[That almost makes Koby laugh, through the tears, still wearing the (stupid) mask, sitting at his favorite table with books he can't read because he can't wear his glasses over his (stupid!!) mask. He's cried so much his throat hurts, his eyes are as red as the mask, and maybe there's a flicker of a thought: what if the wolf gets him? Would it be easier?
It's not a new thought, but Koby pushes it away as Alicent approaches. He's out of his masquerade clothes, at least, wearing a borrowed sweatshirt -- Quentin's, large enough that he can sort of burrow inside it. He's already small, and he knows it makes it worse, but he needs the reassurance of burying his face in the fabric and breathing.
Another sniff, then he swallows against the ache of old tears.] Hi. [It comes out shaky, childish, but he reaches slowly to grab something out of his bag -- water bottles, sealed, chill and wet with condensation from the fridge, still.] Here. If you're anything like me, you probably haven't hydrated enough. [He offers one, trying to pretend like his eyes aren't bright, like his lower lip isn't trembling, like there aren't tears streaking down his face, still.]
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It's not a new thought, but Koby pushes it away as Alicent approaches. He's out of his masquerade clothes, at least, wearing a borrowed sweatshirt -- Quentin's, large enough that he can sort of burrow inside it. He's already small, and he knows it makes it worse, but he needs the reassurance of burying his face in the fabric and breathing.
Another sniff, then he swallows against the ache of old tears.] Hi. [It comes out shaky, childish, but he reaches slowly to grab something out of his bag -- water bottles, sealed, chill and wet with condensation from the fridge, still.] Here. If you're anything like me, you probably haven't hydrated enough. [He offers one, trying to pretend like his eyes aren't bright, like his lower lip isn't trembling, like there aren't tears streaking down his face, still.]