[there he goes, deflecting the answer, which leads him to believe it's probably more than he'd like to admit. what does steve rogers' rejection pile look like, zemo wonders? he had hinted at a slew of ridiculous messages, and somehow allowed zemo's innocuous one to filter through and bring them into this moment together. it's hard not to take it at least a little personally and allow himself to be flattered. he won't be so idiotic as to think he's steve's "type" or that the other man had any idea what the looked like or who he was before setting foot here today, but if nothing else at least there was something in the glimmer of his personality that shined through enough to be accepted. and he hasn't headed for the hills yet - delaying ordering solely by virtue of how engrossed he genuinely seems to be in this flirty banter they've established with one another.
so maybe zemo is one of many. being on the exclusive, perfectly curated guest lists for the likes of grand openings and nightclubs full of steve rogers-caliber actors and models and everything in between lost its novelty long ago, but somehow this makes him feel just a little selfishly giddy. i made it, look at me.
he's even gotten a second date tenuously confirmed. not a date - what should he think about these as? appointment, maybe. that's better. only it feels much like the former when steve reaches out for his hand again, smoothing his fingers along the back of them and resting one big palm as if to rid him of the idle motion covering much deeper nerves. it's as warm as before - maybe warmer, even - soft and enough to make his heart skip a beat when it gets raised to lips that are softer still. this time he can't quite suppress the rush of warmth to his cheeks, the way his lips part ever so slightly as he glances downward at the frankly romantic gesture before back up at steve through his lashes, a little stunned for the briefest moment before he composes himself.
he'll get better at that as time goes on, surely. or maybe it's just part of the game - he isn't sure yet.]
Likewise. But...between you and me, sometimes I overindulge.
[he decides two can play at that game after all, winking one eye shut even as the other follows a little more slowly after it and ruins it ever so slightly. maybe he'll at least get a laugh out of steve so it doesn't sound like an overt come on. but he'll take on good-naturedly after:]
Which is why I wouldn't mind getting lost with you at the tailor's later this week. I'll make sure to scrape together a few pennies - the French toast will only put me on the brink of it. [his tone is dry, clearly a little bit self-deprecation. but there's a little secret steve hasn't been let in on, which is his background and no small fortune behind his name - and that's something much too gauche and personal to share. he flags down their waiter with a pleasant smile, making easy small talk before tipping his head and thanking him for his patience. he ends up ordering a pain au chocolate and a black tea with milk for himself after steve. once he's gone, zemo leans back in his seat again, surprisingly relaxed for the moment.]
So, what else should we have prepared for this little charade? I'll warn you, Sokovians can be quite prying. Especially when an eligible bachelor in his early 30s is perilously single.
[ If it's a laugh Zemo had been trying for, he gets the prize. Steve can't help the laugh that bubbles up and out of his chest when the man gives that stuttering, slow wink. He finds himself wondering how the man sitting across from him isn't otherwise engaged, isn't wrapped up around some pretty man (blond, he'd think, all things considered), because Steve finds him impressively charming.
Most men he goes out on the town with are handsome, sure, but they usually lack that sparkle of something special, the hint that there's a person beneath all the expensive clothes and alcohol. Money isn't exactly dazzling, in Steve's eyes. But he can't bite the hand that feeds; it's those rich, sleazy types that pay him exorbitant amounts of money, after all. They pay the ever rising medical bills with the name Sarah Rogers written atop them. ]
I think I could pencil in some time to get lost in a tailor's shop with you.
[ Steve winks, near perfectly before he squeezes both of his eyes shut, his nose wrinkling up along with it. A tease that draws a warm smile across his lips as his expression evens out. ]
But breakfast, a tailor. That doesn't sound perilous to me. In fact, we could tell all of your prying Sokovians that we argued over the color of the suit. You wanted the royal blue, I wanted the navy, and the shop keepers were so endeared they gave us a discount.
[ A shrug of one shoulder, the pull of his lips to one side in a silly grin. ] And then I made it up to you by getting us both brunch. Mimosas, some fresh fruit, maybe a few slices of french toast. You know, because sometimes we overindulge.
[ Running a hand back through his hair, he props his elbows back at the table, pausing briefly when the waiter comes back to refill their water and bring their beverages: tea for Zemo, a coffee of Steve. He waits for the man to be out of earshot enough before he curls his hands around his cup and his blue eyes train themselves on Zemo once again. ]
And if they pry even more, I'm sure I could get creative with what we managed to do after brunch.
