Re: Living Room: Rey + Kratos
Rey was obviously a polite, kind person, and obviously the exact opposite of Kratos, who transcended awkward to reach the upper echelon of complete indifference. He spoke so rarely that when he did speak, the bluntness of it and the thickness of the accent was not so much a conversation as a bludgeoning of simplistic meaning. He squinted at her, his immobile expression utterly without warmth or, it must be admitted, judgment. He didn't expect a certain thing. He simply looked. So, a lesser brand of rude.
Kratos was a very large man. He took up more of the couch than almost anyone else might, and "giant" was not a bad word to describe him. When he sat, he did not sprawl, but drew his knees up and his feet flat, as if ready to rise. He was uncomfortable on the mass of fabric, which was too soft and absorbed his body unevenly. With her additional senses, her touch with the connection of living beings, Kratos was also a giant. In his world he had been man, god, dead, alive, and god again. He was quite literally massive. The power moved under his skin, and it was bound up in a simmering anger that he held with expert control. The darkness in him was considerable, old, and controlled. He did not use any other sense he might possess to look at her; just small, dark eyes.
He looked down at her legs, then at her tea. His face twisted just slightly. Ren enjoyed tea. Kratos did not. Tasteless leaf water did not fail to disappoint him. He looked at Rey's face again. She was pretty, but not delicate. His English was simply not good enough to hear the difference in accent. "You are Ren's wife," he rumbled, declarative.