[ Taking the other ingredients, it's intuitive as to what to do next. He slides the steaming marshmallow off the heated prong, making it sandwiched between two wafers. The heat from the marshmallow melts the chocolate, and he waits a few moments before taking his first bite.
It's sweet. Too sweet for his personal preferences, but the flavor is unlike he's (literally) ever had before. The wafers are drier than unleavened bread, but as sweet as honeyed cake, with the texture of the marshmallow being lighter than whipped butter, yet impossibly stickier. Then there's the chocolate itself-- rich as satin, creamier than molasses, melting upon his tongue.
After this first bite, he simply stares at the s'more in his hands, fingers now covered in a mess of crumbs and melted chocolate oozing from between the graham crackers. Messy, undignified. Yet the harsh lines that define his mien appear to soften, somewhat, in the amber aurora of the bonfire, as if this meal has returned some degree to life to him.
no subject
It's sweet. Too sweet for his personal preferences, but the flavor is unlike he's (literally) ever had before. The wafers are drier than unleavened bread, but as sweet as honeyed cake, with the texture of the marshmallow being lighter than whipped butter, yet impossibly stickier. Then there's the chocolate itself-- rich as satin, creamier than molasses, melting upon his tongue.
After this first bite, he simply stares at the s'more in his hands, fingers now covered in a mess of crumbs and melted chocolate oozing from between the graham crackers. Messy, undignified. Yet the harsh lines that define his mien appear to soften, somewhat, in the amber aurora of the bonfire, as if this meal has returned some degree to life to him.
His voice is softer, more marble than granite. ]
I would have your name.