@melodicbreeze &&. said... It's an awkward way, how he holds himself. Opening his mouth, closing it, going to turn away, before finally biting the bullet. "Might I ask you assistance with something? I'd much prefer your method of dealing with things in this situation."
he's cradling a cup of tea in his hands. it's an ugly thing — scratched and mismatched with the half dozen other cups ren carries around with him on a regular basis. ( he breaks them so often, trying to keep a complete set is a waste of TIME and MORA. ) his teapot, heavy piece of iron that it is, rests beside him. still warmed by the lazy crackling of a slowly dying fire. he usually only drinks a cup or two before he grows BORED of the taste, though the wanderer oft prefers to boil more water than he would realistically ever need. he may endeavor to keep a healthy distance from others — but they do so have a proclivity for dropping in when he least expects it, and the people of tatarasuna taught him to always offer his guests a drink. ( a rule that he still upholds, even CENTURIES later. ) case and point, the bard ever so awkwardly looking like he's about to choke on whatever he's trying to say.
ren spares his teapot a furtive glance. he really hopes venti isn't in the market for another bath.
gaze flicking back to his companion, the wanderer slowly arches one brow in wordless curiosity. amazing — he's finally managed to spit it out, and it's only left ren with even more QUESTIONS than before. ❝ my assistance? ❞ he echoes. a soft hum; he raises the cup to his lips and takes a shallow sip, hoping the bitter flavor will give his mind some much needed clarity. whatever could venti possibly need his assistance with? he's a god — an UNCONVENTIONAL one, surely. ( although, that's precisely why ren is able to enjoy his company. ) yet still a deity nonetheless. the world should bow easily enough at his behest; the strength to bend REALITY, to change right and wrong in accordance with one's will may very well be synonymous with what it means to be a god. that's what past experience has always taught him to believe.
lowering the cup, the wanderer looks back up. ❝ do you need someone to die? ❞ he finally asks, with the same casual tone of one commenting on the weather. HIS METHOD? whatever else could the bard possibly mean?
