Mohinder (and later Alcuin)
Lunch had found him coming over to enquire, quite innocently at first, if Mohinder was a fan of chess. That had turned into discussion, which had turned into a different sort of social intercourse, and Giles's quick trip over had turned into an all-afternoon affair, hiding from the cold in a very cozy bed for an hour or three.
The afternoon had faded into evening -- the perfect time for tea -- and settled inside the comfortable little yurt as they were, Giles hardly felt the need to put on his shirt. Still, he was an Englishman. He couldn't parade about naked. So he had his trousers on, though not quite fastened properly, and his shirt tugged on over his shoulders with nary a button used, even the sleeves undone.
"I never did get an answer," he said, peering up at Mohinder. "Chess? Are you a fan?"
The afternoon had faded into evening -- the perfect time for tea -- and settled inside the comfortable little yurt as they were, Giles hardly felt the need to put on his shirt. Still, he was an Englishman. He couldn't parade about naked. So he had his trousers on, though not quite fastened properly, and his shirt tugged on over his shoulders with nary a button used, even the sleeves undone.
"I never did get an answer," he said, peering up at Mohinder. "Chess? Are you a fan?"