I don't own Frozen. Additionally, brace yourselves for the longest bit of fluff I feel comfortable writing for this piece.
Stop looking at her knees. Stop looking at her knees. Stop looking—
"What's the problem?"
Dammit. Busted.
"What, me?" Anna asked.
"Yes. You seem distracted."
"Really?"
"You did just run two red lights and narrowly avoided a scooter."
Jane uncrossed and recrossed one leg over the other in the passenger's seat, toying with the hem of Anna's borrowed skirt. If Anna hadn't known the woman was a complete social kamikaze, she would've sworn the blonde had done it on purpose.
"Well, you just keep messing with the skirt," Anna explained. "I mean, we're going to buy you new things if you dislike it that much."
"Quite the opposite," Jane said, fluffing it out around her shapely thighs, creamy quads melding into moon-round kneecaps.
All those black pants and turtlenecks were great for sneaking around, but it did nothing for Jane's lines. Which were magnificent.
The woman's legs were sculpted marble.
Anna flicked the turn signal and pulled into a lot at a strip mall space, fancy boutiques with stupid French names scrawled across pastel awnings in cutesy cursive scripts. She avoided the one in Comic Sans out of pure spite.
"You like skirts?" Anna asked.
"Yes."
"I've never seen you wear one."
"I don't have any."
"But you like them?"
"Yes."
"But you don't have any?"
"Do you always merry-go-round your conversations?"
"You're the best thief in the world!" Anna exclaimed. She unbuckled her safety belt and hiked her right leg up into the driver's seat, fingers laced over a knee, full-facing Jane.
"Thank you. But what does that have to do with skirts?"
"Don't you steal stuff you… like?" Anna asked.
"No."
"But what about the diamond fetish?"
"IT'S NOT A FETISH!"
"Woah there, Ice Queen, I'm just trying to get into that crystallized brain of yours. So it's not a fetish, fine. But you've got plenty of money. I know you do. What do you spend it on?"
"That's none of your…" Jane stopped, pulling her arms over her chest, holding her elbows so tight she might've popped her forearms off. She exhaled through her teeth like a perturbed snake. "I spend a lot of my money on electronics. Supplies. My most recent purchase was a highly rated soldering gun. I pay for information, not a lifestyle."
"That's… different," Anna answered. "Thank you for your honesty. And you can keep the skirt."
Jane's head was still facing forward, but Anna saw her eyes shift to the left. Not much, but enough.
"Thank you," she said.
"You're welcome."
Jane nodded. "Can we go now?"
"Sure, just lose the gloves."
Jane looked down at the extremities tucked into the crooks of her elbows, then flexed her fingers experimentally. She brought her hands up, staring hard at the black fabric. Anna heard static build as she brushed her fingertips together.
"Do I have to?" Jane asked.
"Seriously? Another fetish?"
"It's NOT—"
"I know, I know, just picking at you. But it's not exactly inconspicuous. Which is what we're going for."
Anna rummaged around in the back seat and pulled out two purses, plunging into their depths. It was an excavation in Prada, and from the trenches she withdrew two wallets, flushed with cash, credit cards and two convincing driver's licenses, complete with New York state holograms and professional lamination.
"These are good," Jane said.
"Thank you. I can't quite give my covers an electronic history, but document forgeries… it's kind of a hobby, like scrapbooking for normal people."
"I checked your rap sheet. You do restorative work on the paintings you steal, and wait—" Jane brought the wallet inches from her chin. "How did you get my picture?!"
"Hans got it to me. I've got papers for everyone on the team."
Jane just stared at the license, her cloth-covered fingers bending the plastic in simmering rage.
"Hey, just don't break it… You didn't know he had your photo?" Anna asked cautiously.
"No."
"But, he contacted you. Recruited all of us. You had to know he had some of your information."
"I didn't know he had this. It makes me wonder what else he knows about me."
"Nothing damaging, or he would have probably used it by now," Anna said.
Anna watched as Jane dissected the photo, eyes flashing in the quiet. She sat in the passenger's seat for a solid two minutes, gloved fingers twitching against the plastic. Anna swore she heard a mumbled 'Hans'.
Gonna have to talk to her about these long silences.
"You remember that talk about trust?" Jane asked, ending her pensive study.
How could I forget? I broke down on a porch swing with one of the most wanted women in the world consoling me. Helping me walk. Offering me a breath mint.
Anna nodded.
