(That slight brush of fingers on her neck, she finds the skin being rougher than she thought it would be — they're working hands, ones that hold the shield up and bring the sword down — works a little shudder out of her, but she doesn't laugh. There's no nervousness; she isn't ticklish. She turns her head slightly but still can't see him, only sense the suggestion of him standing behind with hands together to gather her hair up so gently.
Sort of dreamlike.
Gela smiles.) Calling me beautiful, or doing my hair?
(Warm, easy teasing. She likes this part of it so much, the gentle flirting before anything really happens. It always feels familiar to her.) Both are very alright.
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Sort of dreamlike.
Gela smiles.) Calling me beautiful, or doing my hair?
(Warm, easy teasing. She likes this part of it so much, the gentle flirting before anything really happens. It always feels familiar to her.) Both are very alright.