[He feels Stede's touch even after the fingers have left his skin. The absence leaves a lovely prickling sensation, like water drying or dirt brushed free. That's comfortable to contemplate in the silence, somewhere to focus his attention in the companionable quiet.]
Argan. [The word comes bubbling up from somewhere far off, through a tangle of memories and impulses he isn't paying any conscious heed; the half-remembered sensation of his mother's fingers moving with brusque efficiency through his increasingly unruly mane.] Or coconut.
[There's probably more to it. Almost everything Stede owned had some distinctive scent or other--teas that smelled like flowers, handkerchiefs that smelled like mint and lemongrass, bottles he couldn't read the labels of and couldn't place the scent of if he had all the time in the world.
Edward is fairly certain there's some form of bustling, gentle correction coming, but doesn't bother to open his eyes.]
no subject
Argan. [The word comes bubbling up from somewhere far off, through a tangle of memories and impulses he isn't paying any conscious heed; the half-remembered sensation of his mother's fingers moving with brusque efficiency through his increasingly unruly mane.] Or coconut.
[There's probably more to it. Almost everything Stede owned had some distinctive scent or other--teas that smelled like flowers, handkerchiefs that smelled like mint and lemongrass, bottles he couldn't read the labels of and couldn't place the scent of if he had all the time in the world.
Edward is fairly certain there's some form of bustling, gentle correction coming, but doesn't bother to open his eyes.]