[After coming to terms with his situation, horrific though it is, he still has something to give to Estinien. Well, other than a sore talking to, but that will certainly come first. As the others engage in their prattle and myriad conversations about...who knows what, Solus hardly cares. As he approaches the dragoon whom is the target of his ire, he looks every bit annoyed as he did from the start, though he has something tucked under his arm, a small rectangular box of some sort, yet he does not seem keen to bring attention to it.
The way he's speaking in a whisper-yell also seems as though he's not interested in bringing too much attention to them either. Not that he wishes to hide his discontent with this situation, he has made that rather blatant! Rather, he does not need any of them easing their way into his scolding.]
This really is unacceptable, you know. What have you to say for yourself? I had asked you to bring me Hythlodaeus, and instead you bring—[his golden eyes flick over to the others, before settling into a glare back at Estinien]—them. You know full well my abode is not accommodating enough for so many! Explain yourself!
@ anyone
[After his little...conversation with Estinien, he seems keen to attempt ignoring the others as best he can. Having taken the day off of work in preparation of Hythlodaeus' arrival...he has nowhere to be at the moment, and yet he wishes he did. While he carries himself with a certain glib ease, and is ever the chatty sort, he abhors when social situations do not go in his favor. Or when he loses some level of control over it, so right now he is feeling rather, uh. Put off by this all.
Long has he given up on trying to keep the others out of his fridge or cabinets, letting them help themselves to whatever might be in the apartment (which is, admittedly, not a whole lot with how he's been living, perhaps some crackers, there's cheese wedges of various kinds, a pack of beer, half drank bottle of wine, an exorbitant amount of canned coffee...). Trying his best to pay them no mind. Which is why he's keeping to his corner of the studio, sitting upon his bed trying to engross himself in a book—some sort of novelization of a play from this world.
Should one take it upon themselves to bother him, they certain can do so at their peril! But that's what the adventurer life is all about, right? Taking risks for possible rewards? Not that there is much of a reward for interacting with this old grouch, but...]
old man much too old for this shit
[After coming to terms with his situation, horrific though it is, he still has something to give to Estinien. Well, other than a sore talking to, but that will certainly come first. As the others engage in their prattle and myriad conversations about...who knows what, Solus hardly cares. As he approaches the dragoon whom is the target of his ire, he looks every bit annoyed as he did from the start, though he has something tucked under his arm, a small rectangular box of some sort, yet he does not seem keen to bring attention to it.
The way he's speaking in a whisper-yell also seems as though he's not interested in bringing too much attention to them either. Not that he wishes to hide his discontent with this situation, he has made that rather blatant! Rather, he does not need any of them easing their way into his scolding.]
This really is unacceptable, you know. What have you to say for yourself? I had asked you to bring me Hythlodaeus, and instead you bring—[his golden eyes flick over to the others, before settling into a glare back at Estinien]—them. You know full well my abode is not accommodating enough for so many! Explain yourself!
@ anyone
[After his little...conversation with Estinien, he seems keen to attempt ignoring the others as best he can. Having taken the day off of work in preparation of Hythlodaeus' arrival...he has nowhere to be at the moment, and yet he wishes he did. While he carries himself with a certain glib ease, and is ever the chatty sort, he abhors when social situations do not go in his favor. Or when he loses some level of control over it, so right now he is feeling rather, uh. Put off by this all.
Long has he given up on trying to keep the others out of his fridge or cabinets, letting them help themselves to whatever might be in the apartment (which is, admittedly, not a whole lot with how he's been living, perhaps some crackers, there's cheese wedges of various kinds, a pack of beer, half drank bottle of wine, an exorbitant amount of canned coffee...). Trying his best to pay them no mind. Which is why he's keeping to his corner of the studio, sitting upon his bed trying to engross himself in a book—some sort of novelization of a play from this world.
Should one take it upon themselves to bother him, they certain can do so at their peril! But that's what the adventurer life is all about, right? Taking risks for possible rewards? Not that there is much of a reward for interacting with this old grouch, but...]