Who Carellos Reksler
What Reksler meets Carellos
When Winter
Where Shennanigan's, Fort Weyr


Fort Weyr - Shenanigan's Lounge
The natural walls of this cavern haven been completely covered and replaced by straight and sometimes curving walls of brickwork. There's method to the madness of covering stone with stone. It's as simple as the electric buzz in the room. New grade electric lights dot the fancy brick worked walls, with wires cleverly hidden behind, allowing more focus to be centered on the rest of the room rather than the numerous strings of wire needed to operate the lighting. Each bulb roosts in a bronzed metal flowering fixture, giving the room a rich atmosphere. Still, the walls are not the only place which has stone on stone appeal. The floor has been run smooth, the surface now slate rock, creating an imperial cast.

Beyond the actual foundations of the lounge, the luxury continues. High backed wooden chairs with padded white seats have been stationed all around the room. Between the individual chairs are benches fashioned out of the same rich wood with pillows made to flatter the cushions. There are low lying coffee tables or end tables near the individual chairs, while there's larger dinning room sized tables with chairs to match scattered as well, giving much variety to those who find themselves in the room. Decorative hangings and framed artwork has been neatly hung around the room, but to offset the meticulous method of the room, there's some pieces that give a sporty feeling to the room - such as a fishing rod or a snow shoe.

Of course, the final appeal of the room comes in the form of it's purpose; athletic competition. There are several games of darts lining the walls, various decks of dragon poker cards available, a large velvet lined pool table centered to one side of the lounge, a mat area surrounded by ropes, and an area that keeps track of all the runner races around the world via radio signal, giving constant updates on the status of the runners. Lastly, there's a bar here, small and built with brick as well. There's usually a bartender on duty willing to mix drinks during the evening hours.

It was a good thing that Fort Weyr was so close to Harper and Healer Hall, because that meant that Reksler wasn’t coming back to the area just because his twin brother was involved in an incident. It gave him a reason to stay too, once his elder sibling was cleared of his injuries and could go back to mooning over not one, but two other werylings. Faranth that was weird. Regardless, family was important and after spending the afternoon trying to have a conversation with X’fyr (one of the two his brother had decided was the one…of two…(still weird)) and getting practically no where because the guy was making googoo eyes at him the whole time and stammering, well, he needed a drink. Or three. Or maybe twelve. Sighing heavily, the harper pulls open the door to Shenanigan’s and slips inside, just pausing long enough to get a feel for the vibe of the place before making his way towards a table in the back. He had a few books tucked under one arm, setting them onto the table before dropping himself into a seat, flagging down a server to get himself a mug of tea. Once that was done, he pulls the first book off the stack and flips through it, finding the spot where he’d left off. It was quiet enough inside the bar this dreary winter morning that he surmised he’d get quite a lot of reading done while enjoying a nice cup of tea before the afternoon crowd would make it too noisy to continue. For now, his eyes will slide over every single word, dropping the side of his face into the palm of one hand.

It’d been at least a couple of sevendays since the arrival of the new Baker Senior Apprentice, only it was just now that he set foot on the floor of Shenanigans, himself. Since his arrival, the young man has been working hard in the kitchens, putting out one loaf of sweet breads, pies and other confectionaries after another, as the staff saw fit to produce. The fast pace was refreshing, it keep him busy and busy meant little time to communicate with people. A laden tray warm from the ovens, piled high with the usual bubblies is carefully taken to the long tables for the servers to distribute and he manages to peer over at the swinging doors behind the bar to watch if they drop them or not. Carellos smirks a little, shaking his head as he turns his gaze back down to the table before him, just in the shadows. His preferred place is with his back to any wall so should anyone feel the need to be overly friendly, his stare is warning enough to get them to leave. He reaches up, running fingers through his hair to smooth disheveled strands away from his eyes. Fingertips are idle but once again find their momentum with the tearing of small meat pieces.

