While that's a common response for Carlisle, there is awe behind his words that's never been present before; his expression is a mixture of profound gratitude and disbelief. His garden, the shrine — the whole house! He never thought he'd see any of them again, and yet, here they are, real enough that he can feel the wood beneath his gloved fingers, the handle against his palm as he gives it a push—
The door doesn't budge. It's apparently locked, as Carlisle so often kept it. He reaches reflexively for his satchel to fetch the key, only to remember he left it behind. He sighs, somehow both disappointed and unsurprised.
"Well." His other than remains on the handle, unwilling to release it. "Perhaps we ought break a window, otherwise, this will be a very short presentation of your fine work."
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While that's a common response for Carlisle, there is awe behind his words that's never been present before; his expression is a mixture of profound gratitude and disbelief. His garden, the shrine — the whole house! He never thought he'd see any of them again, and yet, here they are, real enough that he can feel the wood beneath his gloved fingers, the handle against his palm as he gives it a push—
The door doesn't budge. It's apparently locked, as Carlisle so often kept it. He reaches reflexively for his satchel to fetch the key, only to remember he left it behind. He sighs, somehow both disappointed and unsurprised.
"Well." His other than remains on the handle, unwilling to release it. "Perhaps we ought break a window, otherwise, this will be a very short presentation of your fine work."