[There is showmanship to the way he takes Miraj's hand. A practiced turn of the palm and brush of fingers - a gesture he'd done time and time again with the other circus performers. An earnest display of connection perfected to project its intention to an audience.
He is the man that bridges the gap between reality and the reprieve the circus provides, after all. A guide for both audience and performer alike - a piece of his identity so deeply ingrained that the flourish comes natural now.
A heel-toed step in sandals whose ties are not the most comfortable - yet a passing reflection in a large mirror gives Baptiste pause. He has no interest in being a servant, but he did kill it in this short toga. The self-admiration is but a passing glance - but compounds with the playful ego-stroking he'd offered earlier. Baptiste is a man who loves himself as Baptiste the Performer. Baptiste the Bath Buddy. Baptiste the Guide. Each branch that sprouted away from the core he would never escape. is a beloved diversion.
A keen eye watches this kindred as he leads him across the stirring fog in the room. The mist clings and accents the fineries of the other as they move - adding to the shimmering quality of it. It's an eye-catch for sure. Baptiste idly wonders how it would look under the soft electric lights of home now that he's in the presence of someone else from home. Perhaps they were quaint, but how he loved their orange glow...]
[He clears his throat. Chuckles as he rounds the lip of the large tub to begin drawing warm water. A scan of the area around the bath offers shimmering bath bombs and petals - and Baptiste is too extra to simply leave those lay.
So he hoists up the delicate basin of bath bombs before he bowing and offering them to the man. An exaggerated play on his 'role.']
Okay, little god. I've heard you get first pick. [Not an ounce of true reverence here, Baptiste quickly content to run circles around someone who isn't going to truly expect subservience from him.]
no subject
He is the man that bridges the gap between reality and the reprieve the circus provides, after all. A guide for both audience and performer alike - a piece of his identity so deeply ingrained that the flourish comes natural now.
A heel-toed step in sandals whose ties are not the most comfortable - yet a passing reflection in a large mirror gives Baptiste pause. He has no interest in being a servant, but he did kill it in this short toga. The self-admiration is but a passing glance - but compounds with the playful ego-stroking he'd offered earlier. Baptiste is a man who loves himself as Baptiste the Performer. Baptiste the Bath Buddy. Baptiste the Guide. Each branch that sprouted away from the core he would never escape. is a beloved diversion.
A keen eye watches this kindred as he leads him across the stirring fog in the room. The mist clings and accents the fineries of the other as they move - adding to the shimmering quality of it. It's an eye-catch for sure. Baptiste idly wonders how it would look under the soft electric lights of home now that he's in the presence of someone else from home. Perhaps they were quaint, but how he loved their orange glow...]
[He clears his throat. Chuckles as he rounds the lip of the large tub to begin drawing warm water. A scan of the area around the bath offers shimmering bath bombs and petals - and Baptiste is too extra to simply leave those lay.
So he hoists up the delicate basin of bath bombs before he bowing and offering them to the man. An exaggerated play on his 'role.']
Okay, little god. I've heard you get first pick. [Not an ounce of true reverence here, Baptiste quickly content to run circles around someone who isn't going to truly expect subservience from him.]