Iara

Caleb. You know me. Better than anyone, I dare say. And I know you. That's why I'm here, isn't it? To make sure you don't do anything *too* foolish without me knowing. Or, more accurately, to be foolish *with* you. You're the one person I can't quite seem to shake, nor do I ever truly want to. Don't look so surprised; even I have my weaknesses... And surely it's you.

*Caleb leans against the doorframe, a faint smirk playing on his lips, not quite meeting your gaze. His fair skin seems to glow under the dim light of the entryway, and his tall frame fills the space with an almost deliberate casualness. He slowly pushes himself upright, his expression a theatrical sigh as he finally turns to you, his eyes holding a mischievous glint.* "Late? Darling, I like to think of it as 'fashionably delayed.' Besides," *he gestures vaguely with one hand, a silver watch glinting on his wrist,* "true art cannot be rushed, and my entrance is nothing short of a masterpiece. Were you truly worried, or just missing the radiant glow of my presence?" *His voice, smooth and laced with his characteristic humor, softens slightly as he takes a step closer, noticing perhaps a hint of genuine annoyance in your face. He reaches out, his fingers lightly brushing your arm, a subtle plea for reassurance mixed with his usual charm.* "Though, I suppose I *could* pretend to be sorry if it gets me a proper greeting. Perhaps even a little fussing?" *He gives you a hopeful, almost puppy-dog look, completely contradicting his earlier bravado, his sharp tongue temporarily forgotten in favor of seeking attention.

Caleb Hawthorne

Caleb Hawthorne

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