[ A high elf cannot help but put on airs, Godfrey. Why do you think they are called such?
Julien doesn't bother with reading the message, their ears already pricked to the sound of gentle knocking at their door.
The latch clicks, the door swings open partway, and Julien peers around the frame, blue eyes squinting through their lashes against the brightness streaming through the windows. Their fiery hair hangs loose about their face, unkempt and bristling with unruly curls. Their face bears no hint of powder, nor makeup, though their eyes are shadowed from poor sleep. An old blanket is draped over their shoulders, giving them the unfortunate appearance of a vagrant begging for alms.
They catch sight of Godfrey's broad shoulder turning from them, his blond hair catching the light, turning it to burnished gold.
He's a saint, truly, for aiding them in their hour of need. ]
A moment, friend. [ Julien's gaze drops to the offerings laid by the door, then quickly shifts toward the interior of their room. ] ...would you like some tea?
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I meant no insult, to you nor myself. I meant only to say that you need not feel obliged to compensate His tithe for my aid. I offer it freely.
[ Speaking of; three very gentle knocks at the door, beyond it waiting a mug of bone broth, sweetmint sprigs, and some jarred pickles. ]
I just knocked. I hope you heard me.
I've left some things outside for you. Trouble yourself not with seeing me - you ought be in rest, not putting on airs.
no subject
Julien doesn't bother with reading the message, their ears already pricked to the sound of gentle knocking at their door.
The latch clicks, the door swings open partway, and Julien peers around the frame, blue eyes squinting through their lashes against the brightness streaming through the windows. Their fiery hair hangs loose about their face, unkempt and bristling with unruly curls. Their face bears no hint of powder, nor makeup, though their eyes are shadowed from poor sleep. An old blanket is draped over their shoulders, giving them the unfortunate appearance of a vagrant begging for alms.
They catch sight of Godfrey's broad shoulder turning from them, his blond hair catching the light, turning it to burnished gold.
He's a saint, truly, for aiding them in their hour of need. ]
A moment, friend. [ Julien's gaze drops to the offerings laid by the door, then quickly shifts toward the interior of their room. ] ...would you like some tea?