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Oh no, don't get me wrong! -Likes reading your posts- ^^ I just run out of steam super quick trying to keep up, so thanks for understanding if I can't match <3333 Also, I'm sorry Barry is such a horn dog |: -Kicks him-
Barrett knew little of Haku's past transgressions and the infamy surrounding Dahlia de Mai. Anselm had mentioned the twisted demon several times in passing, but the yearling didn't remember enough to connect the dots between the murderer and amiable Alae's associates. In truth, his grandfather had never begrudged the pack for harbouring the blue-eyed monster—he had understood their crooked King to be manipulative and deceitful, intimidating and domineering. Though he never wished Firefly or Kol or any of the others ill will, he would be downright delirious from delight if he heard the bastard had perished at his cousin's fangs, even now—even after he'd been away for so long.
Of course, Barrett thought little of such things. It was safe to say his reservations had nothing to do with Dahlian prejudice. He wanted connections and customers, certainly, but he also wanted to stay off the big dogs' radar. Anything pack-wide posed a security risk, and those that came with the territory were bad enough. He was, however, quite open to a personal partnership, especially with someone as kind, peaceful, attractive, and... whoa, bendy. For the first time he was noticeably gawking, with his eyes running over the strange contours this pose imparted on her figure. He was flexible and well-centred from his training, but he doubted he could contort or keep his balance as effortlessly as the young woman.
Needless to say, as she grinned at him he grinned back, thinking less of the pure mental state such exercises were meant to confer, and more of the other (lewd) ways to relax and strengthen the body. This (among other reasons) was why he could never be a monk—he missed the point entirely. She shrugged and his fantasies took to the back burner. He blinked and his ears fell back awkwardly as he pointedly glanced off to one side in silent apology. “I have no idea how you did that,” he breathed as he looked back to her. He tried to replicate her careful process, but wound up flailing and nearly falling on his face. He caught himself, however, and offered a nervous chuckle. At least, he thought bitterly, he was half-decent at dissipating the sexual tension through his goofy antics.
Still, they had been flirting before anyway, had they not? Maybe she wouldn't mind. Perhaps—she'd even like to help guide him? He nodded hastily regarding the business talk, agreeing wholeheartedly but also more interested in the Dancing Shiva. His eyes sought hers imploringly in a thinly veiled invitation to make physical contact, under the guise of helping him keep his balance while he reattempted the Baptiste pose. He wouldn't voice the question aloud, lest it become awkward and she refused—and he wouldn't initiate or press the matter if she was uncomfortable. He was a slave to his hormones, so he had to try, but he wasn't a creepy jerk, either. Perhaps another blunt was in order either way.
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