Hushed Willows furnace

Banner's faux glare didn't go unnoticed by the dark wraith who grinned at her but shrugged out of the long, tangling boughs of the willow, ducking though the gesture was useless as the spindly and cascading limbs of the willow tree feel like a curtain to the ground and there truly wasn't any ducking to avoid them. A soft, amused snort of a noise left Buchanan when she called him handsome. Was he? He didn't really know. He supposed he had to be somewhat attractive as The Officer was careful to never scar up his face. It was one of the few places where he did not bear any, not even beneath the short fur that covered it. He had the noticeable tally scars on his shoulder and of course the permanent brand of ownership: the docked tail; and then there were the scars that no one could see: the psychological damage perceived as “lessons” by The Officer. The hostility towards strangers, the hyper vigilance, the instability when dealing with strangers, flashbacks or anything that he generally viewed as a threat. Not to mention the acute Stockholm Syndrome he still found himself suffering from despite that he'd freed himself despite that it hadn't really been for himself. Did those things make him handsome? Or was it just a general term? He drew in a soft breath, realizing that he'd been over thinking it. Right. He wasn't supposed to over think.

And then the second half of her other sentence took precedence. Gentleman suitors. Were there more? Buchanan couldn't claim that it would surprise him if there were other males pursuing her beyond himself. She was beautiful and there were so many admirable qualities about her. Her low purl did not assure that the dark wraith that she was teasing him precisely, but Banner didn't strike him as the type to lead on several guys at one time. Or to lead on guys at all. “At least I've got that going for me,” He offered her a cheeky sort of grin, his docked tail giving a few quick wags.