[ lúthien has built something resembling a routine for herself: the mornings, she spends practising self-defense or reads up on different worlds, magic and technology; the afternoons and nights, she walks under the trees in the sunlight room... but evenings, she varies: sometimes she seeks out people she knows to spend time with, other times she can be found in the kitchen, trying out recipes she has heard people speaking about.
this is one of those days, and as the stew she is cooking is bubbling away merrily on the stovetop, she looks around and notices a boy sitting around one of the tables, head bent over a sheet of paper.
curious, she makes her way closer, her footsteps night-quiet. when she sees it is a drawing, and a very good one at that, she exclaims, ]
[ truth be told, iris could probably benefit from a routine. you'd think he'd crave that kind of structure, someone so fond of science and invention, but maybe it's offset by the more artistic side of him, creativity too spontaneous to be contained.
or maybe he's just an 18 year old boy who's never had anything resembling structure in his life.
at least not the healthy kind.
all this to say, he's taken to the station life as one might expect a restless teen might — wandering around aimlessly, poking his head into every open door he comes across, trying to both situate himself in the space but also not get in the way. it's awkward, walking into a space that so many others have already made into their homes... but of the two times it's happened, at least this time he isn't getting crucified for it.
heh.
he'd been aware, of course, that he wasn't alone in the kitchen. the delicious smells coming from the stove can't exactly be ignored, after all, nor the beauty of the woman behind it. but iris is getting better about not staring at every new person he comes across, so he's since hunkered down with his sketchpad. the combination of his being lost in thought and lúthien's quiet steps have the wonderful effect of causing iris to jump in his seat when she speaks up, his startled shout swallowed up by the loud bang of his knee against the table. it hurts, yeah, but not nearly as much as his pride. ]
Th-Thanks... Ah.
[ he's gripping his throbbing knee with one hand while the other tries to unclench around his pencil. he looks down at the drawing she's referring to — a rough sketch of one of the flowers he'd seen in the sunlight room earlier that day. ]
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during station downtime, before march mission
this is one of those days, and as the stew she is cooking is bubbling away merrily on the stovetop, she looks around and notices a boy sitting around one of the tables, head bent over a sheet of paper.
curious, she makes her way closer, her footsteps night-quiet. when she sees it is a drawing, and a very good one at that, she exclaims, ]
Oh! How beautiful!
no subject
or maybe he's just an 18 year old boy who's never had anything resembling structure in his life.
at least not the healthy kind.
all this to say, he's taken to the station life as one might expect a restless teen might — wandering around aimlessly, poking his head into every open door he comes across, trying to both situate himself in the space but also not get in the way. it's awkward, walking into a space that so many others have already made into their homes... but of the two times it's happened, at least this time he isn't getting crucified for it.
heh.
he'd been aware, of course, that he wasn't alone in the kitchen. the delicious smells coming from the stove can't exactly be ignored, after all, nor the beauty of the woman behind it. but iris is getting better about not staring at every new person he comes across, so he's since hunkered down with his sketchpad. the combination of his being lost in thought and lúthien's quiet steps have the wonderful effect of causing iris to jump in his seat when she speaks up, his startled shout swallowed up by the loud bang of his knee against the table. it hurts, yeah, but not nearly as much as his pride. ]
Th-Thanks... Ah.
[ he's gripping his throbbing knee with one hand while the other tries to unclench around his pencil. he looks down at the drawing she's referring to — a rough sketch of one of the flowers he'd seen in the sunlight room earlier that day. ]