A kiss from Seker, to Doomstar
He’d become aware of the other magician’s presence long before the knock on the door echoed throughout the halls of an enchanted home born of the magic running through his veins. Seker does not move at all at first, still pouring over the pages of his personal leather-hand-bound grimoires. A black-pen poised against some glyph or another of personal codexes he’d formulated himself over time as a young mage - many lifetimes ago. In fact, he seems quite resolved to ignore the disruptive visitor, especially on this day more so than anything else. Why was he here? Dark brows pinch together, furrowed in annoyance. It’s when the knock sounds a second time (insistently, even!) does he finally put down his pen and sit up straight, looking toward the direction of the sound with a sigh. Ornate chair-legs slide against haphazardly carpeted floors as the ancient shadow stands to his full height.
Fine, you had his attention for the moment.
Feet soundless against the polished floors, Seker approached the front door - one hand on a curiously shaped handle in a strong grip, pulling it open. Hopeful, excitable eyes meet his with a basket in hand: figs, then? Dates? What offering have you brought him this time in hopes of bartering for his time today? After all, it wouldn’t be the first instance in when Doom approached the ex-assassin’s abode with some plan or another to get him aboard that interstellar monster of his. Seker had no interest, whatsoever, in ‘getting in the spaceship.’ It wouldn’t ever be happening.
If the chaos magician wished to travel to the outreaches of Earth, he would do so himself.
Still, he decides to give the ‘younger’ (questionable, although, Doom certainly acted that way) the floor. Come, what did you want to say? At least you have a listening ear this time rather than a swift ‘no.’ Strong arms fold over a broad chest, finding a good place to lean against the door pane. A heavy brow arches over silver eyes reflecting both power and - annoyance, mild annoyance. Tearing Seker away from his work always garnered this kind of reaction, but the shorter blonde spell-caster was certainly looking to make it a profession.
The star speaks, lifting up the basket of treats for the taking. Making no move to lift a finger, the ‘house’ takes his gift, a strange gravitational pull drawing it from contributing hands and into the air. It wobbles, hovering, and lazily floats past the Egyptian’s strong shoulder inside. So, this was for Valentine’s Day? Doomstar was offering him...a ride, again, on this auspicious day for lovers?
One corner of his full lips twitch, a smile but not quite. You’ve amused the chaos controller, at least. Drawing in a breath, one hand lifts to motion for his ‘friend’ to come closer.
“Hold out your hand,” he says, waiting. Clearly confused, Doom does so - half expecting to be thrown into the sky as per Seker’s usual way of dealing with him. How often had the dark haired mage tossed his comrade as though he were nothing back to ‘where he came from’ with all his ‘nonsense?’ At least the former protector to the king hadn’t become irate now. Too many times to count was Doom subjected to Seker’s annoyance - arguably well deserved. Things never really did change.
Still, one calloused finger presses to the middle of a vulnerable palm, drawing upwards. Slowly, one by one, a small handful of Hershey’s Kisses manifested.
“While you are kind despite being so troublesome,” the mage straightens, stepping backwards in preparation to shut the door, “my answer will - and will always remain - no to ‘getting into your spaceship,’ Doomstar. Enjoy the chocolates and - a Happy Valentine’s Day to you. Oh,” a pause, silver eyes darken in warning, “do not invite Sumie on to it tonight. I am expecting her. Do tell Miss Silent hello for me, however? I am hopeful she received my flowers in good time.”
With that, the door closes with a click of finality.
