[ Though he casts it more as a joke as he's standing from the table. He heads over to the pile of clothes he left by the piano, scooping it all up in a messy ball and tucking it under an arm. ]
You'll know where I'll be if you change your mind.
[ Given how engrossed she looks in her work, though, he doubts he'll see her until he's ready to go.
He makes his way through the bedroom and into the ridiculously lavish bathroom sedately enough. Once the slides the door shut, though, he lets himself give into temptation and does a weird combination of fist pumping and aggressive dancing.
Holy fuck. Holy fuck. He's making an obscene amount of money just to be eye candy.
When he's finally worked it out of his system, he shrugs out of the bathrobe to take a shower. He— probably takes a little longer than necessary, but proper water pressure and heat is a luxury he's missed dearly.
By the time he's stepped out, he's back in his ripped jeans and threadbare tank top, still slightly damp around the edges. He has his messenger bag slung over a shoulder, and he plops down at the dining table to pull on his boots. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ At least she can't see the food in his mouth, this time. ]
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These are gonna be some fun crash course etiquette lessons, I can tell.
[ But he says it with a thread of good humor, despite the lackluster delivery.
He drinks one more mouthful of coffee before pushing back from the table. ]
Before you start getting people to stuff me into suits or sports jackets or whatever the hell, mind if I take a shower?
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Feel free.
[ She had her shower the night before, so for now? She's fine; she'll have to dress while Peter is washing up, get ready to go. ]
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[ Though he casts it more as a joke as he's standing from the table. He heads over to the pile of clothes he left by the piano, scooping it all up in a messy ball and tucking it under an arm. ]
You'll know where I'll be if you change your mind.
[ Given how engrossed she looks in her work, though, he doubts he'll see her until he's ready to go.
He makes his way through the bedroom and into the ridiculously lavish bathroom sedately enough. Once the slides the door shut, though, he lets himself give into temptation and does a weird combination of fist pumping and aggressive dancing.
Holy fuck. Holy fuck. He's making an obscene amount of money just to be eye candy.
When he's finally worked it out of his system, he shrugs out of the bathrobe to take a shower. He— probably takes a little longer than necessary, but proper water pressure and heat is a luxury he's missed dearly.
By the time he's stepped out, he's back in his ripped jeans and threadbare tank top, still slightly damp around the edges. He has his messenger bag slung over a shoulder, and he plops down at the dining table to pull on his boots. ]
Who's this guy you're trying to woo, anyway?