[ at least he seems to have calmed to a tolerable level, the fear, though likely not dissipated so easily, concealed at the very least. manageable. laurent knows what it is to be out of control; he does not relish it. there are few at the palace that can stop him when he's in such a state.
the pillow becomes unrecognizable shortly, the tattered remains dropped back onto the couch while laurent collects the strips of fabric he intends to use to wrap his shoulder. he is unused to attending himself when it comes to injuries, as a prince with slaves ready to answer, but he is used to doing most things in life in a solitary manner. when albel requests the blade, laurent's eyes rise to meet his, assessing.
the left hand is certainly a sight. laurent makes no show of not assessing that as well. this is not a political trade or negotiation. there is no need for tact or politeness. albel has a pillow in hand now, as if he wishes to tear it apart for some indecipherable reason, and laurent is confident in his quicksilver speed. without resistance, he hands over the blade, the hilt bloody from his fingers. ]
You will not need the couch or pillows. You are not the type to entertain guests. [ that much is very clear. laurent pries at his collar, carefully pulling the fabric from his skin, the gash at his shoulder slowly coming into bloody view as he keeps his steady gaze on albel and the knife. ]
no subject
the pillow becomes unrecognizable shortly, the tattered remains dropped back onto the couch while laurent collects the strips of fabric he intends to use to wrap his shoulder. he is unused to attending himself when it comes to injuries, as a prince with slaves ready to answer, but he is used to doing most things in life in a solitary manner. when albel requests the blade, laurent's eyes rise to meet his, assessing.
the left hand is certainly a sight. laurent makes no show of not assessing that as well. this is not a political trade or negotiation. there is no need for tact or politeness. albel has a pillow in hand now, as if he wishes to tear it apart for some indecipherable reason, and laurent is confident in his quicksilver speed. without resistance, he hands over the blade, the hilt bloody from his fingers. ]
You will not need the couch or pillows. You are not the type to entertain guests. [ that much is very clear. laurent pries at his collar, carefully pulling the fabric from his skin, the gash at his shoulder slowly coming into bloody view as he keeps his steady gaze on albel and the knife. ]