"I would put my life in the hands of those Norwegian assassins before I trusted Hans Westerguard."
"Then I would call you an excellent judge of character," Anna said dispassionately. "Hans and I… there is history there. Not, like, not that kind of history, or anything, I just— you're right not to trust him."
Anna stuck her hand on the door handle, beat passing as a trio of preteens trotted past with ice cream cones.
"So you won't give up the gloves, then?" she tried again.
"I have a… condition."
"Really?" Anna said skeptically. Her brow inched skyward and the corner of her lip tilted in response. "I guess we'll have to make it work, then."
She ambled out of the car and Jane followed suit, falling into step with her along the primly manicured tropical sidewalk. Funky orchids in pots and brash begonias in planters assaulted her vision, exclaiming 'THIS IS THE TROPICS!' in vividness and hue.
"You sure your name's not Billy Jane?" Anna asked lightly.
"No."
"And you're not my lover?"
Jane stopped in her tracks, head cocked back in her default position. With that neck angled, amid the leafy foliage, she looked like a skinny albino parrot.
"What are you saying?"
"Don't go 'round, breakin' young girls' hearts!" Anna sung in her face.
Jane looked absolutely terrified. Hands over her abdomen, she drew in on herself and began fiddling with the waistband of her new skirt. Her dark pupils were shifting, emotional tectonics, like she was calculating her next move. Anna thought she might just fly away on a rope she'd stashed somewhere, then show back up in her warehouse apartment in New York unannounced when Anna was even less clothed than she had been this morning.
Why that thought didn't paralyze her, Anna didn't know. It only seemed indecent and peculiar and wildly entertaining.
But I really shouldn't mess with her so much. She's like an adorable little lamb that masquerades as an adrenaline junkie.
"I'm going to turn down the pop culture references around you, I swear," Anna said lightly, burrowing her arm under Jane's steel grip. She tugged her along casually, pausing every so often to admire a storefront and smile at a clerk.
"Billy Jean is a song by Michael Jackson. Michael Jackson is a famous pop singer. Arguably the most famous pop singer of a certain era, coming from a famous family. He wore a white glove when he performed Billy Jean on a telecast and it blew up. Everybody liked gloves after that."
Anna stopped in front of one window, taking stock of the selections in the shop.
This might work.
"Your name is Jane. Hence, 'Billy Jane'. Almost like Billy Jean? The lyrics go, 'Billy Jean is not my lover. She's just a girl that claims, I am the one'. And there's your pop culture lesson for the day. Any questions?"
"Wouldn't his other hand be cold if he only wore one glove?"
"That's your question? You're wearing gloves in the tropics and that's your question?"
"Is this entirely necessary for the explanation?" Jane shifted the arm Anna was holding in her grip, flexing—
Dear Lord in heaven was that her bicep?!
"Uhm… yes. I gave us the same last name on the I.D.s. Like sisters, or cousins, or something, who walk arm in arm. Just in case someone came around asking questions you couldn't answer, I'd be able to step in and let my mouth do the rest."
"That's… an odd phrase," Jane said.
"It teetering on the edge of inappropriate. I like it."
"Then I suppose it suits you," Jane said, relaxing minutely into the grip. "I applaud you for your, uhm, foresight in the matter. No matter how crass you turn it."
"Well, some pale little angel in black dropped down from the sky and told me I should be more careful. You know, have some foresight for my jobs," Anna said, tugging her into the store. "I took the words to heart."
Anna led Jane toward the back of the store where the more sedate daywear was hanging. Curling around displays and mannequins, Anna began shoving hangers down the racks with practiced aplomb.
"Boring, boring, ugly, wrong color, boring, too low, boring, not low enough, boring, boring, here we go."
Anna plucked a white blouse from the rack and shoved it at Jane.
"Aren't you going to help me?" she asked.
"I don't know what I'm doing," Jane whispered. "I didn't know there was anything wrong with the clothes I had."
Anna lowered her voice and held the blouse in front of Jane, stepping closer so no sneaky clerks could overhear.
"We just need you to blend in with Caribbean tourists for three days. Do you have beach wear for three days?"
"Apparently not. But I won't be out and about for the majority of the time. This is pointless."
Anna ignored her. "And we need something that will get you onto the floor reserved for the corporate meeting with the rest of the Seven Seas board. I'll be doing the face work, you just need something that'll let you waltz through the lobby unnoticed. I've got a pencil skirt with your name on it and this blouse will pair fine with it. You'll wear it the same way you're wearing this, okay?"
