"Hey, can I join you?"
Ninjara jerks up slightly, leaves rustling around his perch high up in the tree. He peers down, slightly disconcerted that someone had actually looked up for once. He guesses that he's grown complacent. He's quiet and everyone - aside from Springman – has been pretty content (until now,) to leave him up to his own devices.
His eyes widen as he takes in the figure that disturbed him.
"Twintelle…?" His voice is gravelly from disuse.
She's new here. He hasn't spoken to her much- then again, he hasn't really spoken too much to anyone aside from Springman. His master had told him once that his shyness came off as standoffish and that it was a problem he should perhaps work on, but that was a problem for another day.
She smiles up at him, a coiled pigtail shielding her view from the glare of the sun that's fluttering through between the leaves. She holds a small book in one hand and a tea tray in the other, with her last pigtail bringing up the rear with a parasol grasped in its… hand?
He can't say that he's seen something like that before; hair used as extra limbs, but the Arms Mutation is a recent occurrence, and it wasn't like he could talk, with his arms being chains and whatnot.
He must have been staring for too long as her easy-going smile falters slightly and she tilts her head in a questioning gesture towards the small table situated under the tree he was currently in.
"Ah," He clears his throat, feeling the fool. "Of course, you're welcome."
She beams at him then, and he's a little lost for words at her smile and understands finally, why she is so popular.
There's silence between them as she makes herself comfortable, and he finds his gaze sliding away from the novel in his hands to watch as she lays her tray on the table and sits, crossing her long legs. Everything about her is captivating. She moves gracefully, and her confident presence seems to command attention without her having to so much as part her lips. It's such a stark contradiction to his own personality that he can't help but be drawn to her.
As she is adjusting herself, her pigtails proceed to open the parasol and position it above her head at such an angle that she is shaded from the heat but not his sight. It's an odd sight, and he finds himself enraptured by the movements of her hair, staring at how the finger-like appendages of one pigtail wrap delicately around the handle. So fascinated in fact, that he doesn't even register the teacup appearing in front of his nose. He jerks again, in surprise at the proximity and curses himself for being taken aback like this.
He meets her eyes, catching her smirk and relished in the fact that a lesser man would have blushed, had they been caught staring like that.
She's offering a teacup filled with a steaming fragranced liquid through the branches, her hair uncoiled to stretch up to his perch.
"It's Bouddha Bleu. It's good," She prompts, returning her attention to her book. Slightly more than baffled, he takes the tea, watching as her hair coils back down.
"Thank you…" He says, bowing his head in habit, even though her head is turned. She only hums in reply but he can hear the smile in her voice and finds his own lips curiously curling upwards.
The tea is different, sweet and fresh. He can see the blue flowers peaking up at him through the teabag.
The small break passes in a surprisingly comfortable silence and in the end, he drops down silently and returns the empty cup, thanking her with a small smile.
"It was good."
And when they're there the next day at the same time; him, a little lower in the branches and her with a new tea flavour, he finds that he truly doesn't mind the company.