Dragoncrest Cliffs i can't help this awful energy

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Portia called her hun and for a moment she let the strange term of endearment hang awkwardly in the air as she struggled how to take it. Though Eske much preferred Trigedasleng to the Common she knew both fluently and understood terms of endearment when they were used even if this was the first time (that she could recall) anyone had ever called her “hun”. She couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps Portia used it because she didn’t know her name — understandable if she didn’t if only because Eske was an independent, lone type. After a few more seconds of dissecting the simple word Eske accepted it without any fuss or much of any reaction at all. Her ears cupped forth, attentive, when Portia made mention of the moss bundle she had dropped at her paws — Eske’s sea green-blue gaze flickered down to the bundle before she blinked back up at Portia — and rose her brow ever so slightly when the woman mentioned that it would save her a trip if Eske took a “good mouthful”. For a moment, Eske’s teeth grinder as she wondered if that was a command instead of a question. In truth, when Eske had asked if Portia needed anything it had just been a formality. She wasn’t a mule after all — and before those childish thoughts could be made into words she gave a quick bob of her head in a nod, cutting off any retort that had been brewing. “Sure.” She responded in affirmation to her nod. She had asked and there was no reason for her not to assist Portia. It was a “team player” thing to do and beyond that Eske was pretty sure (as far as she believed, anyway) she was probably already seen as enough of a bitch without actually putting fact to it (even though she could be from time to time).

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