[laughter looks good on him - because of course it does. at this point he's not convinced there's anything steve would look bad in - anything from clothing to a highly specified environment. there's an adaptability to him that absolutely must come from his line of work, though he'd imagine it's not entirely exclusively. it has him so curious - has he always been this way? that natural charisma and charm is hard to manufacture, even harder won when built rather than born with it. the most obvious stereotype is that of the high school jock - popular, well-liked, attractive, carved just like steve very obviously is. but there it falls apart even in zemo's extremely outlying experience across boarding schools and years abroad as a foreign exchange student in some of the best schools money could buy - every jock he knew fell into the formerly mentioned category of too dumb and too good-looking to have to grow a real personality in lieu of relying on said looks. in some ways, john was the first one to break the mold there - but only barely.
and yet, it's hard to imagine anyone having it easy if this is their line of work - chosen or otherwise. does anyone choose to market themselves like this? to let their body be the billboard and their personality the service rendered? maybe it's outdated, archaic and offensive of him to assume that money is the baseline motivator here. based on what he - and theoretically others - are willing to pay for these excursions, there is a lot to be made there. one quick glance at steve's attire shows that while put together, he's apparently not investing it in luxury or material goods - even if he looks as if he walked straight off a ralph lauren ad.
the more he lingers on it all the more he is raring to know things beyond the pale of appropriate in their given context. steve's past isn't his business, anything personal is probably entirely off the table. he supposes for some there is an appeal to the tabula rasa aspect of this kind of transaction - applying the precise story and detailed demands for the perfect boyfriend, date, confidant. even if it's just a few hours it's utterly crafted to one's needs - wherein "one" is the precise word to linger on. digesting that brings a certain sense of...loneliness. does anyone really want to live their life jumping from fantasy to fantasy and suppressing themselves? he wonders if some of steve's attitude even now is crafted around what he thinks zemo wants - and doesn't that pose an interesting opportunity for self-reflection. maybe later. for now he'll try and take things at face value.]
I have a fairly light week. But it's best to get this in sooner rather than later - they'll need time even with a rush job.
[his lips curl into another smirk, particularly given how steve has yet again pegged the precise amount of drama that can sometimes accompany the edges of an otherwise smooth experience of being in a relationship with him.]
They've known me since I was a boy. And while immediately charmed by your arrival, neither you nor they can quite stand to see me pout.
[his lips soften a little, eyes glimmering as they both keep feeding into it and finding it's more fun than he's had in months.]
We settle on dark cobalt and you insist on hand-feeding me grapes at said brunch, much to the envy and chagrin of the wait staff and anyone seated nearby.
[he glances up, a quick thank you to the waiter as he reaches for his cup to blow along the rim of the cup lightly. maybe it's a good thing he hasn't taken a sip yet - he's already feeling hot under the collar from that implication alone. he lets out a small ah, like he's just been reminded of something.]
Yes - about that. Let's just say we have a very active sex life behind closed doors. Sometimes ones that are cracked open, too. [a pause, like he's considering a memory at the peripherals of a hazy night, and he squints slightly as he tips his head up.] Maybe sometimes there isn't a door at all.
[now he will take a sip, eyes a little wide and expression schooled into something innocent. he shrugs as he sets it down with a light clink.]
Apologies - I may have something of a reputation among friends. But you're a perfect gentleman who would never kiss and tell. I cannot divulge all my secrets on the first date, after all.
[ Nothing about this life falls anywhere close to where he thought he might be years ago. Young and bright eyed, he'd thrown himself at tests and scholarships, landing his place among the favored few at the New York Academy of Art. But here, sitting across the table from this odd, very European man, feels almost like what life might have been like had he graduated, had it made it past his freshman year.
Would he be on coffee dates with affluent men out of want and not necessity? For now, he allows himself to live in that little fantasy, to soak up the warmth streaming in through the window and find a touch of comfort in their banter. Already Zemo is so far beyond what his regulars usually require that it hardly feels like work at all. It's dangerous, though, to let Steve Rogers bleed into the already gray, blurred lines of the escort called Steven. All the same, he hums in response, looking up thoughtfully, imagining the grapes and everything that might follow a romantic little brunch spot like that. ]
I insisted on feeding you grapes, of course. [ A small grin, and he leans his chin into his palm. Fixing his eyes on the line of Zemo's jaw, he lets the blue of them track the curve to his plush lips. He doesn't even try to hide it. ] But I guess the real question is whether you could wait until we got home. I think I recall the brunch spot had themed bathrooms. Maybe I was worried you'd call Michelangelo's name instead of mine.
