[Most people have probably never seen Rufus in something other than his iconic white coat; perhaps it comes as some surprise, then, when he answers the door considerably more dressed down than he usually tends to appear, in breezy white linen trousers and a black collared shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled to the elbow, the collar and first button undone and a folded-up pair of aviator sunglasses clipped through to hang from the lowest point of the V they make. Darkstar is, as promised, looming at his side, more beast than dog — and yet laced through her usual chain collar is a length of crocheted yarn threaded with bells and tied off in a ribbon bow, clearly handmade and very much not what one might expect of the resident killbeast.
It's almost offensive how effortless he looks, and how well he blends in with his surroundings behind the door: framed by walls of nearly-white lit with fixtures that cast a yellowy glow and a stunning marble floor inlaid with gold, sleek and polished in an Art Deco style. The Queen floor treats its guests like royalty, and this suite is no exception: it's a veritable palace beyond, dripping in grandeur and luxury.]
Miss Lockhart.
[He motions subtly with two fingers on the hand that isn't holding the door; Darkstar, recognizing the command, sits obediently and without hesitation.]
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It's almost offensive how effortless he looks, and how well he blends in with his surroundings behind the door: framed by walls of nearly-white lit with fixtures that cast a yellowy glow and a stunning marble floor inlaid with gold, sleek and polished in an Art Deco style. The Queen floor treats its guests like royalty, and this suite is no exception: it's a veritable palace beyond, dripping in grandeur and luxury.]
Miss Lockhart.
[He motions subtly with two fingers on the hand that isn't holding the door; Darkstar, recognizing the command, sits obediently and without hesitation.]
Come in. Make yourself at home.