[ Something he's said gives him pause. Before they enter the cafe, a pull on Wriothesley's arm stalls him. Pinocchio seeks to turn him around to face him. To keep his attention where he wants it — on him — he takes both his arms in his: one cold, metal hand a little higher on his shoulder than the other, which clasps the swell of his forearm. His blue gaze searches his for a moment as he speaks: ] I don't regret it, do you?
[ It's probably a red flag that the puppet is so calm about being jumped by a stranger in a stairwell, that they ended up rutting like two horny teenagers in a shower stall. Even if Wriothesley's suit was largely to blame (and Pinocchio's was getting there), as far as ambushes go, that had ended better than they used to go in Krat.
They'll sit in a moment. This seems to have caught his attention — and probably the attention of a few snooping patrons wondering what soft drama is unfolding here between two men who are very easy on the eyes. ]
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[ It's probably a red flag that the puppet is so calm about being jumped by a stranger in a stairwell, that they ended up rutting like two horny teenagers in a shower stall. Even if Wriothesley's suit was largely to blame (and Pinocchio's was getting there), as far as ambushes go, that had ended better than they used to go in Krat.
They'll sit in a moment. This seems to have caught his attention — and probably the attention of a few snooping patrons wondering what soft drama is unfolding here between two men who are very easy on the eyes. ]