[ Despite the sultry wag of his eyebrows, Steve can't help but nearly giggle at the image of it. ] I think we should probably keep those details to ourselves. At least until someone catches us in the act. Optional doors make things more exciting.
[ The only thing this business has done for him is just that: a confidence in his body that he would never have had. Being sickly growing up, being so frail and weak certainly did nothing for his confidence. And while being an escort knocks him down a few rungs in its own right, Steve feels comfortable in his own skin. Being with so many people, playing so many roles for others, its only helped define who he is in the fray. Better than most can say. ]
So it looks like we've both got a reputation here and there. But I am a gentleman, you're right. I very much enjoy kissing, to the point I'm usually too busy with it to do the telling. So I'll let you keep your secrets.
[ He sighs, amused, his smile bright and dimpling his cheeks. ]
steve's gaze drops noticeably and it's difficult not to feel flattered even if he's convinced it's all part of building on their act - but at least it lets him know that turnabout is fair play. something he takes advantage of near immediately, his own gaze dropping to the pretty pink of full lips curving into something that oozes the enticement of trouble. the idea of this walking demigod having anything to be insecure about would be utterly laughable - impossible to even fathom.
but there's also something admirably down to earth about him - a sheepishness in the way he laughs and glances down occasionally that reminds zemo that he is, despite first impressions, still just a regular man. an exceptionally good-looking, immeasurably charming one, but still a man. he wonders what sorts of things would make steve weak in the knees. does he have a type? surely no one he accepts company with to pay the bills could come close. not that zemo thinks he's low caliber or undesirable, but he'd be willing to bet he isn't exactly steve's usual.
he tips his chin up, perching it on a curled first and takes a minute to consider what he's said - from brunch to the bathroom to the idea of kissing him at his leisure. there's a lazy smirk tugged at one side of his mouth, brushing along his fingers as he drawls out teasingly:]
As if I'd ever have someone else on my mind while I was with you. I may be a purveyor of fine art, but believe me - Michelangelo wouldn't inspire the unspeakable things we'd get up to.
[he pauses to take a bite of his pain au chocolat, letting out a low hum of approval and licking at a few errant bread flakes sticking to the corner of his mouth before swallowing.]
I think we'll certainly set a few tongues wagging. Half of Sokovia will know I'm off the market by the time your suit is finished and we even set foot at the gala. And don't worry - my reputation precedes itself in the kissing department as well. Everyone will assume we've packed on the PDA and do the work for us.
[he nods, moreso to himself as insinuation steve won't have to worry about anything physical, anyway.]
[ These dates never turn out like this. It's rarely just conversation over brunch and good coffee, and it's rarely veiled flirting that actually does something to make a little heat prickle at the back of his neck. The brush of Zemo's fingers against the pull of the smirk is definitely intriguing, and for once Steve likes the back and forth. Particularly right now, where he almost feels like he has more control over the situation, more freedom.
He cuts a piece of french toast with his fork, taking his time to eat and enjoy the sticky sweet on his tongue. It's a little unfair that he glances up at Zemo from under his lashes as he does so, listening to him talk. He swipes at his lips after, clearing syrup from the corner of his mouth. Two can play at that game. Well, until there's the mention of Michelangelo, and he laughs suddenly, bright and warm and unexpected. ]
And what unspeakable things? [ He leans in across the table, just enough so he can lower his voice. ] Mm, I can think of a few, but if they're really so unspeakable then I guess you'll just have to wait and find out. Maybe I'm mysterious.
[ In a way, he is, but Steve doesn't exactly feel like he's veiling himself here, as if he's shrouding the warmth of that awkward, skinny, sick boy from years and years ago. If this had been another life, he could see this little table in a little cafe being their first real date, he could imagine he met Helmut Zemo in a hazy club and it all tumbled out from there.
He smiles, a little rueful, and stabs again at his french toast. ]
Nice of the general public to help us out last minute. I'll make sure I put on enough of a show that the tailors spread it all like wildfire. I'll have to test how it moves and breathes, right? A good suit is worth every stitch.
