[The first crack in the Omen's usual featureless calm comes when Kaworu slaps the pen down: She starts. The feathers on her neck and shoulders raise; her antennae and pseudocoremata flatten.
The pose lasts a second, maybe two, until Paul speaks. She turns her eyes toward him even as she's groping for the pen to drag it to her.
There's nothing in that gaze to give away whether someone else watches from behind it. Yet, almost in answer, she rears up to take the pen in foreclaw and foreclaw and hindclaw, balanced on three feet and her tail, and begins to write:]
Paul, Duke Atreides,
[She stops, drops the pen and drops off the desk to flit to the other. Selecting a pen of another color, she carries it back with her and resumes her writing pose to add,]
no subject
The pose lasts a second, maybe two, until Paul speaks. She turns her eyes toward him even as she's groping for the pen to drag it to her.
There's nothing in that gaze to give away whether someone else watches from behind it. Yet, almost in answer, she rears up to take the pen in foreclaw and foreclaw and hindclaw, balanced on three feet and her tail, and begins to write:]
Paul, Duke Atreides,
[She stops, drops the pen and drops off the desk to flit to the other. Selecting a pen of another color, she carries it back with her and resumes her writing pose to add,]
Little bird,