#june2022

1, 2, 3 - 10/06/2022 : Diamond Suit Rouxls! and some of the OG Spade Suit Rouxls, but younger

4, 5 - 20-21/06/2022 : vent art probably, i forgor what about, idk if it even was vent art i think i could also have just been feeling a bit edgy x

6 - 21/06/2022 : SPIDER RU!! shes so beloved to me

7 - 23/06/2022 : My first doodles of my Eustace and Luisa designs!

8, 9, 10 - 27/06/2022 : Think I was playing around with coloured lineart here, also theres a MettaFell since i wanted to try my hand at drawing him

Placing a kiss against the skin of her neck, you try to shift. The unpleasant pinching stops you with a hiss. You know what–or rather, who–is responsible. Splayed haphazardly across your bodies is none other than Angie. The joint of her arm is atop yours, catching the skin there. 

Your other arm is pulled from Donna’s waist and you lift Angie’s arm away, careful not to wake her. That is not something you want to deal with this early. 

The clock behind you chimes, your true reason for waking. Donna and Angie sleep on. You feel horrible doing so, but you lightly shake the former, wanting to say goodbye before leaving. 

“Donna,” You whisper, but she only groans, “Donna, wake up, please.” 

Her eye cracks open and she grumbles. A grin spreads across your face as you lean in, stealing a quick kiss. She is just awake enough to kiss back. 

“I’m off to run errands, I just wanted to say goodbye before I went.” You whisper. 

“Don’t go.” Donna forces out, voice hoarse with misuse. 

“You know I don’t want to, but we need food and Salvatore is expecting his package.” 

Only a sigh greets you. She knows you’re right, but it doesn’t make it any easier. How else would you get what you needed? The Duke doesn’t come this far up the mountain and Heisenburg is notoriously unreliable. You are the only one capable of getting there and back without trouble. 

Donna props herself up on an arm and steals another, lingering kiss. Then she presses one to your forehead. 

“Be safe.” She orders. 

“Of course, Lady Beneviento,” You grin teasingly and stand from the bed, bowing with a flair, “I’ll be home soon.” 

Her eye is already slipping closed once more. Your chest feels full. Leaning over and pressing a kiss of your own to her forehead, you smile.

“I love you.” You whisper. 

“Mm. Love you.” Donna grumbles back, turning over and falling back into a deep sleep. 

You hold in a laugh. Any sound now would wake Angie, who’d not only be furious, but demand to go with you. The last time that happened… you didn’t accomplish anything other than chasing her around the village. She has the same amount of energy as a hyperactive toddler. 

You lean over and press a kiss to her forehead too. She grumbles, swatting at the feeling in her sleep, but doesn't move otherwise. You breathe out in relief. 

From there it takes no time to dawn your dress and coat before traversing the path to the village. Save for a few bird calls, everything around you is silent. It would have been eerie once upon a time. Now you take in your surroundings with fondness. The dolls hanging from trees–Angie’s doing–aren’t an omen, but instead make you shake your head. Those standing alongside the path are granted kisses similar to Angie. 

Most of them have blank eyes, an indicator they haven’t woken up. The others vibrate when you approach. Some grab at your arm, trying to cling to you. Another kiss and they let go. 

“I’ll be back soon.” You whisper each time, trying not to let the disappointment weaken your resolve. 

The bag across your middle shifts every now and again, the contents sliding to and fro. You don’t worry. All of the films are safe in their cases with no risk of being scratched. If they boast any later, well, that would no doubt be Salvatore’s mishandling of them. 

When Donna mentioned he wanted to borrow a few titles, you’d been visibly hesitant. You liked Moreau, he was kind and considerate, with no ill-will towards you or the others. But he was also very clumsy. If you want something returned in pristine shape, you don’t let Salvatore Moreau use it. A few sweet words and even sweeter kisses from Donna had softened your resolve; they were just films after all, easily replaceable through the Duke. 

Even now, you mentally trace the path through his home. If it could be called that. You had been only twice before, making it out by the fortune of Donna’s map–her elegant penmanship in the margins leading you safely through the maze-like structure. 

A sound to the left catches your ear and you turn. Nothing stands out against the brush. You know what you heard, rarely did your senses fail you. Then there is a blur of movement and you take a step back. 

After Mother Miranda ordered the slaughter of the village, few people are left. Even fewer are brave enough to come out in the light. You take a deep breath and continue down the path, though fear creeps into your chest. Heisenburg put you and Donna as off-limits long ago. It had held up, but there was always the chance of a lycan going rogue. 