[zemo's dates never turn out like this either. he's tried both ways - the proper, planned ones that his mutual friends insist will hit it off with him, and the spontaneous exchange with someone who looked much better in dim lighting on a dance floor. they always end the same way - zemo charming them with ease, bored to tears on the inside and insisting on splitting the bill so no one walks away with the wrong impression that he'd want to do this again under the same circumstances of hopefulness. thank god he's never had anything too mortifying to follow it up, but what is it they say? when you know - you know. and he thinks a little disappointingly that if he'd met steve any other way and ended up in this same scenario...he'd know.
it's extremely unfair to be distracted from his own meal by the way he makes something as simple as eating an attractive art form, and zemo has to force himself more than once to focus on his own plate or reach for a sip of tea. maybe it was unwise to make mention of the unspeakable, especially when it brings steve closer and murmuring low and intimate. it makes him swallow hard, jaw slackening slightly in an attempt not to get lost in the combination of his eyes and the thought of defiling a bathroom or two hoisted up in his arms.
christ, maybe pietro was right about needing to get laid instead of holding out as some form of invisible retaliation against john. fortunately he's quick to recover.]
The kind of things that tend to correlate with "show" and not "tell". But you seem to have a vivid imagination - I trust you have the right idea. And luckily for you, so do the tailors.
[he smirks wryly, the briefest flash of teeth.]
I set one foot into the changing room a little too long, rumple their pins and needles, and they'll catch on quick enough. They are ancient, but they aren't blind yet.
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no subject
so maybe zemo is one of many. being on the exclusive, perfectly curated guest lists for the likes of grand openings and nightclubs full of steve rogers-caliber actors and models and everything in between lost its novelty long ago, but somehow this makes him feel just a little selfishly giddy. i made it, look at me.
he's even gotten a second date tenuously confirmed. not a date - what should he think about these as? appointment, maybe. that's better. only it feels much like the former when steve reaches out for his hand again, smoothing his fingers along the back of them and resting one big palm as if to rid him of the idle motion covering much deeper nerves. it's as warm as before - maybe warmer, even - soft and enough to make his heart skip a beat when it gets raised to lips that are softer still. this time he can't quite suppress the rush of warmth to his cheeks, the way his lips part ever so slightly as he glances downward at the frankly romantic gesture before back up at steve through his lashes, a little stunned for the briefest moment before he composes himself.
he'll get better at that as time goes on, surely. or maybe it's just part of the game - he isn't sure yet.]
Likewise. But...between you and me, sometimes I overindulge.
[he decides two can play at that game after all, winking one eye shut even as the other follows a little more slowly after it and ruins it ever so slightly. maybe he'll at least get a laugh out of steve so it doesn't sound like an overt come on. but he'll take on good-naturedly after:]
Which is why I wouldn't mind getting lost with you at the tailor's later this week. I'll make sure to scrape together a few pennies - the French toast will only put me on the brink of it. [his tone is dry, clearly a little bit self-deprecation. but there's a little secret steve hasn't been let in on, which is his background and no small fortune behind his name - and that's something much too gauche and personal to share. he flags down their waiter with a pleasant smile, making easy small talk before tipping his head and thanking him for his patience. he ends up ordering a pain au chocolate and a black tea with milk for himself after steve. once he's gone, zemo leans back in his seat again, surprisingly relaxed for the moment.]
So, what else should we have prepared for this little charade? I'll warn you, Sokovians can be quite prying. Especially when an eligible bachelor in his early 30s is perilously single.
no subject
Most men he goes out on the town with are handsome, sure, but they usually lack that sparkle of something special, the hint that there's a person beneath all the expensive clothes and alcohol. Money isn't exactly dazzling, in Steve's eyes. But he can't bite the hand that feeds; it's those rich, sleazy types that pay him exorbitant amounts of money, after all. They pay the ever rising medical bills with the name Sarah Rogers written atop them. ]
I think I could pencil in some time to get lost in a tailor's shop with you.
[ Steve winks, near perfectly before he squeezes both of his eyes shut, his nose wrinkling up along with it. A tease that draws a warm smile across his lips as his expression evens out. ]
But breakfast, a tailor. That doesn't sound perilous to me. In fact, we could tell all of your prying Sokovians that we argued over the color of the suit. You wanted the royal blue, I wanted the navy, and the shop keepers were so endeared they gave us a discount.
