He stood there, gradually succumbing to sleep as she continued to speak. His long neck sagged slightly, and the respirator let out a gentle, rhythmic hiss, marking his swift capitulation to narcolepsy. His ungulate ears flickered once before settling into stillness, while his fluffy tail lay limp against the marble floor. For a fleeting moment, the woman feared he might completely collapse, yet his high-heeled boots remained firmly planted, as if his body had mastered the skill of dozing upright through endless practice.
The ridiculousness of him dozing off mid-conversation would have amused her at another time, here was a World Noble, a God’s Knight, slumped over like a drunken man against a tavern wall. His fingers, still encased in immaculate white gloves, twitched at the desk's edge, as if he retained a faint awareness of decorum even in slumber. The attendants lingering by the door exchanged knowing glances but refrained from intervening. Clearly, this was a common occurrence.
The soft hiss of the respirator filled the quiet room. His once-cloud-like tail now lay slack, draping over the arm of a chair like spilled ink. No one made a move to rouse him. Up close, his sleeping visage appeared almost… serene. The draconic whiskers framing his snout trembled with each breath, and his mane of wild, flame-like hair shifted slightly, as if caressed by an invisible breeze.
Then, without any warning, his ungulate ears twitched. His elongated neck straightened with a slow, serpentine elegance, and his respirator fogged with a sudden exhalation. “Apologies,” he mumbled, the words muffled yet tinged with amusement. “The narcolepsy is… quite inconvenient.” His tone held none of the annoyance one might anticipate, only the drowsy indifference of a man who had spent countless lifetimes apologizing for the same peculiar trait.
As he yawned, his eyes fluttering open and shut, his ears flickering back, it was clear he had a tendency to doze off at the most inconvenient moments.
His whiskers quivered. Then, to her surprise, he chuckled, a sound reminiscent of a rusty hinge reluctantly giving way. "I apologize, were you speaking?" he inquired, adjusting the cravat around his neck with a gloved hand. "Forgive me, little ember, it’s not your fault. My body has a way of betraying me at the most..." His voice faded as his eyelids danced, then he forced them open with noticeable effort. "...Inopportune times."
As his long neck swayed in a slow, sleepy nod, his respirator let out a soft wheeze while he yawned behind the resin bubble. Despite being half-asleep while she spoke, he absorbed every word. "Mmm. Yes, yes. A bath," he murmured, lazily gesturing toward the door with the sluggish elegance of a man who felt as if he were submerged in honey. His fluffy tail swished once, dismissive yet strangely approving. "The attendants will handle it. We can’t have you smelling like a dockside tavern, can we?" The comment held no malice, just the detached practicality of a nobleman who viewed cleanliness as essential as breathing.
However, when she brought up cooking, his ungulate ears perked up, the drowsiness momentarily retreating like the tide from the shore. His whiskers twitched, an involuntary flicker of eagerness. Food was one of the few delights he truly relished, and though he would never voice it, the idea of something new on his plate sent a thrill through his languid body. The palace chefs were undoubtedly skilled, but their flavors had long since settled into a predictable perfection.
"And food, yes, yes, yes, food, I trust you know some amazing dishes, perhaps common ones? I find that idea quite appealing!"
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