Lasha had composed himself once more while Oleksei answered the door, drawing his cashmere robe up his arms once more and tying it carelessly. It covered his loins enough to obscure his momentarily inconvenient state.
Now his gaze rested lightly on Kassian Irinarhov, who stood before him with his weapon and in his uniform, as with every other time Ilarion had seen him, but there was a difference.
This time he did not look inspection-ready, or even combat ready. He had a heavy shadow staining his jaw, and indigo swathes of half moon darkness suspended beneath each eye. The olive of his complexion seemed drained of its earthy color, leaving a sallow and pallid face. HIs hair was overgrown and disheveled even beyond its usual haphazard Khokol willfullness.
Lasha's arctic eyes traversed downward, assessing, marking the rumpled uniform, the untucked tel'nyashka.
Then they rose, slowly, to return to the sniper's face.
"You look like a man who could use a drink, Irinarhov."
no subject
Now his gaze rested lightly on Kassian Irinarhov, who stood before him with his weapon and in his uniform, as with every other time Ilarion had seen him, but there was a difference.
This time he did not look inspection-ready, or even combat ready. He had a heavy shadow staining his jaw, and indigo swathes of half moon darkness suspended beneath each eye. The olive of his complexion seemed drained of its earthy color, leaving a sallow and pallid face. HIs hair was overgrown and disheveled even beyond its usual haphazard Khokol willfullness.
Lasha's arctic eyes traversed downward, assessing, marking the rumpled uniform, the untucked tel'nyashka.
Then they rose, slowly, to return to the sniper's face.
"You look like a man who could use a drink, Irinarhov."