[ A shrug of one shoulder, the pull of his lips to one side in a silly grin. ] And then I made it up to you by getting us both brunch. Mimosas, some fresh fruit, maybe a few slices of french toast. You know, because sometimes we overindulge.
[ Running a hand back through his hair, he props his elbows back at the table, pausing briefly when the waiter comes back to refill their water and bring their beverages: tea for Zemo, a coffee of Steve. He waits for the man to be out of earshot enough before he curls his hands around his cup and his blue eyes train themselves on Zemo once again. ]
And if they pry even more, I'm sure I could get creative with what we managed to do after brunch.
no subject
and yet, it's hard to imagine anyone having it easy if this is their line of work - chosen or otherwise. does anyone choose to market themselves like this? to let their body be the billboard and their personality the service rendered? maybe it's outdated, archaic and offensive of him to assume that money is the baseline motivator here. based on what he - and theoretically others - are willing to pay for these excursions, there is a lot to be made there. one quick glance at steve's attire shows that while put together, he's apparently not investing it in luxury or material goods - even if he looks as if he walked straight off a ralph lauren ad.
the more he lingers on it all the more he is raring to know things beyond the pale of appropriate in their given context. steve's past isn't his business, anything personal is probably entirely off the table. he supposes for some there is an appeal to the tabula rasa aspect of this kind of transaction - applying the precise story and detailed demands for the perfect boyfriend, date, confidant. even if it's just a few hours it's utterly crafted to one's needs - wherein "one" is the precise word to linger on. digesting that brings a certain sense of...loneliness. does anyone really want to live their life jumping from fantasy to fantasy and suppressing themselves? he wonders if some of steve's attitude even now is crafted around what he thinks zemo wants - and doesn't that pose an interesting opportunity for self-reflection. maybe later. for now he'll try and take things at face value.]
I have a fairly light week. But it's best to get this in sooner rather than later - they'll need time even with a rush job.
[his lips curl into another smirk, particularly given how steve has yet again pegged the precise amount of drama that can sometimes accompany the edges of an otherwise smooth experience of being in a relationship with him.]
They've known me since I was a boy. And while immediately charmed by your arrival, neither you nor they can quite stand to see me pout.
[his lips soften a little, eyes glimmering as they both keep feeding into it and finding it's more fun than he's had in months.]
We settle on dark cobalt and you insist on hand-feeding me grapes at said brunch, much to the envy and chagrin of the wait staff and anyone seated nearby.
[he glances up, a quick thank you to the waiter as he reaches for his cup to blow along the rim of the cup lightly. maybe it's a good thing he hasn't taken a sip yet - he's already feeling hot under the collar from that implication alone. he lets out a small ah, like he's just been reminded of something.]
Yes - about that. Let's just say we have a very active sex life behind closed doors. Sometimes ones that are cracked open, too. [a pause, like he's considering a memory at the peripherals of a hazy night, and he squints slightly as he tips his head up.] Maybe sometimes there isn't a door at all.
[now he will take a sip, eyes a little wide and expression schooled into something innocent. he shrugs as he sets it down with a light clink.]
Apologies - I may have something of a reputation among friends. But you're a perfect gentleman who would never kiss and tell. I cannot divulge all my secrets on the first date, after all.
no subject
Would he be on coffee dates with affluent men out of want and not necessity? For now, he allows himself to live in that little fantasy, to soak up the warmth streaming in through the window and find a touch of comfort in their banter. Already Zemo is so far beyond what his regulars usually require that it hardly feels like work at all. It's dangerous, though, to let Steve Rogers bleed into the already gray, blurred lines of the escort called Steven. All the same, he hums in response, looking up thoughtfully, imagining the grapes and everything that might follow a romantic little brunch spot like that. ]
I insisted on feeding you grapes, of course. [ A small grin, and he leans his chin into his palm. Fixing his eyes on the line of Zemo's jaw, he lets the blue of them track the curve to his plush lips. He doesn't even try to hide it. ] But I guess the real question is whether you could wait until we got home. I think I recall the brunch spot had themed bathrooms. Maybe I was worried you'd call Michelangelo's name instead of mine.
[ Despite the sultry wag of his eyebrows, Steve can't help but nearly giggle at the image of it. ] I think we should probably keep those details to ourselves. At least until someone catches us in the act. Optional doors make things more exciting.
