Five-Foot-Five-Woman
Everything black—apparently Nathan's favorite
color, being a raven and all.
"Nathan," Charlie cried out.
"I don't see any underclothes, and there's no time to look around."
Brad emerged in the entrance, wearing just ebony jeans.
"I go commando. It helps me avert getting captured in my clothing in case I have to change in a hurry. And take one of my ebony shirts. Vacate the top couple of buttons open."
Charlie snatched a couple of lee-ways and dived into them. "Smart. We should perhaps discuss at some point."
Brad shrugged. "Do we need to?"
"You saved my life, man. I'd love to thank you and converse with you about how you regulate your shifts so handily. You whacked into human configuration sooner than I did, and I certainly needed to get out of my tasty falcon body."
"Oh, in that case, fine."
"What did you speculate I needed to converse about?"
"Oh, I don't know… eviction?"