[Weirdly enough, Barclay has ridden enough horses in his lifetime that he knows exactly what she means. And well, he's a lot smarter than a horse so it's no difficulty at all, to interpret the little nudges of her slender hands and limbs. He takes off, moving at an elegant pace. Across the floor, aiming for the door until she corrects his course... stopping by the window. Before he hits the wall, because she's very gentle that way.
He opens his eyes.
And she feels it, in the spread of his shoulders, the drub-a-dub-dub of his heartbeat through the flat of his back. He gasps. He'd seen such boats, of course; Eudio had a decent yachting community and he'd learned to care for them after he inherited the Aerie from the Sturmhond. But there had been few here and he'd never thought...
...
maybe it's not--]
Does somebody need a paint job? [he asks, tentatively. After years of privileged life and this strange war in Xistentia, he's still that poor street urchin who traded the books gifted to him for bread money, hunger beating out pride.]
no subject
He opens his eyes.
And she feels it, in the spread of his shoulders, the drub-a-dub-dub of his heartbeat through the flat of his back. He gasps. He'd seen such boats, of course; Eudio had a decent yachting community and he'd learned to care for them after he inherited the Aerie from the Sturmhond. But there had been few here and he'd never thought...
...
maybe it's not--]
Does somebody need a paint job? [he asks, tentatively. After years of privileged life and this strange war in Xistentia, he's still that poor street urchin who traded the books gifted to him for bread money, hunger beating out pride.]