The rain wasn't uncommon, if anything it made Dhruastun a bit homesick for the Mire--if someone could ever truly miss that wretched place. It wasn't a downpour, but now and then the drizzle did pick up into something more--all welcome to the elf. His day had been bizarre, some strange mix-up while working and not paying attention to where he left his mug had him picking up something else to drink--however it wasn't bad. It tasted flowery, a little on the sweet side, and had numbed his tongue for a moment after consumption. Nevertheless it left him light, which is why he had offered a smile to the Inquisitor when she had went by.He didn't think the thought of her would haunt him the rest of the blighted day.Dhruastun certainly didn't think anything of it when the rains picked up once more, and it was walking across the gardens into one of the overhanging awnings that he ended up a little too close to the Inquisitor. While just the thought of her had been present in the back of his mind throughout the day, it was bearable when she wasn't in eyesight, when she wasn't so near. In this proximity there was far too much temptation.Such temptation was in the constellation of droplets still hung within her hair like diamonds, or the spare one resting on her cheekbone that begged for attention. Dhruastun couldn't resist, his hand raising in the close space and thumb moving to brush it away. That was the worst move to make, actually touching that skin was a disaster. At once he needed more, needed his hands to seek out every curve, to map out the anatomy of muscle and tendon and flesh. He wanted to scour it with his fingers, the urge of it burning in his veins. He wanted to leave rosy marks of passion along the slant of the collarbone and up the side of her neck. A heathen elf leaving a mark upon the faithful Herald? The thought of it prompted a quick intake of breath from him. "Inappropriate."Rationality forced the word out, however his gaze was hooked onto the woman's mouth--instantly the thought struck, sudden and devastating. Could I render that mouth to gasp my name like a prayer to her Maker? Color flooded his cheeks, and Dhruastun had to forcibly close his eyes to stop himself from acting out on that. "I am being so inappropriate, I need to--" --what he needed to do was pin the Herald against that stone wall and give her a damn religious experience-- "--go. I need to go. Don't get too wet--" --his ears burned with the second meaning of that, which nearly took his breath from him-- "Right. Bye."
