[He says, noncommittally. Once more: he's rude, not dead. She is very pretty to look at, quite easy on the eyes, and it's hard not to let his gaze linger maybe a little too long on her tattooed skin, but Weir is not fool enough to fall into the trap she's set with that flirtatious retort. He'll keep that to himself else he's teased to oblivion and back — she seems the type.
Best to focus on the food, instead.]
IS she nice to look at? I can nɇvɇɍ ŧɇłł wɨŧħ ħᵾmȺns. Too shaped, too angled, all the organs in the wrong places, the strangest places—
Tomorrow— [He takes the plate with his serving without so much as a thanks. It’s simple, but still a lot more artful than what he bothers with.] —you’ll be out all day, too. Save enough for breakfast, because I don’t want to hear any whinging about an empty stomach come late morning.
no subject
[He says, noncommittally. Once more: he's rude, not dead. She is very pretty to look at, quite easy on the eyes, and it's hard not to let his gaze linger maybe a little too long on her tattooed skin, but Weir is not fool enough to fall into the trap she's set with that flirtatious retort. He'll keep that to himself else he's teased to oblivion and back — she seems the type.
Best to focus on the food, instead.]
Tomorrow— [He takes the plate with his serving without so much as a thanks. It’s simple, but still a lot more artful than what he bothers with.] —you’ll be out all day, too. Save enough for breakfast, because I don’t want to hear any whinging about an empty stomach come late morning.