I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art
Oh well, that was disappointing. It wasn't food, and it had the audacity to tell him that all by itself. Plotting out the familiar route, it was only when he was finished (by which time no doubt Jiao and Saiden would be in view) that Jack straightened up, glancing between the cook and the something he had brought. "Not food and not sex," he repeated, raising an eyebrow at Saiden as though trying to judge whether or not the other man knew him even remotely. (He didn't, that was for sure).
His eyes lingered on the Fae, taking in the stature, the wings, the other parts that were probably important if he hadn't just been informed that she wasn't sex. "Wonderful. And what is she for?" he wanted to know.
His eyes lingered on the Fae, taking in the stature, the wings, the other parts that were probably important if he hadn't just been informed that she wasn't sex. "Wonderful. And what is she for?" he wanted to know.
