[ Wriothesley launches into what turns into a lengthy answer. He doesn't mind — trust him, he has nothing on Signor Venigni or even Father when he got going — and besides, Pinocchio experiences a sort of second-hand enjoyment from the passionate expressions of other people sharing something they feel strongly about.
He has a passion for quality tea. A refined commodity, yet he has the rugged body and scars of a man who frequently gets into scraps. It's a fascinating dichotomy that begs a hundred questions about where he's from and what his life has been like. He burns to know... but they have time.
He'll eventually put it together that he knows several people from the same world, but for now, he's enjoying the sound of Wriothesley's voice. ]
We had black tea in Krat, [ he offers, a little unhelpfully, ] I'd like to try something different. Are any of those others on—
[ He slides his menu over to Wriothesley, leaning close while he taps a line with a metal fingertip, ] This says Masala Chai. [ Obviously he's keen, but glances up at him through his lashes, weighing whether to push for it, ] Is that what you meant?
no subject
He has a passion for quality tea. A refined commodity, yet he has the rugged body and scars of a man who frequently gets into scraps. It's a fascinating dichotomy that begs a hundred questions about where he's from and what his life has been like. He burns to know... but they have time.
He'll eventually put it together that he knows several people from the same world, but for now, he's enjoying the sound of Wriothesley's voice. ]
We had black tea in Krat, [ he offers, a little unhelpfully, ] I'd like to try something different. Are any of those others on—
[ He slides his menu over to Wriothesley, leaning close while he taps a line with a metal fingertip, ] This says Masala Chai. [ Obviously he's keen, but glances up at him through his lashes, weighing whether to push for it, ] Is that what you meant?