[ ofbookman ]: "Hey, Lan~" The redhead winked.
first come, first serve~ // no longer accepting!
Traveling is something the redhead does frequently; this isn’t a simple observation, but is factual. Stories of his journeys are often SHARED in the times between his playful teasings and her huffy rebuttal, when atmospheres are calm and relaxed. Lavi is easy company, a presence that, at first challenged her ability to be dutiful to the emperor, to remain unresponsive and MATURE in wake of his crude jokes, but has proven, given time, he isn’t someone she needs to keep up appearances with.
But back and forth he goes, from one place to the next, always somehow returning. The days that turn into weeks and then months are often empty, BORING. It’s the same old routine at the palace and the guard has come to dread news of his departure. However, traveling and learning are things he ENJOYS and he has always assured her that he’ll come back, so at least there’s a silver lining to the gloomy clouds on the horizon.
Her mask lays on the smooth wooden surface of the table, cast aside when she’d first arrived in the imperial library and took a seat beside him. Chin propped in the palm of her flesh hand, she sighs quietly, nut brown eyes drifting to the vast shelves of books and scrolls. Lan never had much reason to spend time in this part of the palace before he and Bookman came along, but now it feels like the place she spends half of her free time.
Speaking of free time…hers is almost up.
Attention shifts back to her companion, vermillion tresses askew as always, fair skin a few shades warmer than it had been when they first met. Her gaze locks with his, that lone eye the same striking shade of Xing’s greenery during the height of spring, a color so brilliant it’s difficult to look away. Unintentional as the contact had been, she holds it for several moments before brows draw together, concerned.
❛ It’s unlikely I’ll be able to see you off this time, so at least TRY to behave for Bookman, will you? Don’t get yourself in too much trouble. ❜
She rises from her chair, graceful, nearly soundless as metal appendages retrieve painted mask. Left hand falls upon his shoulder for a moment, a minuscule change in pressure that could be interpreted as a display of her fondness. Lan pauses, not wanting to leave just yet, a faint, subconscious nag holding her back.
She goes with the feeling, follows her gut–its never steered her WRONG, why would it now? The brushing of thin lips against the historian’s cheek is swift, chaste; not quite a peck, but with the same meaning and intentions behind it. Voice quiet, tone WARM, she gives one final well-wish before ruffling vermillion locks and exiting through rice paper doors.
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