one hundred ninety. [Saffire Jarnac.]
“Play nice, Saffi,” she orders, and the young man rolls his eyes at her before extending one pale limp hand in Stephen’s general direction.
“Pleased to meet you,” he says, dryly; Stephen is distracted by the boy’s chipped nail-polish and it takes him a moment to realise that he’s supposed to shake hands now.
He quickly takes Dio’s brother’s hand. “Yes, likewise,” he stammers. “Your nail polish is chipped.”
Saffi blinks. “I…yes, I know.”
“You might want to fix it. It’s rather sloppy.” This is just another reason why Stephen doesn’t paint his nails, he realises.
“I like sloppy,” protests Saffi.
“Pleased to meet you,” he says, dryly; Stephen is distracted by the boy’s chipped nail-polish and it takes him a moment to realise that he’s supposed to shake hands now.
He quickly takes Dio’s brother’s hand. “Yes, likewise,” he stammers. “Your nail polish is chipped.”
Saffi blinks. “I…yes, I know.”
“You might want to fix it. It’s rather sloppy.” This is just another reason why Stephen doesn’t paint his nails, he realises.
“I like sloppy,” protests Saffi.