[ In response, he pens back an emphatic and lovely expression of genuine gratitude ( One could never ask for a pair of gloves so fine that they might be too precious to use for weed-picking, and instead must be reserved for attending a lady's garden instead ), alongside a promise ( My own gift to you will not be ready until the New Year, will you wait for it? ) that is precisely fulfilled on the eve of that new year.
In the form of Regis seeking her own, with the decanter she gifted to him filled with an opaque, greyish liquid within. It smells, even through the stopper, like pure alcohol and oddly-sweet herb. ]
Hello, Amy. [ With rich warmth in his voice, he tilts the base of the bottle toward her. ] If you enjoy alcohol, would care to sample the first batch with me?
[ It's always nice when a gift is actually appreciated — which is to say, Amy smiles when she receives Regis' message, her fingers pressed over her lips before she types back: of course I'll wait — I'd be happy to.
She's wearing the same smile, or a version of it, when they meet again, her eyebrows rising only slightly as she catches the scent of the liquid held inside the decanter. Something strong, then. ]
Oh, I'd love to.
[ Like a reed, her frame bends, carrying her slightly forward so she can more closely inspect what he's brought. ]
[ Unbothered, especially by one's curiosity, he twirls the top of the decanter open and fans the strong scent of alcohol towards her; something sweet and herbal, ripened over time. It's definitely something that will hit fast and hard, by the raw potency of it — somewhere between crisp fruit and strong chemical. ]
A decoction of my own design, which I am quite infamous for back home.
[ The strong creases alongside his eyes and the corners of his mouth deepen, as he smiles. Black eyes gleaming, as he stoppers the decanter once more. ]
Moonshine, made from mandrake root. I've been distilling it out of my damn room since I arrived here: this is the first adequate batch.
[ Amy lets out an appreciative ooh at the scent, the sound breaking into a laugh as she tries to draw a mental chart of just how much she'll able to have before walking becomes a passing dream and the rest of the evening turns to mush — in the interest, naturally, of avoiding that tipping point. ]
You ought to be commended — I don't think anyone else here is nearly this industrious.
[ As she speaks, she casts a look around, and is rewarded by the sight of a tray bearing an empty decanter and two empty glasses. The house always provides.
Over her shoulder, as she crosses over to the tray: ] Show me your set-up, sometime? I don't think I've ever actually tried moonshine, let alone see how it's made.
[ A glass in each hand, she returns to where she'd been standing as if hitting a mark, holding both out to him to fill. ]
"Industrious", [ he chuckles to himself, as the description of what amounts to a passionate hobby of his delights him to no end. Dressed in comfortable slacks and a woolen henley, he fetches himself up against the nearest furniture in her room. The gift of moonshine held between his strong, sharp-nailed fingers as he watches her movements with those starless, night-sky eyes. Openly appreciative, hauntingly attentive.
Yet, there lacks the slavering intent of a perverse man in the way he chases her with his gaze — someone who looks at he and sees only the meat of her breasts and thighs and all between it. ]
I don't actually. All my years of making it, and the best I and my dear friends ever came up with was a bawdy "break out that rotten mandrake hooch, Regis" — ! Ah, the only name that matters when dawn breaks after a night with this is the groaning and bemoaning of the hangover that follows. Although, I do make a mean campsite fry-up to soothe even the worst gutrot, if my medicines do not resolve it first.
[ He's maudlin, in gentle, rich tones that carry with the strength of a born storyteller — not quite the bard that his dear companion Dandelion ever was, but an orator with a passion for speaking at length on a learned subject, and without hesitation or recalcitrance. ]
I meant to ask you — are you settling in well, Amy?
[ The retelling gets a warm, easy laugh — something about the phrasing of a mean campsite fry-up as spoken in his accent, and the picture of him sat around a fire with— a bunch of cowboys, as first supplied by her imagination, before she scrubs the image out and replaces it with something a little more appropriate. (Though she thinks he'd have gotten a kick out of the Wild West.) ]
So I should be careful how much of this I have, [ she notes, as she waits for him to pour.
The neckline of a slip is visible underneath the dressing robe she has tied around her frame — a hint as to her intention to go out, tonight. It shifts as she shrugs, her expression growing a little more thoughtful. It's been— a couple of months, now. Both a mere blip and an eternity. ]
I've been doing alright. At the very least, if I'm going to have a break from reality, I'd say it's happened already. I'd ask how you're finding things, but I feel like the moonshine answers that question for me.
[ The stopper takes but a moment to thumb apart from the decanter, his hand reaching for the tray of glasses she'd generously provided — pouring, first for her liking, and second for his own. He reseals the bottle, placing it down upon the gleaming tray, reaching for the pair of cups so that he might step closer to her and offer her the drink. ]
Your choice.
[ Where he stands, he remains. His arm outstretched to the fullest extent, inviting her to come in closer and take what is offered so freely, and gladly, to her; he can see the satin sheen of her undergarments, smell the scent of perfume in the air, the way she's prepared her skin — she must have a date for the evening, and it isn't without delight that he thinks about seeing her off, dripping and messy from his spend, to be discovered much later. Perhaps by the partner she might next have.