"Okay."
"With heels. Black heels. If you are ever in doubt, black heels are the answer."
"Okay."
"This is the most agreeable I've ever seen you."
"Because I am completely out of my element. You could put me in a circus outfit and I would be none the wiser."
"Don't tempt me—"
Jane shot her down with a sneer.
"I am kidding and you need to chill out. Now buck up! I'll buy you a snow cone if you're a good girl for the rest of the afternoon."
Jane brightened instantly.
"Really? I love— I mean, fine."
Anna's eyes went back to the rack, outwardly paying no heed to the comment. Jane didn't hide it quick enough, though; the unmanufactured joy. She tucked it away in her personal memory bank to exploit at a later date.
"Just go pick out some things that you like. I'll get a variety and we'll meet back here in ten minutes."
"Only ten minutes?"
"Do you think you'll need more time than that?"
"I don't… I just, no. It's fine."
And ten minutes later, Anna was sorry for not giving Jane more direction, more time, more… something. She had cobbled together a few nice pieces, skirts and tops and a pair of sports shorts, two peasant blouses, one floppy hat, Capri pants, and even a conservative two-piece for the other girl.
Jane held one item: a menacing amalgamation of fabric and death, a bulbous, bruise-colored moo moo so wrong for her figure it made Dennis Rodman look right. It was unsuitable for any figure under the age of sixty-five. Or... really anyone breathing, for that matter. Anna would not wish it on her worst enemy's sadistic grandmother.
"What is that?"
"It's a dress… isn't it?"
"That's generous," Anna muttered.
Okay, baby steps. She's not going to recognize haute couture on her first time out. Though picking up a moo moo… if she ever gets good at accessorizing I will ridicule her mercilessly in the future.
Anna didn't know which was odder: that she was thinking about interacting with Jane in the future or that it made her so cheery.
"Why did you pick that out?" Anna asked.
"It's wrong, I'll put it back—"
"No. Stop, learning experience. You like learning, and, analyzing things, right?" Anna tried. "This is one of those times."
"A—"
"Come on, you've got to try. Consider it a returned favor."
"I haven't done anything for you."
"You didn't crush me when I poured my heart out to you last night."
Jane stared at the lumpy fabric in her hands, shifting uncomfortably from toe to toe.
"People make bad choices when they're... mad, or scared even... or stressed. All of which you seemed last night," Jane said.
"I'm usually not such a sloppy, weepy drunk," Anna said, trying to lighten a mood that had turned oppressive. "So, why this?"
"I wanted a dress."
"Okay, well, that's a start. Any other reason?"
Jane's shoulders rocketed up and then sagged, like a deflated balloon animal.
"What's your favorite color?"
"Black," Jane said automatically.
"No. I didn't ask what the most useful color is, or the best color for camouflage, or the color you already own about a bazillion pieces in. What's your favorite color?"
Jane looked at the fabric, then shut her eyes, those pupils going to work again under her lids.
I'm going to have to ask her about that later. Or reprimand her. She looks like a robot-rocket preparing thrusters for launch.
"Diamond."
"Diamond isn't a color you can look for in a boutique. And if you recall—" Anna slid closer to her and dumped all of the pieces in her arms, grabbing an elbow and steering her toward the back where the dressing rooms were located. "We're supposed to be undercover. So maybe keep all the ice talk on the D-L."
"You promised me no more pop culture references," Jane sighed.
"No more slang then, either," Anna conceded. It had been a trying morning, speaking so candidly with Jane. Trying, but insightful all the same. "Elaborate on 'diamond' as your favorite color," Anna commanded.
"It's not just any diamond. I suppose it's, more of a reflection of a hue, a prismic clarity… Not clear as in transparent, but clear as in unblemished, a shade of deep sapphire, like the Hope Diamond as seen through the Sancy, the former being a lustrous blue, the latter a pale yellow, refracted in the brilliant cut and bathing the wall in this consummate, faultless luminescence," Jane finished breathily, her face as relaxed as Anna had ever seen it.
"FEH-TISH," Anna smirked.
Jane erupted into a girlish giggle and Anna had the gall to join her, a hand levitating toward her mouth as the two laughed, really laughed, and Anna was so obtusely delighted that Jane had consented to the midday affair. It felt like she was shopping with her college roommate. Hanging out with a girlfriend. Trading laughs with a sister.
