[ He lets go of one foot so he can try using his fingernails to tickle the arch of the one he's still holding by the ankle, with an expression akin to a alchemist pouring one experimental liquid into another. ]
[ There's much less wariness with an anticipated knock, imagine that. The door swings open, Byerly is ushered briskly but warmly in. The place is still pretty tragically uninhabited-looking, but there are at least a few touches that suggest someone might possibly live here once in a while.
Such as: ] Good news: I have glasses this time.
[ A whole three of them, all set at the little table (with nowhere else to be stored, really), into which he quickly pours two generous cups of red wine. ]
[ His smile is wry and distinctly self deprecating, but he'll humor that with a lift and a drink regardless. ]
Appreciated. [ He slides into the not entirely comfortable wooden chair and under the table nudges the other one out for Byerly. ] So, what can you tell me about Benedict?
[ He casts his mind back, going thoughtful again as he digs for any memory of lead-up, of flirtatiousness between them prior to it. But, nope, coming up empty. He shakes his head. ]
Truly it was. Not quite my style, if you can believe it.
[ Which, well, would probably be more surprising to anyone who'd known Vanadi previous to arrival here. He has gotten a bit cagey lately. ]
[ He offers just cocked eyebrows and an apologetic shrug. He's had crasser moments, to be sure, and furthermore having enjoyed many of them is not quite a paragon of class himself, but it was still worthy of a little judgment. ]
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