The attendants moved before Elis would start bickering with Vitor again. The first suit was already waiting on a padded hanger, shoes polished until Elias could see his own unimpressed reflection in them. He sighed, muttered something about execution by wardrobe, and shrugged out of his own jacket.
One of the staff reached as if to help, but Elias shot them a look over the rim of his glasses that froze them mid-gesture. "I'm not an invalid. I can dress myself."
From the armchair, Victor's voice drifted like smoke. "Undress, you mean." He was swirling a crystal tumbler with something amber, his face telling Elias to retort.
Elias let the jacket slide down his arms with deliberate slowness, as though every inch was a rebuttal. He tossed it onto the back of a chair, ignoring the way one of the attendants twitched like the garment was too sacred to be treated so carelessly.
He didn't bother looking at Victor. "And here I thought gods didn't have to rely on cheap innuendo."
