our wishes on your health, since mine is hardly in question.