[In response to the playful shove, Wilhelm performs a dramatic fall into the pillows. He's careful, of course, not to spill any of their wine, cradling the bottle in the crook of his arm the way a child might hold a teddy bear. From this position, propped up by a swell of pillows, he has a good view of the sketchbook page as Iris transforms it with easy pencil strokes. That in itself is a kind of magic, he thinks.]
Definitely purple stripes.
[A soft smile lights his face, freckles glittering under the twinkling lanterns. As fascinating as it is to watch the drawing take form, he finds himself watching Iris as he works. The boy's eyes gleam as if the act of creation is a fire filling him, bringing him to life too. His eyebrows pinch together in concentration, forming a tiny crease that Wilhelm wants to reach up and trace.
Or he could just tap his fingers on the neck of the bottle.]
no subject
Definitely purple stripes.
[A soft smile lights his face, freckles glittering under the twinkling lanterns. As fascinating as it is to watch the drawing take form, he finds himself watching Iris as he works. The boy's eyes gleam as if the act of creation is a fire filling him, bringing him to life too. His eyebrows pinch together in concentration, forming a tiny crease that Wilhelm wants to reach up and trace.
Or he could just tap his fingers on the neck of the bottle.]