#xephyr post.

[monstyrious]

@fawnesversion liked for a one liner.

"there is nothing i hate more than a man that tries too hard to be humorous. you already suck. why are you making my day worse despite knowing you're not actually funny? nine times out of ten they're just bullies anyway."

[monstyrious]

open -> xephyr.

"whatever excuses you might have mean nothing to me." the woman rolls her tongue idly over the edge of her lower teeth and the meat of her lower lip, drawing it back in with a faint sigh. "i rarely hold grudges for things so petty, as well. you are safe. i would merely suggest watching yourself moving forward."

[monstyrious]

@ithirial liked for a starter. -> frenchie

certain things cease to matter at a certain point, and here, it is that this man should be doing something entirely different. he should be working on some kind of thing that the man in charge here needs. but oh he looks so pent up when he's bent over the sprawling table of concoctions and trinkets, his spine curled and frustration evident in the way that nothing has worked in the last three days.

and so, the sweet thing that has stolen at least three shirts from some of the other men in the compound, including frenchie, has pulled him away from those delicate tables, a nail between sweet, no longer gem-studded canines as she guides him to a place that's a little more secluded. it should be clear what her intentions are. she likes a display, but when one lives in such close quarters with so many others, it's impolite, so the classroom that's come to serve as the home she shares with no one has become the destination.

once inside with the door closed, the spindly, marionette-stringed woman pushes the man she's declared as hers up against the door, working at his belt without so much as a howdy-do. "you need a break. something to let loose on. and i need attention. mutual benefit."

[monstyrious]

@etharest gets something i find amusing.

when she has opened the heavy metallic door of the laboratory of the man she calls father behind such doors, the half-elf does not expect to see anything other than the man himself, or perhaps some cadavers laid out for experimentation she may have interrupted. but there is a woman, and she seems at home, rather than fearful for her life. thick, archaic german accent spills from rosy painted lips, donned in half glitters and full disdain. "who the hell are you, and why are you down here not in containment? is that... are you doodling?"