His smile broadens.
He can't help himself. She goes from being a tree to being a girl in a breathe and then speaks the ridiculousness of it. That smile broadens and quirks lopsided at her, appreciative of all the hypocrisy and absurdity that Beqanna and her magic have to offer. Whatever Ori is, Kildare finds her fascinating in the way that he finds all unknown places fascinating. She is something uncharted and so the smile he gives her is that of an explorer - he means to find the mystery of her.
"I'll remember that next time somebody tries to call me Dare," he says, hints of a bemused smile returning to his dark lips.
Her eyes gleam mischievously and they speak Kildare's language. He takes another step forward and tilts his head slightly at the reference of 'painting'. "An artist, are you?" he queries and studies her behind laughing eyes. They settle on hers and he wonders if she will elaborate more, explain exactly what kind of canvas she uses, what brushes she prefers.
And she doesn't disappoint.
The forest around them changes like a ripple on a glassy lake. What had been there moments before is gone and Kildare looks away from her to gaze appreciatively at the tops of trees that could only be found in the mind of an immortal - in a place where trees are allowed to live all their days and are not felled by weather, rot and change.
When Kildare looks back at Ori, it is there again - that boyish grin that tilts at the edge of boisterous, hoping to encourage her on. "I like to stare at pretty girls too. But trees work just fine."
@[Oriash]
He can't help himself. She goes from being a tree to being a girl in a breathe and then speaks the ridiculousness of it. That smile broadens and quirks lopsided at her, appreciative of all the hypocrisy and absurdity that Beqanna and her magic have to offer. Whatever Ori is, Kildare finds her fascinating in the way that he finds all unknown places fascinating. She is something uncharted and so the smile he gives her is that of an explorer - he means to find the mystery of her.
"I'll remember that next time somebody tries to call me Dare," he says, hints of a bemused smile returning to his dark lips.
Her eyes gleam mischievously and they speak Kildare's language. He takes another step forward and tilts his head slightly at the reference of 'painting'. "An artist, are you?" he queries and studies her behind laughing eyes. They settle on hers and he wonders if she will elaborate more, explain exactly what kind of canvas she uses, what brushes she prefers.
And she doesn't disappoint.
The forest around them changes like a ripple on a glassy lake. What had been there moments before is gone and Kildare looks away from her to gaze appreciatively at the tops of trees that could only be found in the mind of an immortal - in a place where trees are allowed to live all their days and are not felled by weather, rot and change.
When Kildare looks back at Ori, it is there again - that boyish grin that tilts at the edge of boisterous, hoping to encourage her on. "I like to stare at pretty girls too. But trees work just fine."
@[Oriash]