Someone coming out of the back with a fresh steaming rack of bubblies hot from the ovens really does require one’s full attention. It’s the smell that fills Shenanigans that gets Reks’ attention, brows lifting upwards before the rest of his head does, almost as if invisible wires had suddenly swung down and hooked them in order to levitate the rest. Brilliant cornflower blue eyes flick their way towards the bar, perhaps sharing communally with the slightly younger teen cloaked in shadow the moment of breathless anticipation as to whether or not the bakers carrying the tray would drop it to send their burden scattering wastefully onto the filth that had to be the floor. They don’t, which may or may not be a disappointment to the harper, soon dropping his gaze back down to the words spread out on the page before him. It was only then that he seemed to realize that there was someone else in his general area, having selected this spot particularly because of its presumed seclusion. Turning his head towards the darkness of the table only two over from his own, he finds hands tapping and then tearing at meat seemingly out of nowhere. “Okay, that’s not disconcerting at all…” he breathes, murmuring to himself and trying to focus back on his reading. He can’t seem to help himself, his curiosity peaked, suddenly his brain needing to know who exactly who it was that wanted privacy apparently even more than he did. He peeks over there a few more times, finding himself at the bottom of the page without actually having processed any of the information contained upon it. Reksler half sighs and half growls, brows now settling into a furrow and leans closer to the book open before him. He was going to make himself take in every last bloody word and he was going to understand it and he was going to stop trying to make sense of the shapes that was that dude over in the shadows. It was just not productive at all.

After the last little piece of meat is torn to a very fine shred, fingertips rub together, brushing off the little lingering bits that threaten to get caught under fingernails. The young man clears his throat, adjusting his seat so he can recline at a lazy sprawl. He reaches up, sucking the juices from the meat from his fingertips as bright eyes glance casually around the room. There’s nothing special intended with the attention he’s giving his own fingers within the bar, the glaze on the wherry happened to be pretty good. “Alright,” he says, inspecting his thumb as he nibbles on one little spot. “Time for daddy to give his Sugar a little dindin.” At the mention of Sugar, his chest pocket begins to shift and move, revealing the tiniest green firelizard peeking up with little whirling ruby eyes. Carellos cracks a crooked smile, tilting his head to the side as he watches the hatching gingerly take the little tidbit and at swallow it down neatly, then it cheeps quietly. More, please! Carellos laughs, quietly and likely drown out from the sounds within the bar. After a few more pieces, the tiny green retreats back into the pocket and out of sight. The remains of the cooked meat are nibbled at idly, a tiny piece hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

As Reksler does not have the ability to see in the dark and his own table is quite illuminated, well, his eyeballs can not process anything going on in the shadows of Carellos’ little corner. At some point the aching curiosity eases with little more to go on then meat being broken apart by floating hands and so the Harper gets back to getting some actual work done. Everything was going just swimmingly too, up until that voice comes out of the black. Sugar? Really? Fingers are tapped annoyedly upon the tabletop, soon having read the same one or two words about twelve times before Reks slams his hands onto the table and thrusts himself up to a hunched position. Bright blue eyes dart towards the shadowy corner soon climbing up onto his chair to reach for the glow basket hung above his head. Luckily he’s tall enough to reach it with that bit of help, this action already having worked up the bartender. “Hey! You! Cut that out!” Reks ignores him, determined. HE MUST KNOW! Grunt, reach, and SUCCESS! Hopping down in that way that teenagers can without looking pretentious, he stomps over and heavily sets the glow basket down straight onto the table at which Carellos is seated, illuminating the gloom of the further most back corner of the Fortian bar. Not spending a second longer in anticipation, the Harper peers straight at the baker and instantly his shoulders slump. “Faranth,” he sighs, can’t seem to keep his eyes off him, taking in every detail before dropping into a chair right then and there, “That’s just not fair.” The bartender has since marched over, glaring now at Reks as he grabs the glow basket he’d just brought over and yanks it right back up again. Huffing, long legs carry him back to where the Harper had taken it from and promptly puts it back. He forks two fingers at his eyes and then points at the blue-eyed teen before returning to his position behind the bar counter. He will be watching.

It’s a shame, poor Reksler, but perhaps it’s for the best that the young man can’t hear Carellos savor every last drop like he’s having a good time behind the corner of a building or in a closet but failing miserably at being remotely discrete. He finishes the last little bit on his plate and he lifts it up, just as the glow basket finds it’s way upon the table. He merely sits there, staring confused at Reksler for a moment before he slowly runs his tongue across his lower lip, careful to pull in that last little shred of meat. Last thing he needs is to have it fall down the collar of his shirt with the juices dripping all the way down to his stomach. This was his favorite tunic, after all. “I’m sorry, was I supposed to share?” he says with a raise of brows and a little shrug to his shoulders. Whoops. “You know, I’m sure there’s some more. I can go to the bar and get another round if you want to just uh, sit right there.” Cause, you know, he’s there already.

