oh what a joyous time of yearā is only something that an ignorant fool who has no decent knowledge of what despicable creature their god is; it was pitchmas, a time of year in which those who still believe in childish jolly wonders to live in momentarily bliss of gifts and cheer alike. on the other hand, those who werenāt baaing like sheep at godās feet, someone such as a certain feline angel who was now staring hard at the said god himself after he held a mistletoe above the both of them. the mistletoe tradition always annoyed her, painfully, annoyed her.
ā you have quite the humor this year, lord fumus. didnāt take you to be a romantic, and yet here we are. you think a little hemiparasitic plant is going to make me show you any affection? you have always been a perverted old man, havenāt you? nevertheless, iāll entertain your childish whim if itāll get you off my back. ā
getting onto the tips of her toes she leans up to give the god a peck with her soft lips, her cold hands upon his cheeks to help with supporting her weight before letting go and falling back onto the heel of her leather shoes, she wiped at her lips and looked back at the god with her usual stern glare with cold blue eyes returning upon her face.
ā there, are you happy? did you get everything out of your system? ā
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