regalled: (Default)
Prince ([personal profile] regalled) wrote in [community profile] station72 2017-04-24 03:20 pm (UTC)

[He felt strongly about doors. Boundaries. But he had lived on the station a very long time without any, alongside the rest of the hosts in the open and pocketed halls of life support. He had earned these doors, in a way, had learned how to ask for them, and while he had never given a young host private places to sleep he had made them their own spaces, when they needed them. If they knew how to ask. Places with some kind of privacy for the time between.

Hypocracy that he could live with.

Doors don't currently concern him however. There was no one here to keep out that would find their way here, so the open entry that Cathaway leaves behind her doesn't leave him anxious or irritated. It was irrelevant. More focused on the slight degree he bends his fingers as her hand settles across his.]


No more than usual. [It's almost a joke. He was so often troubled, at least this was something that he could control in some way.

He barely pauses before turning to lead her back into the room behind him, two low and mismatched fabric benches about an equally low table festooned with dozens of small dishes and inscrutable instruments and a low, spicy scent from some gently smoking vessel. She has seen this before but not in some time (possibly never alone with him). He pauses beside one of the benches and waits very patiently for her to sit.]



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