He watched as her nose wrinkled unabashedly. She definitely didn’t like his tea; though the reaction was curious. His concoctions were not particularly strong enough for the human nose to bother with. His brow knit just slightly as he looked at her, but it was gone in the next moment.
A frown made itself known as she responded; it remained even after she took a seat at the island. She didn’t like the smell of his tea and she also didn’t seem to like the way he spoke. Darling? As if he cared about illegal activities. What was illegal—what wasn’t—was the domain of men and current popular opinion. He was not a man and he hadn’t cared about laws outside of his own long distant pack, if at all. He only ever had his own code to worry over.
It shouldn’t bother him that she didn’t like certain things about him enough to visibly take offense; and yet it did. Ruffled feathers was an apt metaphor.
“Illegal is relative,” he said anyway, because he needed to retaliate in kind. Even if it was not as direct as her own manner.
The frown finally melted away into moderate stoicism as he took a sip from his cup, inhaling with shut eyes once before doing so. But, soon enough, he was setting it back down and moving towards the fridge. He opened the freezer and pulled out the container of mango sorbet, only having to hunt a bit. Then he went through the motions of dumping the vast majority of it into a bowl with a spoon.
“If you would prefer,” he said as he worked, “you may call me Marcus.” Because it didn’t particularly bother him one way or the other. Nevermind the fact that he’d utterly overlooked responding to her title of darling, or the way in which she’d informed him that the deal would need to be restructured. “Frankly,” he said next, “I don’t particularly care how it is I obtain the documents, assuming they’re authentic—barring certain requests—,” because there were things he just wouldn’t do, ever, Isabella-sama or not, “so long as we come to an acceptable compromise and an exchange is made.” As he said the last he turned and set the bowl in front of her. Then he took his tea, set it on the island across from her, and went on speaking.
“If it’s acceptable, I would prefer to review part of the documentation—those sections you feel comfortable allowing me to review—before we come to an accord.”
A frown made itself known as she responded; it remained even after she took a seat at the island. She didn’t like the smell of his tea and she also didn’t seem to like the way he spoke. Darling? As if he cared about illegal activities. What was illegal—what wasn’t—was the domain of men and current popular opinion. He was not a man and he hadn’t cared about laws outside of his own long distant pack, if at all. He only ever had his own code to worry over.
It shouldn’t bother him that she didn’t like certain things about him enough to visibly take offense; and yet it did. Ruffled feathers was an apt metaphor.
“Illegal is relative,” he said anyway, because he needed to retaliate in kind. Even if it was not as direct as her own manner.
The frown finally melted away into moderate stoicism as he took a sip from his cup, inhaling with shut eyes once before doing so. But, soon enough, he was setting it back down and moving towards the fridge. He opened the freezer and pulled out the container of mango sorbet, only having to hunt a bit. Then he went through the motions of dumping the vast majority of it into a bowl with a spoon.
“If you would prefer,” he said as he worked, “you may call me Marcus.” Because it didn’t particularly bother him one way or the other. Nevermind the fact that he’d utterly overlooked responding to her title of darling, or the way in which she’d informed him that the deal would need to be restructured. “Frankly,” he said next, “I don’t particularly care how it is I obtain the documents, assuming they’re authentic—barring certain requests—,” because there were things he just wouldn’t do, ever, Isabella-sama or not, “so long as we come to an acceptable compromise and an exchange is made.” As he said the last he turned and set the bowl in front of her. Then he took his tea, set it on the island across from her, and went on speaking.
“If it’s acceptable, I would prefer to review part of the documentation—those sections you feel comfortable allowing me to review—before we come to an accord.”
Sometimes I feel like a girl~... sometimes I don't~
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Paper Trail [Closed] - by Blade - 09-04-2016, 08:15 PM
RE: Paper Trail [Closed] - by Blade - 09-04-2016, 10:10 PM
RE: Paper Trail [Closed] - by saronym - 09-07-2016, 09:55 PM
RE: Paper Trail [Closed] - by Blade - 09-13-2016, 08:01 PM
RE: Paper Trail [Closed] - by saronym - 09-13-2016, 10:48 PM
RE: Paper Trail [Closed] - by Blade - 09-13-2016, 11:34 PM
RE: Paper Trail [Closed] - by saronym - 09-17-2016, 10:35 AM
RE: Paper Trail [Closed] - by Blade - 09-24-2016, 05:05 PM
RE: Paper Trail [Closed] - by saronym - 09-27-2016, 08:28 PM
RE: Paper Trail [Closed] - by Blade - 09-28-2016, 02:03 PM
RE: Paper Trail [Closed] - by saronym - 10-03-2016, 09:10 PM
RE: Paper Trail [Closed] - by Blade - 01-06-2017, 11:24 PM