[Most days, Konoha kind of enjoyed how synchrony, even the simple, platonic sort, could make clearer what someone was feeling. In only the way an honest woman could, she liked being able to make herself clearer (not to mention how incredibly rousing it could be during more intimate moments, to just sense things from a partner like that), but right now...
Maybe right now it wasn't the best idea, because before he retracts his hands the only thing she's broadcasting is heat. Heavy, frustrating, untended, unmollified by her "assistant"... heat. Everything else was easily lost beneath.
And she knows she shouldn't look. She does, even if the true reason she shouldn't is lost with the other drunken memories of Marilla. She tries looking at her hands around the teacup, but it's hard not to let her eyes dart over there (down there, then more down there), to betray her thoughts further with a sharp canine digging in to her bottom lip.]
I'm sorry, ah... you really should have let me...
[She forgets to say "deliver your shirt" somehow. Weird.
At this rate, though, she's going to crush the teacup in between her hands, and so she concentrates on just... getting that to the table. Sit there, teacup...]
I guess dragons can't really... be with human women very well, can they... ? Th- that makes sense...
[Something that shouldn't be any of her business. Sometime that a proper woman shouldn't imply aloud, even though she tries her best to make it sound like a joke, look at her, she's so evolved that she can make ribald jokes with a sea captain...
Who is reminding her very strongly in this moment that the man who had agreed to help her tamp down her breeding season instincts had left this world. That her roommate wasn't a centaur any longer. That her husband certainly wasn't here. That... she'd grown used to not having to weather the whole thing by herself anymore, and in a place like this...]
no subject
Maybe right now it wasn't the best idea, because before he retracts his hands the only thing she's broadcasting is heat. Heavy, frustrating, untended, unmollified by her "assistant"... heat. Everything else was easily lost beneath.
And she knows she shouldn't look. She does, even if the true reason she shouldn't is lost with the other drunken memories of Marilla. She tries looking at her hands around the teacup, but it's hard not to let her eyes dart over there (down there, then more down there), to betray her thoughts further with a sharp canine digging in to her bottom lip.]
I'm sorry, ah... you really should have let me...
[She forgets to say "deliver your shirt" somehow. Weird.
At this rate, though, she's going to crush the teacup in between her hands, and so she concentrates on just... getting that to the table. Sit there, teacup...]
I guess dragons can't really... be with human women very well, can they... ? Th- that makes sense...
[Something that shouldn't be any of her business. Sometime that a proper woman shouldn't imply aloud, even though she tries her best to make it sound like a joke, look at her, she's so evolved that she can make ribald jokes with a sea captain...
Who is reminding her very strongly in this moment that the man who had agreed to help her tamp down her breeding season instincts had left this world. That her roommate wasn't a centaur any longer. That her husband certainly wasn't here. That... she'd grown used to not having to weather the whole thing by herself anymore, and in a place like this...]