It almost felt real.
"Yes, I suppose I must relinquish my hold on that one," Jane said, bending down to retrieve some garments gone rogue. A top or two had fallen to the ground as the blonde shook with laughter, so Anna bent with her to retrieve them.
"I'll see what I can find with that very— romantic color description. If we ever run across another jewel while we're together, I'll be sure and give you a minute alone with it first."
Wait, what?
"Not that we'll be together after this job," Anna said, grasping at the garment nearest her and placing it on top of the pile in Jane's arm. It was the cup to the black bikini Anna had selected for Jane's possible purchase.
Oh, hell no. No. Abort, abort, abort—
"We'll be retired and in opposite hemispheres, in all likelihood," Jane said.
"Yeah, exactly. I don't even know why I said that. Ha. You know that, pssshh, I just talk for a living, and you'd think I'd get clarity, or like, sense in my words or something, but no, then I revert to my crazy rambling—"
"A. Take a breath. After this payout, I'll be able to hire you as my stylist," Jane said, previous wide smile turning shy.
Ohmygod is she blushing and why is that making me feel like I ate a questionable order of Tacos Supremos from Casa de Carne in Brooklyn?
"Yeah," Anna tried to play it off. "Judging from that last selection you'd need me whatever season, in as many climates."
"I can't be quite so hopeless."
"You overestimate yourself."
"A sin you're never guilty of, I'm sure?"
"Oh, so we've picked up on the sarcasm? Come on, Jane. Get in there and get your clothes off, or Hans is going to have our heads."
Jane let herself be pushed through the archway toward the back hall and into one of the open dressing stalls.
"Oh shit, I didn't mean… well, just see what you like out of that," Anna waved with her hand, walking backward blindly. "I'm just gonna go— ow."
When did the doorjamb decide to move right in front of my face?
"—go get you some more options. Right. Yes. Happy… changing."
Holy shit what is happening? This can't still be the hangover! I've had plenty worse nights than that… it's like I'm on my first job or something. Get it together, Anna.
Anna hightailed it out to the front of the store, skipping over the clearance section and marching straight to the wall full of shoes.
"Hello, darlings," she said, caressing a round-toe wedge like a lover. Her eyes glazed over and she set to work, hand-selecting rhinestone-bespeckled pairs in varying sizes for Jane (and maybe two pair for herself, why waste the opportunity?). She also found a pair of sophisticated black pumps that would serve the blonde well in many future endeavors.
You're welcome.
Her eyes found a separate section of the store, and a salesgirl smiled at her as she bypassed the accessories stall. Anna located an entire rack of dresses they'd missed on the first go-round, and started shuffling through hangers speedily.
"Can I help you find anything?" the salesgirl asked.
"No, I think I'm alright."
"What about for your sister?"
"Oh she's not my—" Dammit. Get your guard up, girl. Just because you're having fun doesn't mean this shit can't get you killed. Game face, you're ready for this.
"—not my sister."
"Girlfriend, then?" the salesgirl was grinning bashfully.
"Ha! If she was my girlfriend, I'd make her dress better."
"Well, here, take my card," the salesgirl said. "In case you ever need any personal styling touches while you're on the island. Though you seem to be doing very well for yourself."
She gave Anna an appraising look, shyly turned her head, and started to walk off.
"Cousin!" Anna didn't know why she needed to reassert her connection with Jane. The situation was not threatening, but the link was all at once paramount. "She's my cousin."
"So you're available?" the salesgirl brightened.
"No… I mean yes, but not in that way. We're— my cousin and I… I'm working, we're together— wait, no, damn, not like together, we're working. Here. Together. So I couldn't be— and I'm off the market, but she's gorgeous— wait, what? No, I mean, she's—" Anna took a breath.
This doesn't happen. Maybe when I'm off a job, when I don't care. This is Anna, not A, not the grifter, not the coolest motherfucking art thief this side of the Louvre.
Get your shit together. Tell a story. Have an adventure.
"Sorry, we're just really nervous about meeting with our client," Anna said to the salesgirl, who had taken on a rather bewildered, defensive stance during the verbal vomit. She was attempting to inch away from Anna discreetly.
"We've been sweating right through our clothes! Obviously, the Caribbean and all," Anna waved nonchalantly at the air.
"May I suggest the Dominican cotton? Hand-sewn from seamstresses on our sister island, lightest material you'll find."
