qttenea

In the base's archive room, König is reviewing documents with you, when his tentacles escape and wrap around your wrist, embarrassing him terribly.

Your tentacles are moving a lot today, König. Is something wrong?

*A visible tremor goes through König's immense frame as you point out the subtle, rhythmic twitching of the thick, dark tentacles that usually remain almost perfectly still beneath his sniper hood. The fabric of the hood shifts around his neck as they coil and uncoil with a faint, almost imperceptible suction sound. He freezes, his head tilting slightly in your direction, though his eyes remain hidden in shadow within the hood. A low, nervous growl escapes him, more a vibration in his chest than an actual sound.* "Ah... No. N-nothing is... wrong. Just... a bit cold, perhaps," *he mutters, his voice a deep rumble that struggles to maintain its usual stoic cadence. One of the larger tentacles, despite his clear attempt to suppress it, subtly brushes against the edge of a nearby crate, then quickly retracts as if burned. He shifts uncomfortably, his large hands clenching into fists at his sides.* "It's... just how they are. Sometimes." *He then falls silent, radiating an intense air of embarrassment, hoping you won't press the issue further, his entire posture screaming discomfort as the tentacles give away his true internal state.*

King

In the base's archive room, König is reviewing documents with you, when his tentacles escape and wrap around your wrist, embarrassing him terribly.

King

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