Hard to say if Aoba was surprised or not by the sudden immensity of color he found himself surrounded by. On one hand, given the sparse utilitarianism of Declan’s ship, it had seemed fairly reasonable that all ships should be as such on the inside. Nothing to fly around if the gravity went off, nothing to get in your way if you had to hurry from one spot to another. Mac’s ship, on the other hand, felt like walking into someone’s highly personalized home indeed. He was easily identified as a colorful personality, so it wouldn’t have been too surprising to see an actual on-the-ground house of his look this way on the inside, but a ship?
The books, though. More than enough that he wandered past had couples in intense embraces on their covers to give away an idea of their contents. Must have been where he got all his relationship-spewing advice from, huh? Since his own tastes were questionable and his experience was non-existent, or such his commentary implied.
He gave the offered beanbag a few experimental nudges with a foot, the Desire-side of him voicing their confusion in a form of what the fuck? Was it like a papasan chair but without the base? Aoba gave it a sit, and wasn’t as graceful about it as he would have liked, but found it comfortable enough once he was settled, if bizarre in all its squishy-crunchy noises.
Left to wonder yet again at how often and how much Declan had apparently been able to talk to Mac about Aoba, Desire grabbed one of those easily-accessible books with a raunchy cover and flipped it open at random.
“No more headaches,” he agreed idly, thumbing through pages and looking for the porny bits. “They were only me, after all, and now I get to actually come out and play.”
no subject
The books, though. More than enough that he wandered past had couples in intense embraces on their covers to give away an idea of their contents. Must have been where he got all his relationship-spewing advice from, huh? Since his own tastes were questionable and his experience was non-existent, or such his commentary implied.
He gave the offered beanbag a few experimental nudges with a foot, the Desire-side of him voicing their confusion in a form of what the fuck? Was it like a papasan chair but without the base? Aoba gave it a sit, and wasn’t as graceful about it as he would have liked, but found it comfortable enough once he was settled, if bizarre in all its squishy-crunchy noises.
Left to wonder yet again at how often and how much Declan had apparently been able to talk to Mac about Aoba, Desire grabbed one of those easily-accessible books with a raunchy cover and flipped it open at random.
“No more headaches,” he agreed idly, thumbing through pages and looking for the porny bits. “They were only me, after all, and now I get to actually come out and play.”