[ His Kefta isn't perfect, but still intact--a little frayed and torn in some places, thanks to his adventure in the Fold, but he'd cleaned it with great care. The embroidery is still rich, the shape is still there, it's still a grand garment despite it. It pains him, lending it to someone he barely knows, but the situation is one he doesn't know or recognize, and that means playing along with niceties--that, at least, is something Kirigan is very, very good at. ]
Here. For warmth, until we find something else. [ His words are purposeful when he says 'we.' There's a flicker of something soft running through his features, just for a moment, though it stops when he breaks her gaze and glances around. He still feels an oppressive weight, like someone's watching him, unsettling in a way he hasn't felt in a very, very long time. He slides off his Kefta, casting one last look at the bulletin board and holding the coat out to help the other into it.
The situation is... not ideal. What's your name? [ They should leave. There's someone here, he knows it. ]
no subject
Here. For warmth, until we find something else. [ His words are purposeful when he says 'we.' There's a flicker of something soft running through his features, just for a moment, though it stops when he breaks her gaze and glances around. He still feels an oppressive weight, like someone's watching him, unsettling in a way he hasn't felt in a very, very long time. He slides off his Kefta, casting one last look at the bulletin board and holding the coat out to help the other into it.
The situation is... not ideal. What's your name? [ They should leave. There's someone here, he knows it. ]