Legato remembered the first time he felt like an intruder. He'd been a small child, with limbs long enough for his knees to clack together when he shuttered, so very full of anxiety. Small child no longer, he still felt a similar sense of displacement when he was in an unfamiliar place.
He'd been recovering on one of the couches at The Nest for a few days since the turmoil had settled outside. Legato had been in terrible condition after engaging in combat with the glitched for so long, and Fiyero insisted that Legato stay until he had a handle on his body again.
Zevran was a name that he could not place a face to, not yet at least. What Legato understood was that he was a significant person to the tiefling-- a lover. When he had been brought into their dwelling, Legato had not come across the aforementioned rogue. Perhaps for the best-- Legato looked worse for wear for the first few days, even after Fiyero had been so generous as to offer up some of their miracles to the beaten man.
From where he was lounging in the den, golden eyes flicker when he sees movement at the doorway; he tenses where he was lounging still, covered in a heavy blanket, and then eases only when he recognizes Zevran based off of the description that Fiyero had shared with him before.
Now, wasn't this utterly awkward. . .
" Um, " he had no damned clue what to say. Good to meet you. I, a complete stranger, am sorry for bleeding all over the furniture of your home.
