Laszlo freezes. This is usually easier. Well, actually, he doesn't do this with other people. Or does he? He's been harsh with Tybalt (who laughs) or Presley (who gets mad) but this is uncharted territory. He suddenly looks wide eyed and a little panicked. Oliver's cheery smile spins the whole situation into further confusion, but he can't not say anything now. There are a lot of things Oliver actually looks like, that Laszlo has seen before. You look ill, you look like a painting of someone dying of tuberculosis, you look like The Death of Marat, you look like—"
"You," he forces out, "look like a chi— chia pet."
"I'm sorry?" Oliver blinks. At first he thinks he's misheard—maybe something in the pollen's taken root in his ear canal or his brain. But alas, today Oliver does not begin his life anew as a plant zombie. There's no mistaking what Laszlo's just said to him. Furrowed brow, Oliver touches his chin, then his jaw, then his hair. His fingers flutter over the wild waves, coming to rest on the back of his head.
Ah, yes, of course. This old song and dance. He should be used to how everyone engages him, and yet somehow he's always surprised. Uncertainty gives way to an even grin, though. Smile a shield, a screen. Charming all the way up to his eyes, which don't quite meet Laszlo's gaze anymore. "And here I was going for more of a moss-covered marble statue in a hidden garden thing," he jokes, then angles his head a bit. "A little bit off, huh? Oh well, plenty of people like chia pets just fine." He wiggles his eyebrows, for effect.
Laszlo Negs Oliver
Laszlo freezes. This is usually easier. Well, actually, he doesn't do this with other people. Or does he? He's been harsh with Tybalt (who laughs) or Presley (who gets mad) but this is uncharted territory. He suddenly looks wide eyed and a little panicked. Oliver's cheery smile spins the whole situation into further confusion, but he can't not say anything now. There are a lot of things Oliver actually looks like, that Laszlo has seen before. You look ill, you look like a painting of someone dying of tuberculosis, you look like The Death of Marat, you look like—"
"You," he forces out, "look like a chi— chia pet."
Laszlo Negs Oliver
Ah, yes, of course. This old song and dance. He should be used to how everyone engages him, and yet somehow he's always surprised. Uncertainty gives way to an even grin, though. Smile a shield, a screen. Charming all the way up to his eyes, which don't quite meet Laszlo's gaze anymore. "And here I was going for more of a moss-covered marble statue in a hidden garden thing," he jokes, then angles his head a bit. "A little bit off, huh? Oh well, plenty of people like chia pets just fine." He wiggles his eyebrows, for effect.