[ He nods, sipping his juice again before getting to his feet. He's been still for long enough - the stillness around them, after all, is chronic and the restlessness within him equally so, it evens out in this place, in Michel's little haven for two. Stretching, he runs one hand through his shaggy hair, long on one side and indescribable on the other - something about garden shears late at night, something about feeling frozen on at least two very different tracks in time, past and present fused together, something, something, there's a name for all of that somewhere and he, blissfully, doesn't have to care - in either case, his hair always looks like shit.
It fits the rest of him to a T.
Heading over to the window, he looks over the contents of the paint bucket critically, pursing his lips. ]
You have eyes in your own pretty head, darling. Maybe this time around, you should tell me what you see.
[ Without further ado, he slaps his right hand into the paint, splashing blue all over his sleeve and forearm. He gives it a couple of good twirls before stretching back to his full height, pulling his arm with him. Paint dripping onto the floor and his naked feet, Timm tilts his head sideways, eyes narrowed, and flicks his fingers at the window. Specks of blue scatter across the glass. ]
no subject
It fits the rest of him to a T.
Heading over to the window, he looks over the contents of the paint bucket critically, pursing his lips. ]
You have eyes in your own pretty head, darling. Maybe this time around, you should tell me what you see.
[ Without further ado, he slaps his right hand into the paint, splashing blue all over his sleeve and forearm. He gives it a couple of good twirls before stretching back to his full height, pulling his arm with him. Paint dripping onto the floor and his naked feet, Timm tilts his head sideways, eyes narrowed, and flicks his fingers at the window. Specks of blue scatter across the glass. ]