You underestimate her proficiency in revenge. Hard to hold her back if they splash paint on her fur. [Several Team Skull grunts learned that the hard way. It was not pretty. Washing the paint out was the worst.]
[But the idea does tickle him, and he chuckles at the same time she does. It might actually be a good idea in a controlled situation. Something less permanent than paint. The idea is pushed to the back of his mind as a note for later; refocusing on their surroundings and the slow-paced task they'd chosen to do together.]
[Anabel's looking over and picking out a few different fruits, probably as experiments for them to try and expand their culinary tastes. In the lull, he leans against one of the sturdier displays, hands in his pockets and watching her with a lazy gaze. It's hard not to smile; he does it subconsciously just looking at her. Is this what people love about domesticity?]
[She picks up a fruit in one hand. Turns it over, studying the shape. Texture. Skin. The label of the fruit's name. Maybe pausing under her nose to take in its scent. Then, delicately placing it in her bag once she finds it satisfactory. Slowly meandering to the next display, thin hand held out before she even decides on a sample... All of her little mannerisms, slight and unnoticeable to anyone who wasn't looking. The same thought slips out, like a mutual game of telephone, infiltrating their thoughts with each others' whispers. God, I love her.]
[And it's then that her reply falls by the wayside, when her errant thought registers. Just barely yet still clear as day, as if she'd said it out loud. Nanu goes still, attempting to determine whether he imagined it, or heard her wrong. His own voice sounds far-off in comparison.]
sorry that was the wrong side
[But the idea does tickle him, and he chuckles at the same time she does. It might actually be a good idea in a controlled situation. Something less permanent than paint. The idea is pushed to the back of his mind as a note for later; refocusing on their surroundings and the slow-paced task they'd chosen to do together.]
[Anabel's looking over and picking out a few different fruits, probably as experiments for them to try and expand their culinary tastes. In the lull, he leans against one of the sturdier displays, hands in his pockets and watching her with a lazy gaze. It's hard not to smile; he does it subconsciously just looking at her. Is this what people love about domesticity?]
[She picks up a fruit in one hand. Turns it over, studying the shape. Texture. Skin. The label of the fruit's name. Maybe pausing under her nose to take in its scent. Then, delicately placing it in her bag once she finds it satisfactory. Slowly meandering to the next display, thin hand held out before she even decides on a sample... All of her little mannerisms, slight and unnoticeable to anyone who wasn't looking. The same thought slips out, like a mutual game of telephone, infiltrating their thoughts with each others' whispers. God, I love her.]
[And it's then that her reply falls by the wayside, when her errant thought registers. Just barely yet still clear as day, as if she'd said it out loud. Nanu goes still, attempting to determine whether he imagined it, or heard her wrong. His own voice sounds far-off in comparison.]
...What...did you say?