[Unpacking as needed is an ordeal in of itself, but it's a familiar dance by now. Jeremiah's gotten good about keeping things sorted with like items, able to find things without digging for them, pulling out only what's needed. For a moment while Lelouch is occupied, he steps away with his toiletries, set on accomplishing some of his evening routine. He may be more than capable of roughing it, but it's still preferential after a long day on the road to simply groom for a while, wash his face, brush anything out of his hair.
He removes his contact as well. It's not often he's wasting time gazing in mirrors lately, but it's comforting all the same to see himself and have orange and green both look back, rather than green on both. Jeremiah had tried wearing one over his robotic eye to match them the other way around, both orange as they once had been, but it had been too irritating to stand. Reconstructed skin around his eye, the shape of his prosthetic, he's just not sure why.
Jeremiah stares at himself for a long moment once he's done. He hasn't had much time to himself today, but he hasn't had much time away from Lelouch at all, so it's par for the course. Still, it's a chance to assess himself, the deepening copper of his complexion the longer they travel outdoors, metal points on his skin where his mask would attach, having peeled off the spots of latex he covers them with most of the time. No new or deepening lines; he looks, but he's not sure how his skin will age yet. There's still many unknowns about how his body will change and deteriorate over time.
Amethyst eyes, heavy-lidded and dark as night and yet boring straight through him like industrial equipment to tissue paper. Jeremiah still can't place the look near the docks that he'd received, what it is Lelouch had seen, but the longer he stares into his own irises the more he sees another set burning into his mind's eye. We may as well be insatiable.
He finishes up, working the thought back into the fold. It's not much use to spend time ruminating on every piece of Lelouch he can't put together or it's all he'd have time for, but the hollow ache left in his chest is disquieting regardless.
Stepping out of the bathroom, Jeremiah returns what he no longer needs to his belongings and tucks the large pack out of the way. The timing fits when the kettle goes from barely steaming to whistling, and he heads over to pick up where he'd left off.]
Of course. [Jeremiah grabs the steeper and the box of tea, briefly examining it again if it has a guide for the temperature. He finds none, so he eyeballs the same amount of leaves as usual for the two of them and settles it into the pot. Taking the kettle, he begins pouring it over, his nose getting a first glimpse as steam starts rising up.]
How's progress coming along? [Better than taking a stab at what he's marking, should it not jump out to him whenever he gets a glimpse of his work.]
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He removes his contact as well. It's not often he's wasting time gazing in mirrors lately, but it's comforting all the same to see himself and have orange and green both look back, rather than green on both. Jeremiah had tried wearing one over his robotic eye to match them the other way around, both orange as they once had been, but it had been too irritating to stand. Reconstructed skin around his eye, the shape of his prosthetic, he's just not sure why.
Jeremiah stares at himself for a long moment once he's done. He hasn't had much time to himself today, but he hasn't had much time away from Lelouch at all, so it's par for the course. Still, it's a chance to assess himself, the deepening copper of his complexion the longer they travel outdoors, metal points on his skin where his mask would attach, having peeled off the spots of latex he covers them with most of the time. No new or deepening lines; he looks, but he's not sure how his skin will age yet. There's still many unknowns about how his body will change and deteriorate over time.
Amethyst eyes, heavy-lidded and dark as night and yet boring straight through him like industrial equipment to tissue paper. Jeremiah still can't place the look near the docks that he'd received, what it is Lelouch had seen, but the longer he stares into his own irises the more he sees another set burning into his mind's eye. We may as well be insatiable.
He finishes up, working the thought back into the fold. It's not much use to spend time ruminating on every piece of Lelouch he can't put together or it's all he'd have time for, but the hollow ache left in his chest is disquieting regardless.
Stepping out of the bathroom, Jeremiah returns what he no longer needs to his belongings and tucks the large pack out of the way. The timing fits when the kettle goes from barely steaming to whistling, and he heads over to pick up where he'd left off.]
Of course. [Jeremiah grabs the steeper and the box of tea, briefly examining it again if it has a guide for the temperature. He finds none, so he eyeballs the same amount of leaves as usual for the two of them and settles it into the pot. Taking the kettle, he begins pouring it over, his nose getting a first glimpse as steam starts rising up.]
How's progress coming along? [Better than taking a stab at what he's marking, should it not jump out to him whenever he gets a glimpse of his work.]