“No,” Reksler says with a long dramatic sigh, his life, apparently over now. “I’m going. Sorry to bother you.” Drawing a breath in sharply through his nostrils he places his hands on his thighs and pushes himself up to standing once more. They say that curiosity killed the feline, but in the harper’s case it decimated his self-esteem. The bartender who was still shooting him the evil eye is completely ignored and he slumps his way back to his table and flumps himself back into the chair he’d procured for himself upon arrival, splaying himself out over all his books and just looking plain old depressed. All he had to do now was wait for the cobwebs to cover him and for Death to claim whatever was left over. What is even life? It's then that he lets out the air he was holding from back when he’d invited himself to sit with Carellos in probably the deepest sighs ever imagined by mortal man, quickly followed by a groan. There were no more curious peeks back to the shadowy corner, cornflower blue eyes locked on the exit he knew he should probably be making for with what little scraps of dignity and pride he might have left.

Wood scrapes on stone and Carellos slowly rises to his feet, he carries his platter over to the direction of the bar. As he passes, those playful emerald hues peer out of the corner of his eyes through soot colored lashes to poor, poor Reksler. Grinning widely with teeth a brilliant white, and he even goes as far as doing a tiny roll of his eyes before turning to the bartender. Words are murmured, and the plate is passed back to a bar hand, then Carellos casually slides his hands into his pockets. He purposely makes his way to the Harper's side and he leans forward, chewing on the bottom of his lower lip as he examines the table, then turning to stare right into those cornflower blues. "Is this seat taken?" If Reksler needs a chance to answer, he’s not going to get it because the Baker reaches over, taking another chair and he spins it on one leg to straddle the seat back with arms folded upon the back rest.

Lost in whatever thoughts might rattle around in the drama queen’s head there, Reks barely notices that Carellos has gotten up and walked past him to the bar, and that there is some sort of secret communication going on. Lolling his head where he’s rested it against his outstretched arm, the Harper enthusiastically redirects his attention from the door to the two discussing things and passing plates and it's probably not possible to look anymore put out than Reksler does right now. HIs eyes follow the progression of the baker as he wanders back his way oh so casually and oh so handsomely. The bastard. If it possible to look both annoyed and fascinated at the same time, the Harper manages it with brows sinking further and further into a deeper and deeper furrow until he has to move to angle his head in order to continue grumping directly at the object of his destruction. “What do you wa…” he begins to bark as Carellos chews lip and leans, surveying his table covered in history books and Earth lore. Then he gets an eyeful of those deep emeralds, making his own cornflower blues widen and features soften before he flushes darkly across his cheeks and all that grumpiness returns in full force, purposely looking off elsewhere. “No, no…” Reksler grumbles as Carellos helps himself to a seat as if he hadn’t bothered to ask in the first place, “…please…help yourself.” Now it was his turn to huff, flopping back down and giving his full attention back to the door. Great, now he had to share his air with Ridiculously Attractive Guy.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he says, brows lifting momentarily as he turns his emerald gaze over to the approaching figure. A small platter of those pies are brought to the table, steaming and warm from the ovens. Carellos is careful with the placement of the plate, ensuring not one bit of it is anywhere near the Harper’s papers or belongings. He takes one within his fingertips, breaking off a little piece and he blows on his fingers as the filling begins to pool down the side. With a quick lick, the filling is tended to and the baker goes back to inspecting everything laid out before him. Is he really reading it? “So, what amazing secrets are you uncovering right now?” Curious, isn’t he? Carellos leans back, rolling his shoulders in a little stretch and he glances over his shoulder, nodding to the bar keep once more. He saw that pitcher.

Reksler silently rolls his eyes, not exactly hiding it because his expression can easily be seen in profile as he slumps there with that frown.. He does glance the way of the falling footsteps as they approach, brows shooting upwards and momentarily confused until that platter is being set down, and it's then that his frown returns in earnest scrambling to quickly collect the books that were rather spread all over the table. He stacks them very carefully in accordance to size, shooting Carellos a look that would certainly have meant his death was one able to slay another with daggers shot from their eyeballs. “You wouldn’t understand even if I explained it to you.” Because pretty people were stupid, this is the reasoning left unspoken but vaguely suggested. Adjusting and readjusting the stack awkwardly, he doesn’t seem to be able to sit still anymore, needing to finger this or diddle with that all in an effort to keep himself from looking too long at the baker apprentice. Of course, he’s probably aware of the fact he was peeking now and then, and it was doing nothing for the amount of color that had creeped into his relatively pale cheeks. He ignores the pies, which he likely surmises aren’t for communal consumption anyway.

