[She's more beautiful than any image light on paper could paint. All at once, he sees it. Bits of his own mother, bits of Claire, bits of himself. Bits of Faith, though he only ever heard of her and drew up a picture in his mind of how she must have looked, not seen her with his own eyes.
When she moves, moves towards him, for a moment his vision darkens around the edges. But he can feel Claire gripping his arm, and her other hand against the small of his back, and it reminds him that this is real. This is happening. This is his daughter. And oh, God, she's speaking.
... with the strangest accent he's ever heard. It's clear on his face for a moment. And then he laughs. It's almost just a breath, everything still caught in his throat and his chest, but she's here and she's speaking and she's a witty one. Just like her mother.]
I'm afraid I don't spend much time looking down at my own nose, lass.
[His free hand lifts, almost as if to touch her face, but he thinks better of it. It's an awkward motion that has him standing uncomfortably, every emotion wanting him to crush her to his chest, but not wanting to frighten her.]
no subject
When she moves, moves towards him, for a moment his vision darkens around the edges. But he can feel Claire gripping his arm, and her other hand against the small of his back, and it reminds him that this is real. This is happening. This is his daughter. And oh, God, she's speaking.
... with the strangest accent he's ever heard. It's clear on his face for a moment. And then he laughs. It's almost just a breath, everything still caught in his throat and his chest, but she's here and she's speaking and she's a witty one. Just like her mother.]
I'm afraid I don't spend much time looking down at my own nose, lass.
[His free hand lifts, almost as if to touch her face, but he thinks better of it. It's an awkward motion that has him standing uncomfortably, every emotion wanting him to crush her to his chest, but not wanting to frighten her.]