"Thank you, do you have anything in—" Diamond? "—aqua? Or like, a turquoise? Something in the cerulean family."
"I'll see what I can find."
Minutes later, the girl returned with several selections, none of which matched the color Jane had mentioned. But there were multiple dresses, one in particular catching Anna's eye. A short, twofer spaghetti strap number with a white lace bodice and sweetheart neckline, hitting just below the natural waist and then flaring into a breezy field of sky blue with white polka dots. The pair of wedges Anna had petted rather inappropriately sprang to the forefront of her mind and Anna pounced, all but barreling over the stunned salesgirl in the process of returning to the dressing room.
"Jane!" Anna called, hopping in place like a pogo-stick. "How you coming in there?"
"The straps and zips to these contraptions are more convoluted than the catacombs under Paris." Her voice lowered distinctly through the slotted door and she growled to herself. "This coming from the woman who knows fifty different sailing knots."
Fabric rustled and Jane opened the door, immaculate in a pair of sleek white capris and an emerald green halter. She turned to the side and Anna saw shoulder blades that would give Jane's impeccable kneecaps a run for their money.
Wait, is that a scar?
"Very beachy," Anna cooed. "You like?"
"I don't dislike it," Jane said.
"With you, I'll take that as a positive."
"I like the red skirt, and the blue one."
"I'm not sure about the shade for your coloring, but I really think you have an inclination toward super girly clothes. That's not a bad thing!" Anna reassured, as she saw Jane's arms return to cross her chest. "Don't be so self-conscious about the stuff you want. Who cares what I think? If you like it, great!"
"I care what you think."
"Oh," Anna said. The carpet pattern was suddenly the most interesting item in the room, Anna's gaze running over leafy palm designs and then pausing over a pair of cocaine-white feet.
"You know, because you get to play dress up for a living," Jane said.
"That's a little demeaning."
"I… didn't mean it as an insult."
"Here," Anna said, unsure of why she was unsettled. "I'm positive it's your size. With these," Anna handed the wedges over. "I'm not as sure about those."
"I'll try them."
Anna nodded then pointed toward the front of the store.
"Wait! I'll— uhm, that is, you'll need to give me the final say-so," Jane said.
"I told you, trust your instincts."
"I do, but, it never hurts to have a second pair of eyes. Just stay—" Jane stared at the dress in her hands. "Give me a minute."
Anna leaned against the opposite wall, warring internally with a heap of unorthodox feelings she feared she'd not be able to reconcile over the duration of this job.
Who am I kidding, I'm attracted to her! But I've been attracted to people before, marks even. Fat lot of good that did me. It'll pass... it always does.
"A?"
Anna looked up from the wall to see a fourth of Jane's body peeking out behind the door.
"Well, let's see then."
Jane stepped out cautiously, wobbly in the wedges.
"I usually have better balance," she said to the floor.
One of the thin white straps fell from Jane's shoulder, the upper half of her sternum, clavicle, throat, shoulders, deltoids… everything bare and bright, the smallest amount of cleavage accentuated by a snug bodice.
Anna reached over and put the strap back in place. Jane flinched at the touch and took a step back, head bowing even further down. Anna did not comment on the bruise near her armpit, nor the tiny scar at the tip of her sternum.
"You're beautiful." It wasn't gushing, or bubbling, or light. It was the most grounded, honest phrase Anna had spoken all day.
Jane's arms went to cover her center.
"Okay, enough of that," Anna said, reaching out before she could stop herself. Her hands were on the soft interiors of Jane's elbows, and whatever foreign, curious feelings she had been experiencing during their outing were tossed by the wayside in favor of comforting the woman before her. Comforting, coaching, teaching. It was all that mattered. Because Jane was beautiful, and she needed to see that.
Anna needed Jane to see that more than anything.
"First rule of the grift," Anna said, prying Jane's arms apart. They fell to the blonde's sides but Anna didn't release them.
"You are the draw. You are temptation. You have to make people want to listen to you. No one wants to listen to someone who hunches over and keeps her head down." Anna put a hand at the base of Jane's spine and pushed forward, tilting her chin up with the opposite simultaneously. She continued, voice lower. "The dress doesn't matter. It is supplement, it is aid, but it is not the force. A lot of first timers make that mistake. They think the clothes and the references will do the job for them. Wrong. Do your homework. Know your mark. And reel them in with the confidence of preparedness. Because you own them. You control them. You… hack them, to put it in your terms. And the story follows from your reconnaissance. The plan flows from your preparedness. Do you understand?"
