"I'm not like, really one for ships, nu?" says Lyubov, flapping a hand dismissively. "Well, like. Not on the Bones. And like, thou need'st not bother with the formality, love. I'm not that old, and whatever language we're speaking, 'tis still weird to be you'd."
She cocks her head to one side, a mannerism he's picked from his husband.
"I'm ..." she pauses, considers Goldenglow intently, and says, "I'm Lyubov, to thee." She's suddenly very conscious of her voice, and height, and well, her everything. The Talons commune is one thing, and this place might be something else altogether. But Goldenglow doesn't look like she might object; Lyubov just hopes that read is accurate.
no subject
"I'm not like, really one for ships, nu?" says Lyubov, flapping a hand dismissively. "Well, like. Not on the Bones. And like, thou need'st not bother with the formality, love. I'm not that old, and whatever language we're speaking, 'tis still weird to be you'd."
She cocks her head to one side, a mannerism he's picked from his husband.
"I'm ..." she pauses, considers Goldenglow intently, and says, "I'm Lyubov, to thee." She's suddenly very conscious of her voice, and height, and well, her everything. The Talons commune is one thing, and this place might be something else altogether. But Goldenglow doesn't look like she might object; Lyubov just hopes that read is accurate.