[ Lids low, a pointed eyebrow arched, Cellar purses her lips with the kind of disapproval a few other guys have grown used to by now. Outwardly unimpressed, she still produces a shadow that moves for the egg with snake-like motions, wrapping itself as thin as a tendril to bring the container over to the edge of the pool, within Julian's reach. ]
no subject
There.
[ Look, no hands. ]