[There are people who could write treatise on golem sentience. Thankfully, Vrenille isn't one of them. The best answer he would ever be able to give would probably be along the lines of "Sort of? It's complicated." Regardless, for all its snark, the golem seems pleased enough with completing its task, even if it doesn't currently get to rattle off "useful" recommendations that absolutely no one needs like "do-not-use-greatsword-to-clean-teeth" or "daily-vitamins-should-only-be-inserted-orally."
For Vrenille's part, he pushes himself back to his feet, reassured in some measure by the momentary win.] Yeah. [He smiles. At some point, maybe Jericho will realize that he really doesn't need to worry about these little things like clothes and booze, that when push comes to shove, Vrenille isn't fussed and it will all just work out. Best to let him just see that in time than try to keep telling him it though.
Anyway, one thing that working with the people in this house--this guild--has taught Vrenille, it's to differentiate big issue from small ones and not to get distracted by the latter when the former is looming large. So the truth of Jericho's earlier remark about not wanting to hear this bullshit from Vrenille's waffling confidence is that it was actually quite effective: just the sort of good swift verbal kick in the pants that's got him thinking again, planning how to make everything work, and the shift, though subtle, is clearly there in his manner as they head back inside.
The route back through the house does, inevitably, take them through the kitchen again, but Vrenille forestalls any remark from either of the sylvari with a look and a quick subtle hand gesture. Right now, he wants to give Jericho his space to sleep and recover, then consult with the others while he does. It all feels sensible and straightforward, something clear that he can act on...
Or at least it does right up until they're standing in the upstairs hallway again and Vrenille realizes that he doesn't actually know, when Jericho said he'd stay, whether he meant that he does want his own room and his own solitary space. He hesitates slightly, not wanting to just bring the man back to his room if he's got something else in mind, but also not wanting to imply that he'd rather keep more distance between them. It's shortsighted and poorly timed, maybe, but Vrenille doesn't want more distance between them.
He finds himself swallowing hard as he looks at Jericho, and there's this unbidden flash in his mind about how this moment could go if everything was different, if there wasn't still a bullet wound in Jericho's shoulder and a looming crisis on the horizon, how it could be all hands in hair and rough kisses and the tugging off of clothes like the storm between them can't wait to get behind closed doors before breaking. He tries to stop himself before he pictures his fingers twisting the white cotton sheets, his forehead pressed to the pillow as Jericho drives into him, but still his chest feels tight. He tries to keep it out of his voice when he speaks.]
Sorry for the slow--been a hectic few weeks.
For Vrenille's part, he pushes himself back to his feet, reassured in some measure by the momentary win.] Yeah. [He smiles. At some point, maybe Jericho will realize that he really doesn't need to worry about these little things like clothes and booze, that when push comes to shove, Vrenille isn't fussed and it will all just work out. Best to let him just see that in time than try to keep telling him it though.
Anyway, one thing that working with the people in this house--this guild--has taught Vrenille, it's to differentiate big issue from small ones and not to get distracted by the latter when the former is looming large. So the truth of Jericho's earlier remark about not wanting to hear this bullshit from Vrenille's waffling confidence is that it was actually quite effective: just the sort of good swift verbal kick in the pants that's got him thinking again, planning how to make everything work, and the shift, though subtle, is clearly there in his manner as they head back inside.
The route back through the house does, inevitably, take them through the kitchen again, but Vrenille forestalls any remark from either of the sylvari with a look and a quick subtle hand gesture. Right now, he wants to give Jericho his space to sleep and recover, then consult with the others while he does. It all feels sensible and straightforward, something clear that he can act on...
Or at least it does right up until they're standing in the upstairs hallway again and Vrenille realizes that he doesn't actually know, when Jericho said he'd stay, whether he meant that he does want his own room and his own solitary space. He hesitates slightly, not wanting to just bring the man back to his room if he's got something else in mind, but also not wanting to imply that he'd rather keep more distance between them. It's shortsighted and poorly timed, maybe, but Vrenille doesn't want more distance between them.
He finds himself swallowing hard as he looks at Jericho, and there's this unbidden flash in his mind about how this moment could go if everything was different, if there wasn't still a bullet wound in Jericho's shoulder and a looming crisis on the horizon, how it could be all hands in hair and rough kisses and the tugging off of clothes like the storm between them can't wait to get behind closed doors before breaking. He tries to stop himself before he pictures his fingers twisting the white cotton sheets, his forehead pressed to the pillow as Jericho drives into him, but still his chest feels tight. He tries to keep it out of his voice when he speaks.]
Is, um-- Is my room still okay?