Re: second class smoking room
The Charming man smirks. The god's words ring utterly true. The block on his tongue had been removed, and words come easier, and language feels as natural as moving his lips. "Most people know nothing to say," he says, however, amused at the idea. It's utterly fresh. He's never thought to put it that way, himself. Yes, most talkative people abuse the privilege of language.
When the mountainous man frowns, so does the Charming one, and he catches the pack of cigarettes in mid-air with both hands cupped. His eyes behind the glasses light up in that half second with the glee of snatching something so neatly out of the air. Despite the light bruising, he's remarkably boy-next-door, so normal, so strikingly handsome that he could be a prince if it wasn't for not being one. He doesn't realize how hot the pack of cigarettes are until they're already in his hands, though, and he yelps and drops it, cursing unintelligibly. He stamps a foot down on it to be sure it doesn't catch, then quickly slips his hands into his pockets, hiding their embarrassing redness. Stupid. "My mistake," he says, a touch sheepish.
The idea of smoking a cigarette has lost its novelty. Instead, he circles around Hephaestus in his upholstered throne, whispering with ash, steam, and smoke, observing him from all angles. "I've never met anyone like you before," he says, honestly. It's true now, and it will be true when he steps off this boat again. "You smoke and singe, so you can't touch anything. Do you have a...partner, then?" He swallows the word, a little. He reaches for something else to say, but finds 'partner' there instead, replacing an older word. Curious. "How do you touch them? How do you...become intimate with them?" His eyes glint with curiosity, blue and blue again, but oh so ordinary, so very human.