His expression changes not a bit, betraying none of his thoughts to the companionable air between them. Instead, he sags a little into the furniture supporting his comfortably human-like form; the lines of his face stark and strong, his throat still dark with the suggestion of facial hair growing in — dense and wiry and needing consistent grooming. ]
My people are culturally and historically accustomed to being torn from a world we are familiar with. We instill a sense of acceptance and grace in our young to ensure that, should it ever happen again, we adapt and survive far swifter than we despair. [ ( His smile, widening and bright, bears the hint of too-sharp teeth. Many, many too-sharp teeth. ) ] That, and I genuinely like the company I've found here. Meeting you and some of the others has kept loneliness at bay, a threat unfounded.
My sincere thanks for the gifts. Your selections were fantastic, not least of which the invitation to spend the afternoon with someone over the age of thirty. I'll take you up on that offer of a game when you have the time.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
✉️ text — un: xAMAZINGAMYx (misfire).
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no subject
[ damn amy??? ]
1/3
2/3
oh, shit.
no subject
hi again, regis.
seems like i'm a lucky girl. that was meant for you, actually.
no subject
[ not a question, more a statement eager to take possession ]
At the risk of sounding incredibly unappreciative of what I've already been lucky to receive — tell me: were you deliberating on other options?
nsfw links.
i was. and i won't even make you ask to see them.
[ And, in carefully chosen order: ]
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🎁 delivery (dated 12/25).
no subject
In the form of Regis seeking her own, with the decanter she gifted to him filled with an opaque, greyish liquid within. It smells, even through the stopper, like pure alcohol and oddly-sweet herb. ]
Hello, Amy. [ With rich warmth in his voice, he tilts the base of the bottle toward her. ] If you enjoy alcohol, would care to sample the first batch with me?
no subject
She's wearing the same smile, or a version of it, when they meet again, her eyebrows rising only slightly as she catches the scent of the liquid held inside the decanter. Something strong, then. ]
Oh, I'd love to.
[ Like a reed, her frame bends, carrying her slightly forward so she can more closely inspect what he's brought. ]
—What is it?
no subject
A decoction of my own design, which I am quite infamous for back home.
[ The strong creases alongside his eyes and the corners of his mouth deepen, as he smiles. Black eyes gleaming, as he stoppers the decanter once more. ]
Moonshine, made from mandrake root. I've been distilling it out of my damn room since I arrived here: this is the first adequate batch.
no subject
You ought to be commended — I don't think anyone else here is nearly this industrious.
[ As she speaks, she casts a look around, and is rewarded by the sight of a tray bearing an empty decanter and two empty glasses. The house always provides.
Over her shoulder, as she crosses over to the tray: ] Show me your set-up, sometime? I don't think I've ever actually tried moonshine, let alone see how it's made.
[ A glass in each hand, she returns to where she'd been standing as if hitting a mark, holding both out to him to fill. ]
Do you have a name for it?
no subject
Yet, there lacks the slavering intent of a perverse man in the way he chases her with his gaze — someone who looks at he and sees only the meat of her breasts and thighs and all between it. ]
I don't actually. All my years of making it, and the best I and my dear friends ever came up with was a bawdy "break out that rotten mandrake hooch, Regis" — ! Ah, the only name that matters when dawn breaks after a night with this is the groaning and bemoaning of the hangover that follows. Although, I do make a mean campsite fry-up to soothe even the worst gutrot, if my medicines do not resolve it first.
[ He's maudlin, in gentle, rich tones that carry with the strength of a born storyteller — not quite the bard that his dear companion Dandelion ever was, but an orator with a passion for speaking at length on a learned subject, and without hesitation or recalcitrance. ]
I meant to ask you — are you settling in well, Amy?
no subject
So I should be careful how much of this I have, [ she notes, as she waits for him to pour.
The neckline of a slip is visible underneath the dressing robe she has tied around her frame — a hint as to her intention to go out, tonight. It shifts as she shrugs, her expression growing a little more thoughtful. It's been— a couple of months, now. Both a mere blip and an eternity. ]
I've been doing alright. At the very least, if I'm going to have a break from reality, I'd say it's happened already. I'd ask how you're finding things, but I feel like the moonshine answers that question for me.
no subject
[ The stopper takes but a moment to thumb apart from the decanter, his hand reaching for the tray of glasses she'd generously provided — pouring, first for her liking, and second for his own. He reseals the bottle, placing it down upon the gleaming tray, reaching for the pair of cups so that he might step closer to her and offer her the drink. ]
Your choice.
[ Where he stands, he remains. His arm outstretched to the fullest extent, inviting her to come in closer and take what is offered so freely, and gladly, to her; he can see the satin sheen of her undergarments, smell the scent of perfume in the air, the way she's prepared her skin — she must have a date for the evening, and it isn't without delight that he thinks about seeing her off, dripping and messy from his spend, to be discovered much later. Perhaps by the partner she might next have.
His expression changes not a bit, betraying none of his thoughts to the companionable air between them. Instead, he sags a little into the furniture supporting his comfortably human-like form; the lines of his face stark and strong, his throat still dark with the suggestion of facial hair growing in — dense and wiry and needing consistent grooming. ]
My people are culturally and historically accustomed to being torn from a world we are familiar with. We instill a sense of acceptance and grace in our young to ensure that, should it ever happen again, we adapt and survive far swifter than we despair. [ ( His smile, widening and bright, bears the hint of too-sharp teeth. Many, many too-sharp teeth. ) ] That, and I genuinely like the company I've found here. Meeting you and some of the others has kept loneliness at bay, a threat unfounded.
@hap, text; dated 12/26