#daxned 02

Their attire is much more dance appropriate as well-- black leggings instead of jeans and a t-shirt rather than a sweater. They carry a tote with a water bottle and the ballet shoes as well, in case they're easier on the waxed floors than sneakers.

Frisk looks around for the sign, which thankfully is in big bold letters. They assume the person-looking smudge next to it is Dam-bi, and are relieved to know they're correct once they get closer. They really should get contacts or something.

"Hi Dam-bi!" Frisk waves, grinning and jogging over to her side. "Thank you for meeting up! It's good to see you again."

She'd been... quite unconcerned herself, however.

But it's the middle of the day now. He's making the walk back from the market town to the atelier, through a path in the woods, a basket full of groceries in his arm, when he sees her again. Alone. Again.

He'd remember those eyes.

"Don't let the pixies catch you alone," he says kindly. "They love to play tricks."

He should know. They'd ambushed him in the past on his walk back home... he had to thoroughly wash himself and his robes of berry juice that day. It took hours. Somehow it hadn't left any stains. He's still not sure what he did to earn their ire that day.