“Maybe I will if we go somewhere a little less… noisy,” he begins, running his tongue absentmindedly around the edge of his mouth. He glances at the pie and peers down into the feeling with a seriously suspicious look and he frowns. Of course they’d skimp on the ingredients. Considering where he is, and the fact he didn’t make them would explain alot. Carellos shrugs, peering back over to Reksler with a crooked smile at the diddling. There’s much to be diddled. Now that the table is relatively cleared off and all special things have been hastily hidden to preserve their secrets, the baker slides the platter over to the harper. “I’d be too distracted here and we wouldn’t have to worry about other people popping in and offering their opinions and I don’t want to hear their opinions, I want to hear your voice. I have to make sure it all sinks in well if I intend on getting a proper education.” There’s another seemingly innocent smile before Carellos takes another bite of the pie and when he does, he manages to get all but one measly little bit of filling off of the corner of his mouth.

The harper slide glances at Carellos, giving him a long hard look. “It’s not noisy in here at all.” But what he really means is, what is wrong with you? However, he can’t hold the expression long, what with Ridiculously Attractive Guy licking his lips like that. “Could you, not, do that?” he asks, sounding both slightly annoyed and fractionally irritated. Considering that the baker appeared less than satisfied with the pie for whatever reason, cornflower blues flick to the confection and remain for a few lingering moments as if trying to glean the reason why. The flush on his cheeks deepens, sensing that those stupidly big green doe eyes were on him again and his shoulders tighten along with the hinge of his jaw, gaze sliding to the corners closest to Care as his expression hardens yet again. Stop looking at him Ridiculously Attractive Guy, geez. His gaze darts off back to the door, flumping back against his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. Hmmf. He might not be able to see that ‘seemingly’ innocent smile but the words have Reksler bristling for whatever reason as if just being near the baker was getting his hackles up. “Why?” he asks and there is a three second count before he glances briefly at Carellos and then rapidly off again as his blush spreads further, causing him to shift uncomfortably in his chair which only makes him bristle all the more, the muscle at his jaw hinge twitching furiously.

"Well," Carellos begins patting his pockets and looking into his lap, left and right with a brief look of confusion. For a moment, he looks downright perplexed but then the light comes on and he reaches into his pocket to pull out a handkerchief. He unfolds it and holds it in his hand while he glances back over to Reksler. "When I'm working in the kitchens, that's a different kind of chaos. Everyone is doing multiple things in a tight place so we don't have to communicate with words, we uh, often just look at eachother and pay attention to what's going on with our hands to know what needs to happen next. What to open, what to lay out and what to move. For subjects that I might not understand?" He feels the stray morsel and he tries to lick it off but it's not quite reaching. He huffs and tries to wipe his face, uncertain if he got it at all. "I'd like the least amount of distractions possible, but I can see you’ve got a lot going on so maybe I’ll just have to find the answers to all of your secrets on my own.”

There was an awful lot of motion going on in his peripheral view and Reksler finds himself glancing in Carellos’ direction completely against his will, but once he sees the handkerchief come out, eye flick to the guy’s mouth and then away very quickly indeed. Just in time perhaps to avoid any eye contact. He’s at least listening to what the baker is saying, even if what is being said is doing nothing for the amount of tension he had going on over there. Reks doesn’t say anything for the explanation, letting the other teen fall into silence and gives his full attention to the door. One might suppose that the harper wasn’t impress, or didn’t accept that as reason enough, but he does glance back at him again because the fumbling with the pie filling smudge was in itself almost as distracting as Carellos was. It wasn’t possible for his spine to get any straighter or stiffer, but he tries anyway before he growls and slaps a hand onto the table beside his books and turns with very sharp and quick jerky movements of his own, snatching away the hankie and rather roughly applying it to the offending location on the baker’s face. His expression was one of fierce determination as he turns something so simple into a serious project with clear results. Although, as Care continues on he stops and those cornflower blue eyes are blinked upwards to meet his emerald. Bristle. Bristle. Bristle. He was practically vibrating, even if the conflicting emotions running rampant across his features made pinpointing exactly what he might be thinking next to impossible. A second later he’s tossing the handkerchief into the baker’s lap and collecting his books, and the second after that he leaves his chair so quickly that it rocks back and forth some before settling again. Just ignore the fact he was almost entirely the color of a redfruit, boots falling hard against the floor, and how rigid his outstretched arm is as he’s pushing the door open in order to vacate the premises.

