gentlegiantingvar:
“W-Well, actually, I-I-…” Ingvar began to say in a weak-willed mumble.
She cut him off before he could finish. He frowned. His cheeks reddened and he looked away.
Whoever this human was didn’t seem very polite…! She’d ask him questions and then speak up again before he had a chance to answer them! Why, if Hilda was here, she’d probably give the human a tirade about manners much like the one she gave him. He could see it now in his mind’s eye, the teen ranting and rambling about etiquette with addressing others. You can’t just invite yourself in, blockhead!, she’d say.
Ingvar sat himself up slowly so as to not make himself dizzy, and he adjusted himself quietly so he sat cross-legged. It seemed he had a visitor, like it or not– and much to his dismay it seemed the human was going to stay no matter what he told her. Though in truth if she hadn’t invited herself in, he was fairly certain he wouldn’t have had the guts to turn her away. He sighed gently, shaking his head.
But that was beyond the point. She’d asked for something to eat. He couldn’t simply refuse to give her something if he had it. His hand disappeared into one of his pockets a moment, and pulled out a handful of apples somehow still ripe and free of bruises.
“… Is this enough for you to be eating, human?” he asked, holding his hand out to her so she could see and take them as she pleased. Or maybe she didn’t eat apples at all? Brows knitting together, he found himself staring. She seemed awfully short for a human, didn’t she?
His flush is noted of, but she does not address it, unable to find an echo of consicence within herself for causing it. Then again, there is a reason for not wanting to get into whatever inner angst pulled at the other’s little soul, -- she can’t afford it. There is weakness and vulnerability in it that she doesn’t expect to project unto someone whose fire she has just taken over for the night. She will be gone by the morn and he can go on doing whatever he does in these woods all alone. Is he, though?
She looks around, eyes trying to get through the shadow, through the dark around to guess. Then again, one look at his face is enough. She is alone, too, and she can feel it of him. Those big sad eyes. Ridiculous. If she was his size, she wouldn’t be hiding out and resting by the dying fire. She would crush the world. Or at least -- find herself a proper roof overhead.
He offers out something that she identifies as apples when they are drawn closer. Quite ripe, quite merry-looking. Her stomach grumbles again and she takes four off his palm before he can stop her, three of which immediately disappear inside her pouch, while the remaining one breaks apart with a crunch when she firsts bites on it. For a moment, there is that strange content glint in her eye, but as always it is gone before it makes home there. “Thank you.”
A pause, absentminded fingers tapping at the hilt of her dagger out of a habit more so than for a reason. “Haven’t had much t' eat in a while.” Narrowed eyes watch him, now sat up, becoming one with the forest again. He is rather tall for -- anything she had every encountered before. Of course, there were stories of giants, but those has stone-like skin and threw rocks off mountains when they got angry, their cries bringing storms to the land. He doesn’t seem like he can do either of those things.
She does not correct him assuming her to be human. But her voice is acrid when she asks: “What’r’yer looking at?”
