Being squished like rats was as pleasant as it sounded. At least there was enough room to somewhat move, Miklan's made do with places smaller than this. He shuffled behind the insufferable prick from the break room. Raising a hand, the brigand clapped the puny mage hard on his back. "How's stardom been going, Jude." A smirk tugged on the corners of his mouth. Miklan didn't cared enough to remember his name properly; perhaps it'd knock some extra ego outta the brat.
THIS IS AN ANAMORPHOSIS ASK BUT I DESERVE TO BE PUT ON A PYRE FOR ANSWERING IT A MONTH LATE (now post-anamorphosis)
※— HIS NAME FELL APART ON ANOTHER MAN’S TONGUE. Julius hardly needed to look over his shoulder to feel the weight of the callous clap against his spine. Stardom? Hm. Was that what all that was supposed to be? A circus with no audience, a play with no curtains. He allowed the smirk to settle in the dark, if only to taste it.
“Julius.” His voice carried soft, even indulgent, as though he were humoring a child’s mistake. "Though it hardly makes a difference coming from you."
"With the way you're smirking, one would assume you enjoyed being a buffoon on stage."
Julius pulled away, still feeling the sting diffuse across his back. "They survived, you know. I hope you pocketed every last gold piece before you left."