Re: gotham russian tea room; loren & jules
"There's ever so many kinds of tea, cariad," Jules said, picking up the tiny card menu and handing it over to the man across from him. "I'm hungry," he agreed, and he'd no idea what the words on the menu were. Even if he did, he'd let Loren order anyway, merely because he offered, and Jules thought it was nice to encourage gentlemanly behavior, even in the wake of that barely-there sweep of attention.
Loren never was comfortable looking at him, and Jules hardly expected that to change in a year. If anything, he expected it to be a good deal worse. He'd worked at Loren for time and time, and he'd still got nowhere with the stoic man. Nowhere significant or of note, despite the pet names and the blood that flowed in the woods with both their names in every droplet.
It was the eyes that bothered Jules most. Pale, so pale, but Jules was expressive. His smiles were big, and his eyes were bright, and his displeasure was writ as candidly as his joy upon sharp features that defied definition.
"Order for me," Jules said, and he reached for a cookie and examined it carefully, ever the chef.