[ Adra doesn't have much of anything to say to that. Amenable to affection ... he's not amenable to a damn thing, right now. His fingers uncurl against the wall; he sways a little on his feet. He's beyond exhausted, especially after that display. He thinks of the enchanted waters he's taken from his two dungeon excursions, how he might like some now--but no. He won't. Discipline. He just needs to rest. To be alone.
no subject
He's fine. He's always fine.
Quietly. ]
Goodnight, Gilgamesh. Sleep well.
[ Light knows he won't. ]