Sonrisa: oliver & hunter & appearances by cris
No pewter, no turmoil. Cris wore a gray sweater beneath his jacket, collar jacked up to his ears, knit cap pulled down in black. He had on jeans and sneakers, and that was pretty much it. He'd left real early to pick up plate glass from a place just outside the Capital, and he carried it in from the hatcha his car with towels as handholds. His sneakers were grimy from the night before, but he wasn't paying no mind to that. The door was unlocked. He'd seen Oliver come and enter as he was turning onto the street, so he didn't bother trying to finesse a key outta his pocket. He propped a corner on his thigh, reached, terrycloth still in his palm, and pulled the door open. It was a different kinda entrance than the one he'd made in November, through this very door.
Not just 'cause the kid behind the counter wasn't Sam, but 'cause the first sound he heard was the coin-rattlea the register drawer popping out. He rolled his eyes. Oliver wasn't much by Cris' esteem, but it didn't really matter what he thought. Maybe he should be more sympathetic, but while he was grateful to Lou for the 'loan,' the Sheriff only had so much bandwidth, and for now, Oliver didn't register on it.—Sticking the glass up against a standa oils, he went to the counter, rounded it, and stood next to the kid to refill the bills Hunter had nicked the night before, fishing them outta a plastic bag, rubber bands the only thing keeping the greasy bills together.
"Morning," was all he told the kid, genial enough, before he went back to his glass and lifted it, to take it into the back room. With a grunt, he nodded 'cross the small, cluttered space. "I'll be back here. Lemme know if you need me."