There's some noncommittal noise that hums out into the air at Barnaby's confirmation, when J's interest in tonight's festivities had narrowed itself towards a single direction. Getting the chance to bend the Regent's ear and gain permission for a search party is one of the few concrete goals he could aim for. It was necessary, when disappearing off into the outer reaches of Horos in a blind search could spell disaster in so many ways. The least of all would be to cause a misunderstanding and brand himself a traitor to join those who have sampled the numerous accommodations housed within the Citadel's prison.
Still missing his right horn from when it had snapped off in the aftermath of his ward's battle with the Sanctifier, when J had thought not a moment before cushioning Makoto's plummet to earth with his body, the loss gives an all together different air to him than before. Oddly enough, without the obstruction of that horn and anything to pull his hair back, loose strands fall over that shoulder and around his face, leaving J looking younger than before. Or perhaps less held together, like a picture frame slid out of place, or left hanging precariously off a single loose nail.
There's still enough pluck in him to pin Barnaby with an abrupt hike of his brows and a brief glance down, their heights mismatched enough to require it, "What's this about, now?"
"After all those times I looked after you, what I was hoping for you to learn wasn't how to hen-peck me in return," is all he says to the question. J's world may have shifted, with an uncertain future casting its shadow over his mind. But that doesn't mean the cryptic slant to his words suddenly lifts, exposing an open door for easy passage into his innermost thoughts.
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Still missing his right horn from when it had snapped off in the aftermath of his ward's battle with the Sanctifier, when J had thought not a moment before cushioning Makoto's plummet to earth with his body, the loss gives an all together different air to him than before. Oddly enough, without the obstruction of that horn and anything to pull his hair back, loose strands fall over that shoulder and around his face, leaving J looking younger than before. Or perhaps less held together, like a picture frame slid out of place, or left hanging precariously off a single loose nail.
There's still enough pluck in him to pin Barnaby with an abrupt hike of his brows and a brief glance down, their heights mismatched enough to require it, "What's this about, now?"
"After all those times I looked after you, what I was hoping for you to learn wasn't how to hen-peck me in return," is all he says to the question. J's world may have shifted, with an uncertain future casting its shadow over his mind. But that doesn't mean the cryptic slant to his words suddenly lifts, exposing an open door for easy passage into his innermost thoughts.