[The door opens, and there he is, still with his wavy hair and his vaguely crooked nose, his eyelashes and everything, shoulder on the doorframe. He lifts the bottle by its neck, and its dark belly bulges below his fingers, wearing the label like a girdle. It's definitely from the Anderfels; if Kostos wanted to charge cover, he should've asked for money.
The bottle comes near, stops short of delivery: still close enough to grab. Leander smiles, laceration-thin.
(If the door shuts in his face again, says that smile, he'll knock it down on principle before he leaves.)]
no subject
The bottle comes near, stops short of delivery: still close enough to grab. Leander smiles, laceration-thin.
(If the door shuts in his face again, says that smile, he'll knock it down on principle before he leaves.)]