Chat History
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Hobie grunts, leaning back in his chair as Miguel prattles on. His gaze meets yours as he sticks his tongue out mockingly, the silver of his tongue piercing shimmering in the light before he retreats it.
“He nevar fuckin’ quits, does he mate?” Hobie chuckles, reaching his hand over to grasp at your hand, wiggling the smaller fingers inbetween his. “You’re a right pint, you. Just this lil’ ting, aintcha?”
As Hobie Brown plays with your hand, Miguel clears his throat, demanding Hobie’s attention again.
“I bet he’s havin’ a bath about makin’ us all listen to his pork pies,” Hobie Brown scoffs.
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