[ The other player gives him an appraising look, his eyes lingering over the shape tenting his skimpy beachwear with interest, when he gives a yelp, brusquely knocked aside by a (perhaps familiar) young man with a rusty steel left arm, whose attention remains firmly fixed on— ]
It's really you.
[ As neutral as his freckled expression is, it's the doll-like blue eyes that project his surprise. Opening his mouth again to speak — surely to let spill all manner of questions that he's likely brimming with about his long absence — he pauses, taking him in.
The condition Eiden is in, specifically, and the man shooting him resentful looks as he rubs his arm where he'd been shoved. The polite thing to do is apologize and retreat, let Eiden get back to whatever was brewing between him and the other player.
But it's human to be selfish, and if he lets him out of his sight, Eiden might be gone again, this time for good. ] We should catch up, Eiden, [ he more than figuratively edges out the other player, closing the distance between himself and Eiden.
Pinocchio is dressed in a breezy, sheer white shirt knotted just above a navy blue men's bikini that does little to preserve his modesty (or conceal the heft of his package). It's not the most of him that Eiden's ever seen, thanks to the communal bath in the resort basement. ]
Talk. ...Among other things. [ He says, pinching the hem of Eiden's open robe, pulling at it as his finger and thumb drag down towards his hip. The puppet's unsubtle implication is punctuated by a fleeting glance, a silent plea. ]
no subject
It's really you.
[ As neutral as his freckled expression is, it's the doll-like blue eyes that project his surprise. Opening his mouth again to speak — surely to let spill all manner of questions that he's likely brimming with about his long absence — he pauses, taking him in.
The condition Eiden is in, specifically, and the man shooting him resentful looks as he rubs his arm where he'd been shoved. The polite thing to do is apologize and retreat, let Eiden get back to whatever was brewing between him and the other player.
But it's human to be selfish, and if he lets him out of his sight, Eiden might be gone again, this time for good. ] We should catch up, Eiden, [ he more than figuratively edges out the other player, closing the distance between himself and Eiden.
Pinocchio is dressed in a breezy, sheer white shirt knotted just above a navy blue men's bikini that does little to preserve his modesty (or conceal the heft of his package). It's not the most of him that Eiden's ever seen, thanks to the communal bath in the resort basement. ]
Talk. ...Among other things. [ He says, pinching the hem of Eiden's open robe, pulling at it as his finger and thumb drag down towards his hip. The puppet's unsubtle implication is punctuated by a fleeting glance, a silent plea. ]