She greets with excitement, face practically bright as she presents her gift to him. A recently crafted necklace made out of buttercorks, "For the nargles" she says as if it explains everything. She waits for him to accept before tip toeing right next to him. Face inches from his own before her lips touches his cheek. Luna beams. (have a part 2 :))
dark greys as rich with CURIOSITY, as he accepts the offering — smile only but thriving, as he promptly understands what it is and what beckons such protection. of course… nargles are ever-present menace, devious little buggers whose presence, more often than not, brings bruises to his frame — either from walking into doors, or tripping over, or accidentally hitting his own face. as matter of fact, his right eye is still slightly swollen && painted in fading shades of purple, after that unintentional leap of faith that ended in a very close encounter with (soft) pumpkin pastries and the (less soft) floor underneath, as though testimony to that which will ever be HIS FATE. what is the brilliant young witch, then, if not his savior and guardian angel? smile grows impossibly wide, then, till his cheeks almost hurt, as soft lips find their way to him in token of sheer affection — which he returns absent an ounce of hesitation, by leaning closer && gently bumping their noses together.