That does sound handy. [Idly but not inattentively, as she moves things around.] He isn't too heavy, with all that...? [She lifts one of the hands in which she's still holding a cup, making an attempt at gesturing vaguely that she gives up halfway through because she can't exactly splay her fingers and it wouldn't be a great idea to spill anything, either. She probably thinks he's a bit more metallic than he actually is even aside from his armor, since she has yet to see him in his true marshmallow form.]
[In any case, it isn't long before she's properly set up at the counter, eyes on her work as she prepares the latte itself. No art just yet; gotta have the foundation in place first.]
It should be. [Not overly simple but not too hard, either. (As she works, she's mulling it over already. What sort of rose? It can't be like the ones in Castle Oblivion, cold and stone and lifeless. It can't be like Marluxia's flowers, used for wicked ends. No, she thinks - more like Beast's, something living, something cherished and beautiful. ... Sans glass jar.) Regardless of her considerations and her efforts, she listens intently, nodding along without adding anything - until that last part.]
[Her hand tips up, drawing back the cup she was pouring from, and conveniently it coincides with the correct time to stop, but her eyes flick up toward him and she pauses, head still bent to her work. There's a realization in that look, for it's then that she recognizes she's let something slip, and her eyes search him briefly. Despite it not being her intention, the more she thinks about it - it's not so bad for him to know that, is it? So she lowers her eyes again, shoulders moving in the barest suggestion of a shrug.] Not really. Before, I drew what I did because that was what was needed. [It was way of helping her focus her powers, sorting things out in her own head. It wasn't completely necessary, but it wasn't exactly the same manner of creative outlet it would be for other people, either.] But now, it's not like that at all. I have so much freedom that I'm not always sure what to do with it.
[In more aspects of her life than her job. Steady, she begins the actual art. Her touch is a delicate one, every movement careful, calculated. That doesn't seem to stop her, however, from a belated, conversational,]
no subject
[In any case, it isn't long before she's properly set up at the counter, eyes on her work as she prepares the latte itself. No art just yet; gotta have the foundation in place first.]
It should be. [Not overly simple but not too hard, either. (As she works, she's mulling it over already. What sort of rose? It can't be like the ones in Castle Oblivion, cold and stone and lifeless. It can't be like Marluxia's flowers, used for wicked ends. No, she thinks - more like Beast's, something living, something cherished and beautiful. ... Sans glass jar.) Regardless of her considerations and her efforts, she listens intently, nodding along without adding anything - until that last part.]
[Her hand tips up, drawing back the cup she was pouring from, and conveniently it coincides with the correct time to stop, but her eyes flick up toward him and she pauses, head still bent to her work. There's a realization in that look, for it's then that she recognizes she's let something slip, and her eyes search him briefly. Despite it not being her intention, the more she thinks about it - it's not so bad for him to know that, is it? So she lowers her eyes again, shoulders moving in the barest suggestion of a shrug.] Not really. Before, I drew what I did because that was what was needed. [It was way of helping her focus her powers, sorting things out in her own head. It wasn't completely necessary, but it wasn't exactly the same manner of creative outlet it would be for other people, either.] But now, it's not like that at all. I have so much freedom that I'm not always sure what to do with it.
[In more aspects of her life than her job. Steady, she begins the actual art. Her touch is a delicate one, every movement careful, calculated. That doesn't seem to stop her, however, from a belated, conversational,]
Is Tadashi a friend of yours?