| [Jan. 23rd, 2009|06:38 pm] |
There was that sniff thing again. "Nasally-sensitive" was probably an understatement. Torn between amused and annoyed that she still hadn't answered his age question, Asuma put his hands flat against the table and leaned over plates, glasses, and Kuromaru's paws to return the gesture. Just because.
Tsume, something flickering in her light blue eyes, tucked her chin slightly down, protecting her throat, then tilted her head fractionally to one side. With his greater height, he could get close enough to feel the backwash of his own breath curling off her skin. Dog, mostly, with a snap of antiseptic lotion. "Twenty-three?" he asked, voice gravelling into its brassy depths.
She snorted at him.
He pulled back--a lot slower than he would have done a minute ago--and caught the slightly glassy eyes of the hovering server. Kuromaru was still extolling the benefits of seafood in an unsubtle grumble.
"I think we're fine," Asuma told him.
"Excellent," said the server, with a middle-distance stare that was verging on a thousand yards. "The manager begs to inform you that we do not typically serve, ah, dogs in this establishment. And he would take it as a kindness if you were quick in finishing your meals."
The floor was too clean for a dust cloud to follow the man when he fled, but it was a close thing.
"Nice," said Asuma, picking up a deep-fried carrot. "Twenty-five?" |
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