[ The only thing this business has done for him is just that: a confidence in his body that he would never have had. Being sickly growing up, being so frail and weak certainly did nothing for his confidence. And while being an escort knocks him down a few rungs in its own right, Steve feels comfortable in his own skin. Being with so many people, playing so many roles for others, its only helped define who he is in the fray. Better than most can say. ]
So it looks like we've both got a reputation here and there. But I am a gentleman, you're right. I very much enjoy kissing, to the point I'm usually too busy with it to do the telling. So I'll let you keep your secrets.
[ He sighs, amused, his smile bright and dimpling his cheeks. ]
They'll never know what hit them.
no subject
steve's gaze drops noticeably and it's difficult not to feel flattered even if he's convinced it's all part of building on their act - but at least it lets him know that turnabout is fair play. something he takes advantage of near immediately, his own gaze dropping to the pretty pink of full lips curving into something that oozes the enticement of trouble. the idea of this walking demigod having anything to be insecure about would be utterly laughable - impossible to even fathom.
but there's also something admirably down to earth about him - a sheepishness in the way he laughs and glances down occasionally that reminds zemo that he is, despite first impressions, still just a regular man. an exceptionally good-looking, immeasurably charming one, but still a man. he wonders what sorts of things would make steve weak in the knees. does he have a type? surely no one he accepts company with to pay the bills could come close. not that zemo thinks he's low caliber or undesirable, but he'd be willing to bet he isn't exactly steve's usual.
he tips his chin up, perching it on a curled first and takes a minute to consider what he's said - from brunch to the bathroom to the idea of kissing him at his leisure. there's a lazy smirk tugged at one side of his mouth, brushing along his fingers as he drawls out teasingly:]
As if I'd ever have someone else on my mind while I was with you. I may be a purveyor of fine art, but believe me - Michelangelo wouldn't inspire the unspeakable things we'd get up to.
[he pauses to take a bite of his pain au chocolat, letting out a low hum of approval and licking at a few errant bread flakes sticking to the corner of his mouth before swallowing.]
I think we'll certainly set a few tongues wagging. Half of Sokovia will know I'm off the market by the time your suit is finished and we even set foot at the gala. And don't worry - my reputation precedes itself in the kissing department as well. Everyone will assume we've packed on the PDA and do the work for us.
[he nods, moreso to himself as insinuation steve won't have to worry about anything physical, anyway.]
no subject
He cuts a piece of french toast with his fork, taking his time to eat and enjoy the sticky sweet on his tongue. It's a little unfair that he glances up at Zemo from under his lashes as he does so, listening to him talk. He swipes at his lips after, clearing syrup from the corner of his mouth. Two can play at that game. Well, until there's the mention of Michelangelo, and he laughs suddenly, bright and warm and unexpected. ]
And what unspeakable things? [ He leans in across the table, just enough so he can lower his voice. ] Mm, I can think of a few, but if they're really so unspeakable then I guess you'll just have to wait and find out. Maybe I'm mysterious.
[ In a way, he is, but Steve doesn't exactly feel like he's veiling himself here, as if he's shrouding the warmth of that awkward, skinny, sick boy from years and years ago. If this had been another life, he could see this little table in a little cafe being their first real date, he could imagine he met Helmut Zemo in a hazy club and it all tumbled out from there.
He smiles, a little rueful, and stabs again at his french toast. ]
Nice of the general public to help us out last minute. I'll make sure I put on enough of a show that the tailors spread it all like wildfire. I'll have to test how it moves and breathes, right? A good suit is worth every stitch.
no subject
it's extremely unfair to be distracted from his own meal by the way he makes something as simple as eating an attractive art form, and zemo has to force himself more than once to focus on his own plate or reach for a sip of tea. maybe it was unwise to make mention of the unspeakable, especially when it brings steve closer and murmuring low and intimate. it makes him swallow hard, jaw slackening slightly in an attempt not to get lost in the combination of his eyes and the thought of defiling a bathroom or two hoisted up in his arms.
christ, maybe pietro was right about needing to get laid instead of holding out as some form of invisible retaliation against john. fortunately he's quick to recover.]
The kind of things that tend to correlate with "show" and not "tell". But you seem to have a vivid imagination - I trust you have the right idea. And luckily for you, so do the tailors.
[he smirks wryly, the briefest flash of teeth.]
I set one foot into the changing room a little too long, rumple their pins and needles, and they'll catch on quick enough. They are ancient, but they aren't blind yet.