Carellos is just a little dumbfounded at the moment. How could he miss a particularly edible morsel on his face so badly that he needed another person to ensure his smile is properly groomed. "Uh, thanks?" He peers down at the pie, then the handkerchief, then the pie, then at the bartender, back at the pie, to the door and back to the chair that the harper once occupied. He takes a hasty bite of the inferior pie, reaches into his pocket to leave more than enough marks for his orders and with a quickness, the baker is climbing off of his seat and making his way to the door. He pauses, holding up his index finger as he remembers something mildly important, and on heel he's quick to make his way back to his dark shadowy table. Heavy coat is acquired and quickly pulled over his broad shoulders, complete with little squeak from his pocket. "Sorry, Sugar. You'll be toasty in a minute." Carellos turns and heads back, once again, reaching out just in time to put his hand on the door to stop it from opening… Only, the door was a little bit on the warm, fleshy side complete with fingers. The baker freezes, glancing down at his hand over Reksler’s and he smirks before withdrawing it. "You know, it's very rude of me to let you vanish off into the freezing outdoors without having a name to call after you."

Reksler was not paying any attention to the fact that he was being followed, not followed for coat retrieval and then followed once again. What he does notice is the hand that is placed over his own and it does a very decent job of keeping him from doing anything other than staring at it. Well, staring at it and doing his best impression of a thing that does not move, freezing him to the spot. Every muscle in his body stiffens, one by one, until he’s once again vibrating with the level of bristling set to maximum. In fact, he inhales sharply past parted lips only when Carellos removes his hand from his mostly because he had ceased to breathe in that time, instantly shooting the baker another one of those death glares. His second meta-demise this morning. “Reksler.” he snaps, adjusting the books beneath one arm, before shifting back and away, lifting a hand and pointing rather rudely right into the other teen’s face. He doesn’t say anything, but there is a note of warning. Eyes narrowing and long look given as he now backs out of the bar, all with that finger pointing, and as long as Carellos doesn’t follow him further he turns after a time and heads down towards the resident quarters.

"Reksler." Spoken softly and quiet, smoothing falling from Carellos lips as though he tasted something ever so sweet, savoring every last drop until the taste fades, leaving him wanting for more. Carellos smirks, emerald eyes peering down at that finger and the adorably angry look upon Reksler's face. The mood wasn't lost on him, he noticed and rather than feeling defensive, he finds it rather endearing. Warning? No. It's more of a 'I'll feel so heartbroken and lonely if you don't invade my personal space in the immediate future.' The baker watches him depart and he chuckles quietly, tugging on his collar and adjusting the weight of his heavy coat before casually opening the door and quickly making his way after him. It doesn't take long, but he's fallen into step next to Reksler, with hands comfortably slid into his pocket. Sugar even lifts her tiny head up out of the pocket, peering over at this other hoomin hers is following. She peeps quietly, tiny chin resting on the hem as she bounces along with her step. "You forgot something. Figured it’d be rude of me not to return it.”

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. It’s all rather rhythmic which might ironically suggest that the harper may actually have some musical training even if the books under his arms were purely literary. Reks is so focused on making his way down the twisting and turning tunnels of the many rooms that are the resident’s personal quarters that it’s only when he’s a few doors down from his own room that Carellos falls into step with him, and unfortunately it’s several long strides later that he seems to realize it. So now, he stops and plants his back to his door, trying to make as much room as possible between himself and this very persistent baker. Cornflower blues are narrowed and may very well have been narrowed the entire time, having acquired himself quite the mood back in Shenanigan’s. Books are shifted and placed like a barrier between them, arms wrapped around them. All the tension of the world rests on Reksler’s shoulders when he’s shoved way out of his comfort zone as Carellos has done in such a short amount of time. “What on Pern are you babbling about?” he grumbles, jaw setting as he attempts to stare threateningly. He might be unarmed with anything other than his wit, but that was as sharp as any blade Ridiculously Attractive Guy. Bring it. “Why are you following me? I didn’t forget anything.”

