“So what’s the deal with you and Lillian?” Cal asked Mick, sitting in his lap in the cell, tapping on his leg.
“There’s no deal with us,” Mick said. He had an arm idly around Cal’s waist and was fiddling with the tablet Nadya had given Cal. He couldn’t read any of the text on it, but he’d figured out how to find pornography with it and was watching one of Earth’s moving drawings called an anime about some lady whose tits got bigger every time someone fucked her. It had sound, which Cal had been translating for him, but the talking had mostly stopped a while ago.
“Uh-huh,” Cal teased, still tapping. “You guys are always hanging out and conspiring. Which, you know, I’d assume was magic stuff except for the sex.”