[He's slow to turn, slow to stare, feeling halfway outside his own skin at this point in the bottle. Third pot of coffee, the dregs of his previously full bottle of brandy. One he'd brought in for a rainy day. He'd intended to share it but such things were brushed to the wayside when one has just come back from the dead.
Odds are Eugene expects a lusher, livelier, healthier elf in his kitchen. He will have to make do with the lean, hard edged assassin slumped against the counter, sweater and jeans too large, baggy, hanging upon his frame to obscure the fact he'd lost some of his softness earned by mornings lying in bed with them and indulging in sweet foods. His hair is shorter, his eyes a little more hollow and faintly haunted, but the smirk is all Zevran. Every inch of lip the same that Eugene had kissed not two weeks ago.]
...perhaps an hour? Maybe a little longer? I did not wish to make a fuss.
no subject
[He's slow to turn, slow to stare, feeling halfway outside his own skin at this point in the bottle. Third pot of coffee, the dregs of his previously full bottle of brandy. One he'd brought in for a rainy day. He'd intended to share it but such things were brushed to the wayside when one has just come back from the dead.
Odds are Eugene expects a lusher, livelier, healthier elf in his kitchen. He will have to make do with the lean, hard edged assassin slumped against the counter, sweater and jeans too large, baggy, hanging upon his frame to obscure the fact he'd lost some of his softness earned by mornings lying in bed with them and indulging in sweet foods. His hair is shorter, his eyes a little more hollow and faintly haunted, but the smirk is all Zevran. Every inch of lip the same that Eugene had kissed not two weeks ago.]
...perhaps an hour? Maybe a little longer? I did not wish to make a fuss.