Alexander and Melanie
"This is undignified," Alexander muttered, but the bite was gone from his voice. He wasn't complaining to the universe anymore; he was just tired.
He tugged at the collar of the heavy canvas jacket—Dante's spare field jacket—which swallowed his slender frame completely. The sleeves were rolled up twice, revealing his pale wrists, and the tactical cargo pants were cinched so tight with a belt that the fabric bunched up around his waist. He looked less like a Prince and more like a child who had raided his father's war chest.
"I look like a scarecrow dressed for an apocalypse," Alexander sighed, pulling one of Dante's heavy combat boots out of the sucking mud with a gross squelch. "These boots... how does the brute walk in them? It feels like wearing anchors."
