✱ @redrighte » sans
“WELL, Y'DID,” he grumbles, even as ink speaks his heartfelt apology. he knows the little guy means well - red’s always been a decent judge of character - but fuck if it didn’t take him long enough to reach a conclusion. IT’S BAD enough he has to entertain the little matchstick with three hours of sleep and a shitty attitude, but his magic started acting up around the same time ink whipped that damn flute out. every note felt like a tidal wave against his brain, sloshing his magic around the inside of his skull. he kept his left eye shut tight, only peeking out through his right, but magic still leaked through, dripping and evaporating on his cheek like dry ice. EVENTUALLY, he reached his breaking point. his whole skull and spine throbs, and he can’t think straight enough between the hustle and bustle to just ask the kid to quit. red slung an arm over his shoulders, dwarfing ink against his boiling body, and takes his entire face in his palm. once his point has been made, the hand releases, and red mercifully deflates with the addition of a little more silence. “ASS'OLE,” he grumbled, shifting around just enough to free his flask for a little self-medication. “can’t take a hint. can’t give it a rest. lucky i don’ feel like yelling, or you’d be licked by now … ”
the artist’s brow line raises, hands politely clasp in his lap -- even as his mouth curves into a suppressed smile at his friend’s expense. he feels bad, don’t get him wrong, but it does little to lessen the taste of laughter on his tongue. when red reaches for his ‘self-medication’ ink does the same, reaching into the inner pocket of his blazer, fingers close around a small vial, && he quickly takes a sip before returning it again.
a deep breath, his eyelights flick to something more easily sympathetic, not so laced with the joy of his own shenanigans. he stands from the bar && places a tentative, reassuring hand up on red’s shoulder.
❛ if you felt like yelling i’d be halfway outta town. ❜ he admits. he knew red had a temper on him, && while not one to take things too seriously, he still didn’t want to be on the receiving end of it. ink could tell he wasn’t in danger of being yelled at at the moment, red looked way too tired for that.
❛ do you wanna go outside? ❜ the painter asks gently, ❛ some fresh air might do you good, i’ll walk with you -- no flute involved! ❜