(— Krys’ cheeks flushed, matching the colour of her brightly dyed hair, as she felt the lips of the man, pressed to the back of her palm. She chuckled, softly, as her eyes met his, head tilting lightly to the side) Milady? Oh, no, I’m Krys. (— She chuckled softly) It’s a…Uhm, pleasure to meet you, sir.
[ ———— Charles' ears could very easily trace the origin of the subtle accent in her speech, evidently it hinted at the well-known British accent.. which didn't differ immensely from his own. Parting his plump lips, was a soft chortle. ] Oh goodness me, is my face marring with wrinkles? [ ———— Jesting in a playful manner, his head lolls to one side, a sweet smile plastered upon his lips. ] No need to make use of honorifics with me, Krys. My name is Charles, and it's a pleasure to meet you too.
Hello, lovely people who are active! Will you talk to me or shall I sell my soul to the devil to earn friends?
[ —— Craving for a companion, Char's brisk walk landed him before the unfamiliar lady. And typically, with his gentleman-like qualities, her palm is delicately grasped within his own, larger hand. To the back of her hand, pressed are his lips in a light kiss and soon, her hand is released, a smile playing on his lips. ] Not at all, milady.
—— Ɗown his jugular, traveled a thick, jittery gulp of saliva——his muscles cinched into paralyzing knots, tensing his body. Charles' desperation to slither off the dead giveaway of attire that hid his flesh, skyrocketed by each tick of the clock into.. whatever, unfamiliar fashion others had worn upon their flesh.
❝I...❞
——— ℭharles always battled the struggle of accepting a helping hand, perhaps due to his naturally independent nature. But right now——like this——no didn't fall into the category of an answer. He uttered, the words that moved his tongue hopefully not too carking.
['peers at you, a ghost of a smile flitting across his lips.] Hm.
[ —— Act normal, Char, act normal. The words bumped off the sides of his cranium in an infinite loop.. there was always the urgency to revive that reminder, worst case scenario being it gets stranded with many other concerns and needs, packed haphazardly at the back of his head. Victorian apparel still clothed his anatomy, his busted lip gradually healing. God knows how awfully long he had been roaming the streets, looking like some kicked puppy. Guard however not let down, he cleared his throat and avoided eye-to-eye contact with his observer. ] ...
