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the limit is the sky
2008-10-16 10:51 am (UTC)
The way Jack holds his hand, raising it to inspect, brushing his thumb across the skin, is as odd and unexpected as the rest of him, and James humours him for a moment or two before withdrawing his hand, tugging at the strap of his bag. Jack's fingers, he can't help but notice, look as though they were designed to be as unalike his as possible. They're tanned, like the rest of him, bedecked in rings, and the nails bear the chipped remnants of nail polish.
James knows the place Jack's referring to- or at least, he's fairly sure he does- and this time, he fishes for a pen in his bag. When he does come up with one, he scribbles the relevant information on his hand, muttering aloud as he does so.
'High Street... eight... o'clock.' He looks up, giving Jack a polite smile. 'Sounds most agreeable. I look forward to it.'
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