Hello, there's a tiny-ass rust attached to their arm. They slow, looking down, and he's grinning up at them, looking apologetic as fuck.
Whatever. It's not like they're going to complain about arm candy, even if it is too hot for this shit. Even through the oiled fabric of their cloak, the sun is making sweat bead, and they just want to get the fuck hive.
They listen with increasing incredulity as he talks. He lives in his cart. And --
"You lost your cart," they repeat. "You lost your cart, and you get drunk at fucking sunlight parties, and -- how the fuck aren't you dead?"
It's a rhetorical question. They don't have time for this bullshit, and they're ready to go the fuck to bed. "Whatever, you're just staying in my hive. Come on."
no subject
Whatever. It's not like they're going to complain about arm candy, even if it is too hot for this shit. Even through the oiled fabric of their cloak, the sun is making sweat bead, and they just want to get the fuck hive.
They listen with increasing incredulity as he talks. He lives in his cart. And --
"You lost your cart," they repeat. "You lost your cart, and you get drunk at fucking sunlight parties, and -- how the fuck aren't you dead?"
It's a rhetorical question. They don't have time for this bullshit, and they're ready to go the fuck to bed. "Whatever, you're just staying in my hive. Come on."