Re: Sonrisa: oliver & hunter & appearances by cris
Oliver could have readily explained that nobody in that little ragtag troupe had his intelligence, just like none of them had Jude's silver tongued capabilities(Oliver was willing to concede that gold medal, but only because his adoration enforced it). Mostly, Oliver was territorial. It wasn't the word that he would use, but it was largely appropriate when applied to his brother and to any piece of tiny geography that he'd labeled as his. The Antiques store wasn't his, just like Sonrisa wasn't his, but Oliver liked the both of them and liking things meant being possessive of them.
What's he doing here? And Oliver stiffened like burnt bacon, even as the Sheriff spoke up and explained Oliver's employment. For a flickering moment, he almost felt out of place. It all felt like the worst kind of intrusion, and he didn't need an explanation for why it felt that way, it just did. He observed when the Sheriff patted Hunter on the shoulder because Oliver understood that kind of gentle, off-hand physical contact to be prescribed for family, which these two were not, or didn't look to be. Or maybe they were, it would explain more.
And, of course Oliver was being rude. Having it pointed out wasn't anything new either, this all hearkened back to more recent instructions from Jude. Claws in. He tried to think of what Jude would do, but he didn't have Jude's dimples or affinity for making friends in town, and that only made Oliver feel more inept as he palmed his take away coffee cup and eyed Hunter(this time a little less accusatory, although still very uncertain).
Outside the shop window, he could see the dogs. He saw them in smudged charcoal and pointed graphite on the thicker paper that held indention like tiny puddles of medium. No watercolors or acrylic, no oils. This was a gray day, and he thought of the dogs in gray. He liked them, but probably because they were glimpsed from a distance. Oliver contemplated the dogs for a moment longer before glancing back to Hunter, this time brief and considering. His chin was down a bit, and his eyes edged up, from navel to face, thinking.
The attention eventually traveled to the Sheriff. "Should I help?" 135 pounds of cable knit sweater and bones, but he often proved more useful than he looked, and he seemed ready to prove it.