#cotthe

@cotthe (egg), unprompted.

Though Egg's proven himself many times over as far as fishing is concerned, that doesn't stop Dunk from feeling remarkably proud at the size of what he brings back this time.

While Egg handled their meal for the evening, Thunder and Chestnut had gotten their daily brushings and some oats as a treat for the hard ride they'd just been on. Dunk's made the fire and laid their beddings out since, and though he contemplates coming up to relieve Egg of his fishing duties, the boy looks proud enough that he imagines the effort unnecessary.

"Come on, then, by the fire," he says, seeking the block of varnished wood Ser Arlan had bestowed him many years ago. It's a big one, typically strapped to Chestnut, and Dunk sets it down so Egg can place his catch there.

"Can't have you catching cold, now. Not when we've such a good meal to eat."

Once Egg is close enough, Dunk pats him on the head. "Well done. She's a beaut, all right.

@cotthe, unprompted.

"Normally people only say 'sorry' when they mean it," Megumi says, just as flippantly as Nobara had attempted to express some kind of regret. The topic is swiftly dropped.

Stubbornly, he refuses to turn more than the absolute minimum required to keep track of Nobara's screen. There's something embarrassing about her being aware that she commands all of his attention, so hopefully Nobara'll chalk it up to his general mistrust towards Instagram-based recommendations.

"Is it a deal because of price" -- his arm wraps loosely around Nobara's back -- "or some secret menu thing?"

— @cotthe, unprompted.

The worst thing about all this is how much Jack wants a smoke. God forbid Illarion know about that, though-- if he asked why, then it'd open a whole 'nother can of worms Jack just doesn't have the time to consider right now.

So, allowing his gaze to break its contact with the slide of a pin close to Illarion's waist, Jack meets the boy's with a striking coldness. "You're fine, kid."

And he is, technically. But that doesn't make Jack any less uneasy about watching someone else put their hands all over him.

The touch, to the tailor's credit, is entirely professional. Jack had said in no uncertain terms during appointment setting that any reports of unprofessionalism would lead to a punishment neither of them would want to come to fruition. It pleases him to see the sweat beading on the back of the tailor's neck; it's good of them to know their place.

"Now we have the inseam left," the tailor says suddenly. Jack doesn't miss the bob of their throat when they do. "Um... sir, would you mind spacing your feet apart?"

"Do I, now?" Lyonel hums in response, brow furrowing slightly as he raises a hand to drag down his mouth and chin. Upon inspection, his fingers and palm show no evidence of something having marred his features. He attempts to find the offending stains several times over, but when he notices the smirk upon the lad's own face, he realizes he's been made a fool.

"Do you jest, boy?"