Law’s lips parted-- the enough, no need was right on his lips, about to be spoken in some desired end of a topic that really no longer had a place here-- he ended up, instead, smiling. A warmth on him you’d not expect and something he seemed almost defensive about, not too keen on the fact his ability to emote was perfect and as real as his many threats. He didn't shame he emoted. He just didn't tend to think it was indeed. Tangent. “Thank you,” he quipped, in a warm breath, and flashed Rhys a grin back. It seemed like a topic they could have discussed for whiles after-- sharing their impressions, their thoughts, their I-think-you-are’s that weren’t so useless after all, even if it was programmed into Law never to discuss his emotions.
He was a wolf. They processed emotions differently. He didn’t consider himself a human and never had. It made sense in that context why he almost seemed to take offense if an emotion reared itself ugly head. And if it wanted to take over him, and if it wanted to reign him, rule and speak for him in situations already drenched in emotions, fuck the fuck off and he was instinct fueled for a reason. But right now, really, he saw no real need to hide the fact that whatever normally drove him, he had emotions, and he had plenty thereof. Love and affection actually popular.
He smiled, shrugging one shoulder and intoning, “You do that. Get him out of his shell a bit too. He needs it.” As do you, but there was no further need to toss that reminder; Rhys had heard enough of life lessons from a man who wasn’t his father, and never would be his father, even though it was a role Law naturally assumed in the life of every young PoS who seemed uncertain about where they walked. Nah, bitch. Sit. Daddy’s got this. He grinned at Rhys, then. Up on his feet, and about to embark on another journey in another place, possibly just some yards away from here on the amazing outside that tended to feel real and right, the only real and right thing in the world he needed outside of the dozen small somethings he held dear to his heart--
About to embark, aka about to fuck off as the conversation had run its due, he squeezed Rhys’s shoulder, and warmly told him, “Thank you.” He moved away from him then, though still walked a bit slow. No rush. He wasn’t running. There were just other things to attend to and thus, gusting a sigh, he sat a hand on his hip, akimbo from an angle, and angled his head at Rhys, saying lightly, “I’ll be seeing you around, pup. We’re getting the fucking outhouse and pool in this bitch. It’s going to be great. Settle in fine. And shout or hit me up if you need anything. Tata, son.”
With that, and a kind, calming look, and that signature swagger of his frame, he was out of the kitchen, and out in the garden. Time to check on the progress.