[ As much trouble as he believes he might be in, Jayce still prefers the sweltering heat and steam of the boiler rooms and engines to the stuffy, high-brow chatter up in the reception room. No doubt Mrs. Kiramman will be looking for him, impatiently making up kind excuses for his absence. He's sure to get an earful later.
Instead of worrying about her or the goings on of the upper decks, he dips to try and collect what of his sketches and designs he can before the stranger sees the contents, but he can tell in the skim of those amber eyes he's already lost. Not lost on Jayce, either, is the Piltover Academy attire the slender man wears, and he stares a little surprised at first, at the papers offered out to him. His eyes travel the line of his hand, his sleeve, to the slow bend of his knee, up his lapels, to his face, where a wisp of hair clings to his forehead. (He has two beauty marks. Real beauty marks, not painted on in want of attention, that much he can tell up close like this).
He clears his throat and drops down to a knee himself to pluck up a page this stranger hadn't reached, and when Jayce extends his hand to take the pages, he flushes. Thankfully, the dim light of the engine room spares him some embarrassment. ]
A Parsons turbine? [ His fingers twitch, almost as though he's itching to write the name of the thing down in the margins of his papers, but instead he closes his hand around the other edge of the sheets, not quite pulling them from the stranger's grasp yet. What he doesn't realize is it also exposes the ornate, leather band snaring his wrist, the glowing blue of the jewel inset on its back. ]
I've only heard it called a reaction turbine. I'll have to remember that. [ He clears his throat again, eyes flickering up to meet the man's face. The color of his eyes catches him by surprise again as the light overhead flickers, and he's sure he sees gold in those depths. ]
But, avoiding? I'm not avoiding anything. Just thought it would be a waste of my time on this voyage if I didn't take a look around. It's just... the news talks about how it's a mastery of scientific innovation and world-renown technology. Parsons turbines, and a ship this large operating on steam boilers, with as many decks? I think there are plenty of enhancements that could be made but--
[ He tucks the sheets into the leather bound journal, its pages ink stained and worn from many many years of adoring use. He rises back to his feet, only to offer that same hand down to the man. Help up, though he's not sure why his instinct tells him he might need it. He nearly looks bashful at the gesture. ]
You're right, by the way. About the avoiding. But something tells me you shouldn't be down here, either. I didn't think Piltover Academy allowed any students to work belowdecks. Have we met before?
no subject
Instead of worrying about her or the goings on of the upper decks, he dips to try and collect what of his sketches and designs he can before the stranger sees the contents, but he can tell in the skim of those amber eyes he's already lost. Not lost on Jayce, either, is the Piltover Academy attire the slender man wears, and he stares a little surprised at first, at the papers offered out to him. His eyes travel the line of his hand, his sleeve, to the slow bend of his knee, up his lapels, to his face, where a wisp of hair clings to his forehead. (He has two beauty marks. Real beauty marks, not painted on in want of attention, that much he can tell up close like this).
He clears his throat and drops down to a knee himself to pluck up a page this stranger hadn't reached, and when Jayce extends his hand to take the pages, he flushes. Thankfully, the dim light of the engine room spares him some embarrassment. ]
A Parsons turbine? [ His fingers twitch, almost as though he's itching to write the name of the thing down in the margins of his papers, but instead he closes his hand around the other edge of the sheets, not quite pulling them from the stranger's grasp yet. What he doesn't realize is it also exposes the ornate, leather band snaring his wrist, the glowing blue of the jewel inset on its back. ]
I've only heard it called a reaction turbine. I'll have to remember that. [ He clears his throat again, eyes flickering up to meet the man's face. The color of his eyes catches him by surprise again as the light overhead flickers, and he's sure he sees gold in those depths. ]
But, avoiding? I'm not avoiding anything. Just thought it would be a waste of my time on this voyage if I didn't take a look around. It's just... the news talks about how it's a mastery of scientific innovation and world-renown technology. Parsons turbines, and a ship this large operating on steam boilers, with as many decks? I think there are plenty of enhancements that could be made but--
[ He tucks the sheets into the leather bound journal, its pages ink stained and worn from many many years of adoring use. He rises back to his feet, only to offer that same hand down to the man. Help up, though he's not sure why his instinct tells him he might need it. He nearly looks bashful at the gesture. ]
You're right, by the way. About the avoiding. But something tells me you shouldn't be down here, either. I didn't think Piltover Academy allowed any students to work belowdecks. Have we met before?