She has encountered several members of the Kenoma since she woke up in yet another foreign world, yet again without being asked her opinion on the matter. If she could have chosen death in her own world over life in Horos, she would have. If she could have chosen death in Horos over life in Kenos, she probably would have.
But now she’s here, both of her stomachs rumblings and only one eye left to glare with across the restaurant’s outdoor seating at a man she had tried to kill three times, forever interrupted. She’d had two eyes when they’d clashed in Achamoth. She’d ripped the throat out of the man who had ripped her eye out in the roots beneath the tree of life. She’d had to listen to another Kenoma tell her none of that matters here.
None of… that. But it is not as easy for her to forgive nor forget as it seems to her many others are far too foolishly happy to. As she continues glaring (more at… what he represents, than at him, really), the waitress finally takes her chance and slinks away, praying lunch hour would end before the woman had a chance to be seated.
Hayame’s tail twitches when he orders more fish as if to taunt her. Her lips thin into a tighter frown when he orders dishes for the other side of the table, empty. Was it an invitation, or was it mockery? She cannot tell.
… It smells good in there.
To her dubious credit, Hayame holds off a few more minutes. It wouldn’t do to appear weak-willed, no matter how hungry she was both for nostalgia and just for food. But eventually the unlucky waitress is flagged down, the seven foot some tall centaur leans down just enough to speak in low terms to the two-legged woman…
Who then, looking very confused, makes her way deftly around the tables until she can pop down to a squat near Gen, one hand on the table and her expression… yes, very confused as she asks,
Sir, I’m not sure… Ah, the missus over there is asking whether you “intend to invite her or insult her”…
no subject
She has encountered several members of the Kenoma since she woke up in yet another foreign world, yet again without being asked her opinion on the matter. If she could have chosen death in her own world over life in Horos, she would have. If she could have chosen death in Horos over life in Kenos, she probably would have.
But now she’s here, both of her stomachs rumblings and only one eye left to glare with across the restaurant’s outdoor seating at a man she had tried to kill three times, forever interrupted. She’d had two eyes when they’d clashed in Achamoth. She’d ripped the throat out of the man who had ripped her eye out in the roots beneath the tree of life. She’d had to listen to another Kenoma tell her none of that matters here.
None of… that. But it is not as easy for her to forgive nor forget as it seems to her many others are far too foolishly happy to. As she continues glaring (more at… what he represents, than at him, really), the waitress finally takes her chance and slinks away, praying lunch hour would end before the woman had a chance to be seated.
Hayame’s tail twitches when he orders more fish as if to taunt her. Her lips thin into a tighter frown when he orders dishes for the other side of the table, empty. Was it an invitation, or was it mockery? She cannot tell.
… It smells good in there.
To her dubious credit, Hayame holds off a few more minutes. It wouldn’t do to appear weak-willed, no matter how hungry she was both for nostalgia and just for food. But eventually the unlucky waitress is flagged down, the seven foot some tall centaur leans down just enough to speak in low terms to the two-legged woman…
Who then, looking very confused, makes her way deftly around the tables until she can pop down to a squat near Gen, one hand on the table and her expression… yes, very confused as she asks,
Sir, I’m not sure… Ah, the missus over there is asking whether you “intend to invite her or insult her”…
She’s so sorry, she just works here…]