Out. Phalanges swiveled her head to glare at him. Food’s coming later. Out, Nikal repeated more harshly. The green chittered her displeasure—what a waste of time!—and poofed out of sight. She’d probably bite his ears again, she really liked doing that when angry.
Shirtless but at least moderately presentable now, Nikal grabbed the wine bottle, surprised by how much lighter it suddenly was. What was the whole plan with this again? Dragging his flit in, drinking more wine, talking: was this him trying to be nice, or was he just letting his misery seep out so she’d avoid him afterwards? He didn’t really know. Nikal had always been a reactionary young man, so ending up with someone who didn’t push one way or the other was like sitting tense for a storm front that may or may not have existed. He didn’t know what to do with someone who also didn’t seem to know what to do except take advantage of it.
“Prob’ly better,” he said. “Idiot’s array out there when queens go.”
Meepfur
