(sits stiller than a statue while stiles deliberates, singling out one piece of eel and its sauce that's trying to slop out of the bowl with a withering stare. it's better than looking straight at him, at least until he decides what he's going to do. hei wonders why the hell he chose a public relations job instead of stealing something valuable.
he could be eating right about now.)
It's twenty cunes. And I need your hand. (tacking that on, carefully taking one of his gloves off with a slow tug at every finger, laying it down on the table with the fist that follows it.) If you accept these conditions, then hurry it up.
no subject
he could be eating right about now.)
It's twenty cunes. And I need your hand. (tacking that on, carefully taking one of his gloves off with a slow tug at every finger, laying it down on the table with the fist that follows it.) If you accept these conditions, then hurry it up.