"Hey, hey, Rumi!" Water balloon in hand, he yeets it at her as hard as he can right at her -- SURPRISE!
What had she done to deserve this. Wasn't she a good person? Wasn't she actively giving her life to saving the world from demons who would do it harm?
The balloon hits her right on the shoulder, knocking her off balance momentarily. Were it not for the many layers of heavy fabric she wore she may have felt the cold chill right down to her exhausted demon-infused bones.
"Aiiiissh..." A hand comes up to dab the residual splash from her face, her jaw, and her temples with her sweater sleeve. "You little..."
Pastel-colored brat bastard.
Souless vacuum of confectionary treats and dietary disregularity.
Off season dollar store bin scuttering fashion faux pa.
She could go on— she could be nasty — but Rumi had something he didn't. Class. Manners. And a reputation to consider.
So she takes a breath, roughly wipes at her abused shoulder, and scoffs. "Any last words before you die? Promise to not deliver them."
@sajasbaby | unprompted
