Surprisingly, the huge wolf only gets the occasional curious glance. He stands by a tiny dog bowl filled with water, and laps it up in moments. Sorry, other dogs in the city. Someone will refill it when they notice.
Jill steps inside and orders a coffee--hot, with a shot of espresso--and only looks to Clive so he can order and pay.
He's looming figure in the background while she orders, and his own order is brief and minimalist. He pays the same way, managing their affairs with as little contact as possible. That isn't new for them, though, albeit in a whole new way.
"Odd," he murmurs, as they wait for drinks. "Normally I'd have to wait outside."
Playing slave and mistress is the only other time they've been so cold in public, after all.
He just gives a noncommittal hum of acknowledgement under his breath, pondering if he should have just told the barista his name was Wyvern, pondering if it's better to frustrate her and get a reaction than exist in her silence. No, she doesn't deserve that. Book closed.
He takes both their drinks from the counter when they're served, and passes hers over.
“Alright,” he says, not sure if he should be relieved or disappointed. He doesn’t have much time to ponder — a man abruptly shoves by them, and Clive steps towards Jill to both avoid him and protect her, his free hand drifting to the small of her back.
Years of simply being side by side in any number of scenarios has her instinctively stepping into him, coffee held so that she doesn't tip it on anyone.
"Pardon you," Jill mumbles at the man's back as he leaves the shop, too tired to make a fuss. And too tired to immediately realize Clive's hand is warm on her back, even though her clothing, and she blinks up at him before stepping away.
Maybe they just don't draw attention to that. That would be the merciful thing to do.
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He just steps ahead to get the door to the coffee shop for her.
"Stay, Torgal."
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Jill steps inside and orders a coffee--hot, with a shot of espresso--and only looks to Clive so he can order and pay.
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"Odd," he murmurs, as they wait for drinks. "Normally I'd have to wait outside."
Playing slave and mistress is the only other time they've been so cold in public, after all.
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"I imagine that would be easier for you," she says, a soft click of her tongue after.
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He takes both their drinks from the counter when they're served, and passes hers over.
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She can feel the simmering tension in her bones. There's little they can speak about without making her mood divebomb. She can't see that changing.
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"Pardon you," Jill mumbles at the man's back as he leaves the shop, too tired to make a fuss. And too tired to immediately realize Clive's hand is warm on her back, even though her clothing, and she blinks up at him before stepping away.
Maybe they just don't draw attention to that. That would be the merciful thing to do.
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“People not looking where they’re going,” he says. “Well. I won’t keep you.”