“You don’t know?” A brow arches as testament to his feigned disbelief as he slips easily into the facade; he’s only waiting for the proper moment to speak again when he allows an elongated pause that he effectively wastes in blinking somewhat dazedly at him. “I’ve been a thug since the cradle, Judes.”
Nonchalance became dire in this moment as he carefully (carelessly) attempts to fish for a compliment– and if not, he thought judiciously, he would grope for it in what the other had said prior to the jumble his own words often became. “Fashion is so stressful, Judy. I’m getting too old to keep up–”