The ever-present drone of his voice briefly halts,
in its place a small irritable tilt of his hips and
delicate folding of his arms against his chest,
brows cinched and eyes narrowed in faint vexation.
At his feet lie two empty bottles of apple juice,
both of which have been abandoned and strewn
before a lazed Strider who has taken it upon himself
to sprawl over a human bean-sack chair—
seriously, how dare he! The troll is, at the very least,
displeased to know that his previous warnings have
apparently been deemed unimportant (or so he
assumes due to the lack of preventive action), for the
❛ friendly ❜ suggestion had been what could only be
careful concern.
Definitely not being finicky.