Jude watched her expression, and his own was inward and thoughtful. She looked like a candle blown out suddenly in wind that had come from nowhere. Without it, her expression folded inwards and the light which had animated her now extinguished left the bones of her face very bare and stark.
Interesting. Jude studiously made eye-contact with a sign on the wall opposite when she lifted her head from the introspective inspection of her glass, and came near enough to whistling, he was so unobservant of the little ritual of personal introspection.
He eyed the roll of bills. Jude had a longstanding habit of estimating the amount of money in anyone's hand, and Dahlia's roll gave him a sight more information than someone's finger and thumb closed around a bill fold. It looked thin, and he looked from it to her face, to the pride she wore like armor, and shrugged his shoulders.
Okay.
"Coming up," pause, over his shoulder, "You know. They do really good snacks here. We do," Jude corrected himself. Gainful employment was a terminally short affair for Jude, other than moving into Repose. Establishing himself as a 'we' rather than an 'I' and 'they' was a philosophical headfuck.