[ Well, that's a rather crude assumption - but she's more or less right on the mark, no matter. He's dressed in the same shabby, threadbare peasant's clothing as the last (and first) time they spoke, if the set's a few months more bedraggled, by now. Maintaining any semblance of either fashion sense or human hygiene are not exactly among his higher concerns, though, and wearing one outfit until it literally unravels around him is simply the least bothersome method of remaining clothed.
(On that note, of course, she might be interested to know that he does only dress at all for custom's sake, not exactly learned of modesty, either - and so mayhap she should simply be grateful he isn't apt to go out of his way to add indecent exposure to his list of crimes.)
Without the green wood axe hanging among them, the vines spilled from his back have mostly retreated, for the moment, easy to catch a glimpse of through ragged holes as fabric sways with his walking, but not exactly on display. A few that have sprouted curious, green buds do stick in the coarse cloth, though they are all at present closed up tight, night-blooming flowers.
At her question, he casts an impatient glance back over a shoulder, a sharp gesture that might as well be meant to dispel any mistaken delicacy of his person. So much for that amiable shift in personality. ]
To eat.
[ Wasn't she listening, before?
He doesn't say so aloud, but he's rather of a mind she's a bit slow, on waking. That's probably his fault, though - after leaving her sleep for so long, not knowing exactly what the comatose state might do to a human mind. It's a definite concern, but he doesn't wear it well. ]
no subject
(On that note, of course, she might be interested to know that he does only dress at all for custom's sake, not exactly learned of modesty, either - and so mayhap she should simply be grateful he isn't apt to go out of his way to add indecent exposure to his list of crimes.)
Without the green wood axe hanging among them, the vines spilled from his back have mostly retreated, for the moment, easy to catch a glimpse of through ragged holes as fabric sways with his walking, but not exactly on display. A few that have sprouted curious, green buds do stick in the coarse cloth, though they are all at present closed up tight, night-blooming flowers.
At her question, he casts an impatient glance back over a shoulder, a sharp gesture that might as well be meant to dispel any mistaken delicacy of his person. So much for that amiable shift in personality. ]
To eat.
[ Wasn't she listening, before?
He doesn't say so aloud, but he's rather of a mind she's a bit slow, on waking. That's probably his fault, though - after leaving her sleep for so long, not knowing exactly what the comatose state might do to a human mind. It's a definite concern, but he doesn't wear it well. ]
Sunlight's not enough for you, right?