[open post]

[embitterdinetna]

It is, on first sight, an innocuous and slightly saccharine scene, the sort one might expect of the more sanctimonious Victorian painters on a less coherent day: the dark crooked man in his antiquated draperies, seated awkwardly on the sunlit grass, all his attention bent on the blossoming crocus by his hand. The Patient Sufferer, Consoled by Dame

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[finweson]

*walks by, then, and sees the forge-god pondering the crocus*
*watches for a while before he speaks*

Yes, Spring has finally come...

[embitterdinetna]

He lifts a dark, unhurried, unreadable gaze. "Aye."

[finweson]

*nods in greeting, then*
... it has been a while.

[embitterdinetna]

A slight inclination of the head -- he's never been much good with small talk.

[finweson]

*well, that makes two of them*
*feels he has to be polite as Hephaestos is a colleague, sort of, though*

I assume you have been busy?

[embitterdinetna]

Not quite a smile. "After my fashion."

[finweson]

*more like a smile* Of course.