The sedate - even languorous - pace at which Galatea follows does not negate one petinent fact: that she does. Wren recognised her, and Galatea recognised Wren, and now it's time for them to have a nice, friendly chat about those two things-
among others.
Her fingertips are the first thing, dragging lazy into the doorframe; she leans there, arm above her head and free hand on her hip, the very picture of ease and amiability. The smile is the same, even if the framing has been somewhat altered - it's useful, to look a bit less like herself. Maybe less useful than she'd thought, but it had done its business in making her description a confusing one in the chaos of the war, and she's got this far.
How much further has she still to go? A ways.
“Look at you.” She traces Wren's shape in the air, light- “I like this. That's a nice gesture, the knife. Are we going to fight, do you think?”
Her smile mirrors the blade's edge.
“Do you think there's a reason we should fight? Ser Coupe.”
no subject
among others.
Her fingertips are the first thing, dragging lazy into the doorframe; she leans there, arm above her head and free hand on her hip, the very picture of ease and amiability. The smile is the same, even if the framing has been somewhat altered - it's useful, to look a bit less like herself. Maybe less useful than she'd thought, but it had done its business in making her description a confusing one in the chaos of the war, and she's got this far.
How much further has she still to go? A ways.
“Look at you.” She traces Wren's shape in the air, light- “I like this. That's a nice gesture, the knife. Are we going to fight, do you think?”
Her smile mirrors the blade's edge.
“Do you think there's a reason we should fight? Ser Coupe.”