Askier had seated himself on the floor and was using both hands to remove his boots, rainwater gushing out of them as he tipped them over. Â The miqo'te flexed his soaked feet and wiggled his toes as he tipped his head to the left and bumped the right side of his head with his right palm, water falling out of the pointed ear.Â
As the water ran from inside Askier's ear, his hearing sharpened and he heard Alexei's reply. The miqo'te grinned to himself as he rose to his feet, feeling the cool wood under his feet as he walked towards the stairs and headed into the basement, leaving his boots and coat in a pile beside the door.
As Askier descended, he went about removing his drenched shirt and held it in a ball in his left hand. The light Alexei had been working by cast a bright light over the Garlean's bare torso, highlighting the tapestry of scars and wounds the miqo'te had collected over his thirty-one years of life. Dancing with the scars across the flesh was an elaborate and extensive series of tribal style tattoos, inked into the epidermis in dark black. The tattoos were the newest addition and had not been pleasant or wanted. They were the final gift the Roe known as the Itar had given Askier aboard the boat where A skier had been broken and tortured. One, final reminder for Askier of the suffering he had endured at Itar's hands.
Askier's golden eyes fixed themselves on Alexei and then at the towel the hyur held. Askier smiled.
"That for me?" The bomb-maker asked as he pointed with his right hand, his left, mechanical arm limp at his side, the bolts that grafted the metal into his bone shimmering in the light as water ran down the arm.
As the water ran from inside Askier's ear, his hearing sharpened and he heard Alexei's reply. The miqo'te grinned to himself as he rose to his feet, feeling the cool wood under his feet as he walked towards the stairs and headed into the basement, leaving his boots and coat in a pile beside the door.
As Askier descended, he went about removing his drenched shirt and held it in a ball in his left hand. The light Alexei had been working by cast a bright light over the Garlean's bare torso, highlighting the tapestry of scars and wounds the miqo'te had collected over his thirty-one years of life. Dancing with the scars across the flesh was an elaborate and extensive series of tribal style tattoos, inked into the epidermis in dark black. The tattoos were the newest addition and had not been pleasant or wanted. They were the final gift the Roe known as the Itar had given Askier aboard the boat where A skier had been broken and tortured. One, final reminder for Askier of the suffering he had endured at Itar's hands.
Askier's golden eyes fixed themselves on Alexei and then at the towel the hyur held. Askier smiled.
"That for me?" The bomb-maker asked as he pointed with his right hand, his left, mechanical arm limp at his side, the bolts that grafted the metal into his bone shimmering in the light as water ran down the arm.
