Here's a fellow who can't resist a pretty face: he's currently busy twining some bittersweet vines around the posts of the porch. Spying her, he pauses, and smiles to her. "Hey there, having a little trouble with that?" he asks.
"Aww! that's too bad," he says, tucking in a bit of the vine and coming to her side. "Wish I could help you out there, but I'm all thumbs with that kind of thing. Had a sister who tried to teach me, but all I ever made was a chewed up bit of string."
Titus has been off riding the white horse that he's appropriated since his arrival, but he's come back to the house, ready for a mug of warm cider or some fresh bread. But he's easily distracted by the sight of Iphi, wrassling with some knitting: he has vague memories of Keda knitting, humming songs to him as she did so, or of Nannie Flagg muttering as she knits.
"That looks like a challenge," he says, sympathetically.
"I have been well, though rather busy due to studying my lines for a play to be performed," he replies. "And how have you been?" he asks, approaching and reaching to take her hand, if she'll let him.
Dean comes tromping out of the house full speed, messing with something in his hands; he's distracted, himself, but one of those frustrated noises gets his attention at just the right moment and he glances over sharply, like a cat following a laser pointer's movement.
He doesn't know Iphigenia, but the consternation smooths out of his features at once, and his steps slow just before he reaches the steps now that his brain has caught up. He smiles in what he hopes is a disarming way, but may not be. "Hey, could you gimme a hand for a sec? Literally, a hand - I don't have enough of 'em."
His body is probably blocking most of the line of sight to what's in his hands, because he is sometimes brilliant.
He turns to meet her, and as soon as he does, she'll be able to see that he's got a full grown sparrow wrapped up in some string cupped gently but firmly in his hands, tucked against his stomach. It's struggling, and getting itself even further tangled, and Dean makes a frustrated noise of his own.
"I found it in a room upstairs - if I hold it, can you get it loose? Ow, shit!" Sparrows are feisty, and though it's not doing any real damage, this one is no exception: it's biting its would-be rescuer.
Hisoka steps out of the front door, and sees the dark-haired girl working on her knitting. He greets her quietly, "Hello, Iphigenia!" He hasn't run into her since they met at the Basement Bar in early April.
"What are you making?" He's got sympathy for the amount of effort she seems to be putting into her work. A craft is a craft, whether it's done with wood or yarn. They're all painstaking, or outright difficult.
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"That looks like a challenge," he says, sympathetically.
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"Titus!" she exclaims. "How have you been?"
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Dean comes tromping out of the house full speed, messing with something in his hands; he's distracted, himself, but one of those frustrated noises gets his attention at just the right moment and he glances over sharply, like a cat following a laser pointer's movement.
He doesn't know Iphigenia, but the consternation smooths out of his features at once, and his steps slow just before he reaches the steps now that his brain has caught up. He smiles in what he hopes is a disarming way, but may not be. "Hey, could you gimme a hand for a sec? Literally, a hand - I don't have enough of 'em."
His body is probably blocking most of the line of sight to what's in his hands, because he is sometimes brilliant.
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"I found it in a room upstairs - if I hold it, can you get it loose? Ow, shit!" Sparrows are feisty, and though it's not doing any real damage, this one is no exception: it's biting its would-be rescuer.
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"Oh, the poor thing! I can try to help, of course!"
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"--A scarf," she says, attempting a smile.
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