Jane didn't look back down at Anna. She stood still as stone—no, marble—but nodded her head once.
"That's a long rule."
"You know what con is short for, right? To con someone?" Anna asked, voice almost a whisper. "It's a confidence trick. You don't take their money. You don't take their paintings, or their jewels, or their stocks, or their helicopters—"
"Helicopters?"
"Another time," Anna continued. "You take their trust. Because once you have that, you have them. You ingratiate yourself and take their confidence. The alternate meaning, though, the self-assurance, the poise, that's what you have to show in order to take their trust in the first place. If you have no confidence in yourself, how can they have confidence in you?" Anna asked, squeezing Jane's arms. "Now," Anna said, stepping back, admiring the woman before her. "Shoulders back," she instructed.
It wasn't that Jane had changed from the beanie-wearing, tech-talking pariah she had first met on a side-road three months ago. But she had bloomed, for want of a better term, with some new heels and a posture lesson. The dress fit her better than those damned black gloves, lace bodice boosting her breasts and flaring skirt highlighting her waist, a decidedly feminine figure with flawless kneecaps and porcelain toes.
"So, if you want to gain someone's confidence, you don't just have to own them. You have to own yourself," Anna said. She was still standing in front of Jane, arms slack, hovering, like a mosquito about to light. Never touching, for fear of a swat, but ready. So ready.
"Know your best parts. Use them. Exploit them. Someone tells you you're beautiful: damn straight! You know you're beautiful. Don't hide behind your arms and turn your head down. You turn and look them square in the face and say 'thank you', because that's exactly what you want them to see. Now…"
Anna took another step back and did a one-eighty, strolling down the changing-room hallway with her hands behind her back. She let her face go blank, then surprised as her eyes met Jane's once again.
"Why Jane! Look at you in that slick new dress. You're beautiful, it really suits you."
Jane looked down at A, head cocked and face wary.
At least she'd gotten the arms down. Pick your battles, Anna.
"Chin up!" Anna stage whispered.
Jane adjusted. "Thank you, A."
"You're very welcome."
"No, truly. The dress, the advisement. I…I really am grateful."
"No need to thank the Academy, it's for the job," Anna said.
Damn girl, defensive much?
"Right, of course," Jane said,
"Give us a twirl," Anna said, making a swirling motion with her finger.
Jane performed a tentative 360 in the wedges, skirt flaring, thighs exposed, looking just as good going as she did coming.
Fuck, stop. Stop. STOP that now, Anna. What the hell has gotten into you?
The more wiley side of her inner voice responded:
That would be a pair of divine kneecaps, shoulder blades that could slice a pineapple, and an out-of-this-world ass.
"So, good enough for the job, then?" Jane asked, shuffling back toward the dressing room during Anna's silent study.
Anna caught her gloved hand before she could retreat fully. Even with the ridiculous black gloves she still looked beautiful. Anna found that equal parts exhilarating and worrisome.
"It might be for the job, but I'd be lying if I said this wasn't fun."
Jane smiled.
"A…"
"Yes?"
"Would you… uhm…"
"Yes?" Anna breathed.
Jane leaned against the doorjamb of the dressing room, as if she were about to ask Anna for a kidney, or her firstborn. She looked hesitantly at her gloves, rubbing her fingers in her characteristic manner. Static crackled.
"Do you know anything about computers?" she asked hurriedly.
"What? Computers? Well, sort of, I mean, not like you. Not codes, and hacking, and how to trace stuff and— well, no. No, not really."
Jane's focus left her fingers and pinned Anna in place.
"Would you like to see some of my stuff for the job?"
"Surprisingly… yes."
A/N: Gracious, that was long. Probably bordering on too long for a shopping trip scene, but they're just so cute together. The mundane interactions, the bonding, we missed all of that in the movie! Just them talking to each other. And as we can see, talking leads to interaction, interaction to observation, observation to frustration (at least for Anna, at the moment *wink*).
Also... nearly 100 follows? That's surreal for me, guys. *showers you in gratitude* *you might need a towel or umbrella*
Let me know if I've succeeded in bringing a smile to your face with this installment by typing words into that box down there. Here's a few: rutabaga. cowboy. armistice. colloquialism. See, I even got you started :D