( he shakes his head as he lets go, spinning around and unaware that for once he's not the one trying to keep up with wherever Anya's head is jumping to next. he crouches down, working on the ties of his pack as he speaks. )
No, not anything like that. It's something else.
( he digs around, pulling out a turtle shell of all things, setting it to the side. what he pulls out has been tucked in the remains of a jacket that'd match his slacks if he had any desire to wear it. he doesn't, hence it's undignified existence stuffed in a carrysack. he unfolds it, pulling out the white and red and blue jacket it'd been protecting.
he stands with an echo of his normal grace, stepping light back around and throwing the jacket up and out, settling it over Anya's shoulders without so much as a by your leave. )
Since I ran off with yours the last time.
( his Team Russia jacket. his, because it's that same feeling as the stupid cat plushes, only slightly less irritating now. he's seen the like before on athletes competing for Russia; it makes him wonder if the skating he's grown into isn't something he actually did as competitively as the men he's watched skate through his hallucinomemories.
it's neither here nor there at the moment. he's adjusting the fall of the jacket over Anya's shoulders, pulling the collar close to closed by the front of her chest, over the dip of her collarbone. it doesn't match anything about her right now; her costume is something else, but quintessentially Anya, regardless. )
no subject
No, not anything like that. It's something else.
( he digs around, pulling out a turtle shell of all things, setting it to the side. what he pulls out has been tucked in the remains of a jacket that'd match his slacks if he had any desire to wear it. he doesn't, hence it's undignified existence stuffed in a carrysack. he unfolds it, pulling out the white and red and blue jacket it'd been protecting.
he stands with an echo of his normal grace, stepping light back around and throwing the jacket up and out, settling it over Anya's shoulders without so much as a by your leave. )
Since I ran off with yours the last time.
( his Team Russia jacket. his, because it's that same feeling as the stupid cat plushes, only slightly less irritating now. he's seen the like before on athletes competing for Russia; it makes him wonder if the skating he's grown into isn't something he actually did as competitively as the men he's watched skate through his hallucinomemories.
it's neither here nor there at the moment. he's adjusting the fall of the jacket over Anya's shoulders, pulling the collar close to closed by the front of her chest, over the dip of her collarbone. it doesn't match anything about her right now; her costume is something else, but quintessentially Anya, regardless. )
For you.