[Speaking of not sleeping, Carlisle looks like he hasn't done any of that himself lately. That hair he keeps so tidy? As frazzled as his nerves. His tabard? Tossed over the back of one of the chairs at the table. Even the clergyman's hands twitch with a nervous energy as he clasps them together, his fingers picking at his gloves.
Or maybe he's trembling because he's cold -- one thing Michael might notice is that it is far colder in the apartment than just about anywhere in the city. Maybe that's why Carlisle wears so many sweaters.
He steps aside to let Michael in, his brow knotted tightly with a worry he doesn't know how to express, his shoulders stiff as he closes the door behind them and gestures toward the couch. There's a teapot over there, as well as a couple of mugs and some papers with glyphs, their lines as shaky as the hands that wrote them.]
Thank you for coming.
[He murmurs that despite the fact that he made it sound as though he was doing Michael a favor over the phone.]
\o/
Or maybe he's trembling because he's cold -- one thing Michael might notice is that it is far colder in the apartment than just about anywhere in the city. Maybe that's why Carlisle wears so many sweaters.
He steps aside to let Michael in, his brow knotted tightly with a worry he doesn't know how to express, his shoulders stiff as he closes the door behind them and gestures toward the couch. There's a teapot over there, as well as a couple of mugs and some papers with glyphs, their lines as shaky as the hands that wrote them.]
Thank you for coming.
[He murmurs that despite the fact that he made it sound as though he was doing Michael a favor over the phone.]