[ Even Kim's legendary composure is occasionally tested and this is decidedly one of those times. He's not sure what he was expecting - for the warehouse to be completely empty? - but though he's grown more accustomed to the demons that walk among them than he had been on his first day, the sight of the spider-woman's glittering eyes darting around and landing on the two of them is enough to make his heart leap in his chest, not quite able to completely smother the cry rising in his throat as his hand instinctively darts to his holster. He's fine with little spiders. This? This is a thing out of his worst nightmares, like some Wirral creature he'd describe with relish come to horrible life, like the fantastical childhood stories he'd read under his covers, gleefully shivering at every horrible word.
He forces himself to relax - or at least look like he's relaxing - one muscle at a time, though he does spare a moment to give Aerith a particularly injured look, because he really would have liked a little more warning than that. Still, the hairs rising on the back of his neck and the way his exposed forearms pebble with goosebumps speak for themselves. Quickly, he bobs his head in greeting, deferring to good etiquette, as he always does when uncomfortable. It could be pointed out that he always has good etiquette, though, which is -- well, it is what it is. ]
Good evening, madam. We won't be long.
[ With every bit of willpower he has, he wrenches his eyes away from the spider-woman (god, he can see every hair on every one of her many legs like this) and towards the fabric, rubbing one hand across the back of his neck as though flicking away an imaginary house spider that had settled there. ]
no subject
He forces himself to relax - or at least look like he's relaxing - one muscle at a time, though he does spare a moment to give Aerith a particularly injured look, because he really would have liked a little more warning than that. Still, the hairs rising on the back of his neck and the way his exposed forearms pebble with goosebumps speak for themselves. Quickly, he bobs his head in greeting, deferring to good etiquette, as he always does when uncomfortable. It could be pointed out that he always has good etiquette, though, which is -- well, it is what it is. ]
Good evening, madam. We won't be long.
[ With every bit of willpower he has, he wrenches his eyes away from the spider-woman (god, he can see every hair on every one of her many legs like this) and towards the fabric, rubbing one hand across the back of his neck as though flicking away an imaginary house spider that had settled there. ]
Ah... pastels, perhaps? To go with the sweets.