[ There is a hand about his wrist, a grasp strong enough to be wholly felt; to stall his step and tether him to a present where he cannot bury himself in idle tasks (setting water to boil, rifling through the ship's galley for ingredients to prepare a bite to eat along with tea), keeping busy so that Saber's words—your subordinates may not approve—will not mean so much more than she'd intended them to.
He is aware of it, profoundly so, how each and every one of his actions impacts those who work beneath him. Already, he has made a misstep (speaking out, in the name of peace, demanding that the Company both do better and be better by all of Westerley), and someone had suffered for it.
(All the more likely that Sion's assistant, who remains yet upon the docks, lingers close by out of fear for not only the Director, but for himself. And for this, Sion cannot blame the man.) ]
My apologies. [ —his voice is soft, golden eyes wide and oddly solemn. Somehow, this is different. She is different because for the very first time in longer than Sion cares to remember, someone has reached out to him, and all at once, he feels terribly boyish—scolded, by someone kind enough to welcome him as a guest. ] I have trespassed against you, haven't I?
But--...
[ Giving pause, he swings the link of their hands in a gentle back-and-forth, to and fro. ]
If I am to sit down, you'll have to let go?
[ Not that he minds the contact, of course—it's nice. ]
no subject
[ There is a hand about his wrist, a grasp strong enough to be wholly felt; to stall his step and tether him to a present where he cannot bury himself in idle tasks (setting water to boil, rifling through the ship's galley for ingredients to prepare a bite to eat along with tea), keeping busy so that Saber's words—your subordinates may not approve—will not mean so much more than she'd intended them to.
He is aware of it, profoundly so, how each and every one of his actions impacts those who work beneath him. Already, he has made a misstep (speaking out, in the name of peace, demanding that the Company both do better and be better by all of Westerley), and someone had suffered for it.
(All the more likely that Sion's assistant, who remains yet upon the docks, lingers close by out of fear for not only the Director, but for himself. And for this, Sion cannot blame the man.) ]
My apologies. [ —his voice is soft, golden eyes wide and oddly solemn. Somehow, this is different. She is different because for the very first time in longer than Sion cares to remember, someone has reached out to him, and all at once, he feels terribly boyish—scolded, by someone kind enough to welcome him as a guest. ] I have trespassed against you, haven't I?
But--...
[ Giving pause, he swings the link of their hands in a gentle back-and-forth, to and fro. ]
If I am to sit down, you'll have to let go?
[ Not that he minds the contact, of course—it's nice. ]