It wasn't very often that Muraki thought back to his psych rotation as a student. But when he saw the name Machiavelli, he didn't think of his published works or his politics, but the term that psychologists often used to describe someone with the tendency to be dishonest and manipulative for their own personal gain. Along with narcissism and psychopathy, it formed a "dark triad" of personality traits. He chuckles a bit, enjoying the quaint and unexpected amusement of coincidence.
The messy bed in the corner also makes him lift his eyebrows, wondering if Law owned a dog (or what breed of dog was that big?) but he won't find Muraki looking at either of those things. He stands in front of the spacious windows and looks down at the ground below. And the human traffic going about their evening business.
A creaking door and a second set of footsteps draws his attention behind his head to his blind spots, but Muraki doesn't turn around until he hears Law's voice address him.
If he turned a second later than he did, he might've missed the flash of bare skin, and scars--though unsightly sometimes, made flesh even more fascinating and wonderful to behold--before it disappears beneath the surface of a knit sweater.]
Not at all. [A gentle smile already spread across his features.] I'm afraid I may be a bit earlier than expected, so the fault is all mine for intruding upon you.
[Once again he keeps his gaze trained on Law's face and avoids obvious visual dissection. This would usually be the point in the evening where he acknowledged that his companion looked nice--and he did, the dark gray was a nice contrast for his eyes. But Muraki decides to hold onto that for a moment, remembering that the word 'beautiful' threw him off before.
His eyes drift from his face to the black and white banner hanging behind him. It was hard not to notice: the stark colors and the blank, grinning face staring back at him, almost like a skull.
He blinks and turns to Law again.] You have a lovely home.
no subject
It wasn't very often that Muraki thought back to his psych rotation as a student. But when he saw the name Machiavelli, he didn't think of his published works or his politics, but the term that psychologists often used to describe someone with the tendency to be dishonest and manipulative for their own personal gain. Along with narcissism and psychopathy, it formed a "dark triad" of personality traits. He chuckles a bit, enjoying the quaint and unexpected amusement of coincidence.
The messy bed in the corner also makes him lift his eyebrows, wondering if Law owned a dog (or what breed of dog was that big?) but he won't find Muraki looking at either of those things. He stands in front of the spacious windows and looks down at the ground below. And the human traffic going about their evening business.
A creaking door and a second set of footsteps draws his attention behind his head to his blind spots, but Muraki doesn't turn around until he hears Law's voice address him.
If he turned a second later than he did, he might've missed the flash of bare skin, and scars--though unsightly sometimes, made flesh even more fascinating and wonderful to behold--before it disappears beneath the surface of a knit sweater.]
Not at all. [A gentle smile already spread across his features.] I'm afraid I may be a bit earlier than expected, so the fault is all mine for intruding upon you.
[Once again he keeps his gaze trained on Law's face and avoids obvious visual dissection. This would usually be the point in the evening where he acknowledged that his companion looked nice--and he did, the dark gray was a nice contrast for his eyes. But Muraki decides to hold onto that for a moment, remembering that the word 'beautiful' threw him off before.
His eyes drift from his face to the black and white banner hanging behind him. It was hard not to notice: the stark colors and the blank, grinning face staring back at him, almost like a skull.
He blinks and turns to Law again.] You have a lovely home.