𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝙱𝚘𝚊𝚛𝚍 (𝟻/𝟻 𝙲𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍; 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝙴𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍)

M sat down on the chair in the room. He didn’t feel ready, with his shaking legs.
“I suppose.”

Waist? He asked himself. He blushed faintly. They hadn’t done much as a married couple. The most they did was lay around and snuggle. And he was absolutely okay with that.
“Okay,” He finally said softly, tucking his legs into his body again.

M looked down and around, basically everywhere but her. “O-okay.” He cleared his throat and back down to his shirt. He took off the coat, itched at a wound and wiggled off the shirt he was wearing shyly.

M idly rubbed at a nasty-looking shoulder wound and sat up in his posture. “It’s okay. I won’t mind.”

M stuck out his arm, which was long and skinny. Noodle arms. He twitched when he felt her cold fingers brush his delicate skin, which sent a soft whisper of pain through his arm.

M frowned a bit and straightened out his neck. “Why do we need to do my neck?” There were faint scars on his neck, and a few fresh nicks on it.

Graci half-closed her eyes, smiling just a bit wider. “Your family sounds wonderful. Certainly a good family to grow up with.” She opened her eyes, leaning back in the seat.
“Did it have any impact with your job?” She asked this mainly out of curiosity.

"My mother being old as sin?" Jericho asked tilting his head to the side, taking another sip of his drink. He chuckled, "Oh it did. I spoke like an old priest for the longest time. Ye olde tongue, if you will. Not to mention that all of the old customs of our people weren't so 'old" to me. So it was hard to transition into the more 'modern' times." Jericho shook his head at his own sheltered childhood. He had been a two thousand year old man before he was even twenty.

Graci hummed softly, her eyes twinkling. “That must’ve been a handful. For your bosses and such.” She leaned back in the booth. “It still sounds fascinating. I remember when that type of language was popular. Ooh… so long ago.”

Jericho leaned forward, emboldened by the alcohol. "You remember? How is that? You mustn't be older than–" he paused, debating if he should go on. His mother would smack him over the head if she knew he was speaking so boldly to a woman about her age. "Eight hundred." He finished, frowning ever so slightly.

“Mmmm…” The woman laughed. “Jeez. Metaphorical and Neophyte are six-thousand yet you think an old-soul such as myself is not?” She leaned forward close to him with a laugh.
“Not even close.”

This time Jericho threw back his head and laughed deeply. "And here I thought I was being nice! M is in a league of his own. An unexplainable man. Neo is less so but still ancient. You seem much more vibrant."

Graci laughed softly with him, her eyes half-closed in her amusement. “You are being nice. But alas, you are wrong.” She winked at him.

M blinked at her a couple times. “No, you can measure it.”

M relaxed in his posture again, resting his chin on his knees. “What’s next?”

M frowned a bit. “Would it just be easier if I stood?”

M unfolded himself and stood up, looking down at his chest. Many scars and fresh wounds cut his thick skin.
“Hmm… not very pretty, is it?”

M glanced up at her and moved his head to comply. “Really? Hm… thank you.” He smiled a bit.

M gave a tiny jump when she touched one of his wounds, but he bluntly ignored his pain.
“That is okay,” He whispered softly.