"Oh, really? I'm pretty sure you forgot something very important." Carellos raises his brows, a crooked smile finding its way upon his face before it turns into something wider. "You know, I would be a horrible person," he begins, placing a ever so heartfelt hand upon his chest. "If I didn't do everything in my power to return it to you. What kind of man would I be?" The baker's face relaxes, casual, peaceful. His eyes, though, are searching and waiting for any signs of movement that might signal any number of things. Could be hunger, could be predatory, could be heartburn from pies. "I couldn't wait and see if I would run into you again when I had something that belongs to you." The stack of books held between them isn’t lost on the man but maybe reaching forward and collecting the obvious burden might be a little too forward on a first meeting. Maybe. Though, it’s not so bad if you… “Can I give you a hand?”

Those eyes remain narrowed which must be exhausting, even if the longer he remains in the baker’s presence the steadier his return to redfruitdom. That crooked smile wasn’t helping either, forcing the harper’s eyes to the floor only as long as it takes for it to disappear and only then does he return to glaring quietly at Carellos. Brows are still furrowed in irritation but somehow manage to shift their expression into one of dubious effect. He says absolutely nothing, his eyes wandering the other teen’s face as if he were trying to figure something out for himself and the fact that he couldn’t was making him more and more frustrated. “You make no sense.” he says, holding up that finger again and yes there is that warning look to go with it. He clutches his books all the harder, but if only to free up one arm so he can reach back and grope at the doorknob to his room. Twisting it, the door itself is pushed open and he moves backwards into the spaciousness within. There isn’t much in there. A full-sized bed with gray bedding, a bookshelf, a desk and a small bathroom with little more than a toilet and sink it in. That was it. “Go away.” Stiff, bright red, and awkward enough to forget to slam the door in Care’s face; Reks heads over to the desk and places the books he was carrying on the top of the neatly arranged plain wooden desk.

Carellos chuckles, placing his hands on his hips while still in his pockets when Reksler gropes for the door handle. When the door is opened, he takes a deep breath and holds it, glancing up and down the hallway to see if anyone else is around. The interaction could be viewed as totally sketchy and that was never his intention but it’s so difficult to simply turn your back on a person whose eyes definitely have your attention. He makes note of the room and it’s simple at best, probably no more elaborate than anything he’s ever been in before. Though, there is something that gets his attention and he closes his eyes, taking in the scent emanating from the room. The baker shakes his head, back to reality and he closes the gap over to the desk, placing one hand on either side of the harper and he leans in, whispering close enough that Reksler will undoubtedly feel that sweetened breath touch upon his ear. “Only because you asked so nicely.” He pulls away, grinning and he takes a step back to watch the Harper before turning towards the doorway. Care pauses, peering over his shoulder with those emerald eyes and that crooked smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you forgot when you’re ready. Seems like you got your hands full, so like I said. Don’t worry,” he murmurs with his hand placed back against his heart once more. “I’ll keep it safe.” He turns, and steps down the hall, his footsteps slowly echoing into the unseen.

The firelizard, poor thing, was entirely ignored by Reksler even as adorable as she was. Perhaps the harper was growing up to be the kind of man that was mean like that, although he was sadly distracted so perhaps not all is as it seems. Carellos might recognize what was going on here, but Reks? Not a clue. Pointedly he’s unaware his room is being, sniffed. The general scent is not as sterile as it might appear, having been occupying the space long enough that it’s taken on a rather masculine odor but one that was clean and musky. The harper is admittedly startled when Care has the audacity to walk into his private space without invitation, but none more so than when hands appear and closeness is a hair’s width away from being a tangible physical thing. Cornflower blues widen to the size of serving platters and he forgets to breathe again. He is completely and utterly unable to do anything than remain perfectly still, as if he feared movement would betray his current location. Bakers are sight predators, obviously. Only when he can’t hear Carellos anymore does Reks dare taking a much needed draw of air from the room and shoot the empty doorway a withering glare. “What the fuck was that?” Yes, the harper had the capacity to use that sort of language, having picked it up from one book about Earth or another undoubtedly. Growling, he stomps over to the door that had been left open and slams it shut. He’ll spend the rest of the day grumbling to himself, unable to think about anything other than Ridiculously Attractive Guy, and wondering why he was so pissed off about it.

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