[...yeah, the jar might've held some pickled vegetables once upon a time. He ate them, was left with a perfectly decent pickling jar he couldn't bear to throw out, but what was he supposed to do with it? He doesn't know how to pickle things. But at least the jar doesn't smell like vinegar, right?
Right.
The jar is placed on the table. And it looks nice. Homey. Like his apartment is somewhere he spends time in, instead of a place he briefly exists in before heading off to his duty, whatever form it might take that day. At the suggestion of a shower, Gepard half-turns towards Figaro.]
Are you sure you don't need my help with anything? [And then Gepard sniffs his arm, his nose wrinkles, and technically? Technically he hadn't had a shower since...a long while. He'd taken a morning- not even a shower, a rinse, went to work, changed, marched along the streets of Belobog, ran into Figaro/Ringo/Name-o, got...assaulted, slept over at his place, woke up, went back to work, and now he's here.
So while he's not filthy, sort of, he does have a bit of a presence. Somewhat of a presence. An olfactory presence that's not as crisp and as clean as one would expect from Captain Landau.]
If you don't, I'll take you up with that, with my apologies.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2024-05-19 03:27 am (UTC)Right.
The jar is placed on the table. And it looks nice. Homey. Like his apartment is somewhere he spends time in, instead of a place he briefly exists in before heading off to his duty, whatever form it might take that day. At the suggestion of a shower, Gepard half-turns towards Figaro.]
Are you sure you don't need my help with anything? [And then Gepard sniffs his arm, his nose wrinkles, and technically? Technically he hadn't had a shower since...a long while. He'd taken a morning- not even a shower, a rinse, went to work, changed, marched along the streets of Belobog, ran into Figaro/Ringo/Name-o, got...assaulted, slept over at his place, woke up, went back to work, and now he's here.
So while he's not filthy, sort of, he does have a bit of a presence. Somewhat of a presence. An olfactory presence that's not as crisp and as clean as one would expect from Captain Landau.]
If you don't, I'll take you up with that, with my apologies.