The lycan can hear your heartbeat racing in your chest. A rapid thump-thump-thump. You won’t run, won’t offer any reason to give chase. Maybe it doesn’t know who you are just yet, you hope. 

It appears in the path before you, large and hulking with its beady eyes and matted black fur. Your mind screams at you to stop and stand there for a moment. You ignore it, glaring at it with all the confidence in your body. It takes a step forward. A red tongue darts out, licking over sharp teeth as saliva drips from its maw. 

Donna, I love you. You whisper internally, the thought repeating with every beat of your heart. This can’t be the end, can it? You always thought your time would come with Donna–that even if life was slipping from your veins, you’d still overflow with love. 

Maybe she was right. Maybe you should have stayed home, content to sleep in a little more. You’d have to make dinner from scraps of food, but it would be fine. Angie would tease you about not going, but burst with excitement to still find you at home when she woke up. 

You should have stayed. 

It steps forward, the ground shaking with each movement. The creature lacks balance or finesse, every step as forceful as a leap. You glare down at it. This may be the last moment you have, but you aren’t going to waste it on tears.

It stands before you now and hot breath blasts your face, beads of saliva transferring to your skin. You close your eyes and wait. The inevitable isn’t something you’ll run from, even if you wish to live on. 

Two long moments pass, it sniffs you, then backs away with an aggravated huff. It isn’t rogue after all. 

“Damn lycans.” You murmur to yourself, releasing a shaky breath. 

You calm your heart, or at least attempt to. It’s never as easy as it sounds. The rapid staccato in your chest continues, sending shockwaves through your body, even as the rest of your muscles relax. 

The last muscles to relax are those in your hand, clasping the locket at your heart in an iron grip. It would have remained in your palm when the lycan ripped you limb from limb; a balm, a cherished treasure, even in death. Inside boasts a small painting of a single, dark eye. On the same hand a ring, the ‘jewel’ made from a piece of polished porcelain—a fractured piece of Angie that she’d insisted on you keeping. Proof that even if it was different from Donna, she loves you too, in her own way. 

That hand, in another world, would be the only piece left of you. What pictures would be taken from it? If you were unable to be identified, what would the world make you into? An unfortunate lover with a peculiar taste in jewelry, perhaps even a grieving widow seeking to meet her lover in death. None of them would be correct. None could ever properly define you. You—a woman, a Lady, whose only desire was to love and return to that love—even if you had to wait in the afterlife. 

You force yourself to continue on despite the challenge. All you could think of is Donna, how you want to return to her. How you need to. But you shake the thought away, following the lonely path to your destination. 

The barren woodland soon becomes a mismatch of homes on either side. Crumbling stone and mortar litter your path, adding an unpleasant crackle to every step. You move through the doors that lead to the Beneviento estate; the four wings a solemn reminder of who house Beneviento truly belongs to now. 

Once, the square was full of people; those same people would avoid you like the plague, but it was nice to be surrounded by them anyway. Your title shielded you from their more unpleasant desires, while allowing you to be among them. Now, it’s nothing. The only movement is the wind in the trees or a stray lycan. Mother Miranda has truly destroyed this place. 

Taking a sharp right, you walk the path to the reservoir, crossing the necessary decks to get there. It isn’t open, but neither is it as remote as the way home. 

Lapping water greets you in a pleasant hum, not like the roar of the waterfall behind house Beneviento. You would almost enjoy it, if it wasn’t for the putrid smell of rot emanating from the water; an ever-mixing stew of Moreau’s fungus and bile. 

Your nose scrunches. Every part of you rejects the scent, but you force yourself to inhale normally. You need to acclimate by the time you reach Moreau. If you were to make an unpleasant expression in his presence, it would deeply wound him. 

Dark metal greets you and you peer through the bars, smiling at the unbothered hogs munching on their grass. You slip through the gates and past them with ease.

The damp wood of Moreau’s base greets you and you step through, carefully moving around piles of fungus and slime. You peek at the worn sliver of paper in your bag with Donna’s map on it. A left, then another, then a right, then another left and so on until reaching the main area. Sounds of a TV greet your arrival. 

Moreau is invested in a show he’s watching, though from your distance you can’t make it out. Something rather dramatic from the sounds of it. You rapp against a wooden beam and he stands, turning his full body to you. 

“Lady Y/N, you’re early!” He speaks in surprise, “Come in, come in.” 

You awkwardly scale the small wall dividing the room, coming to stand before him with a small smile. He beckons you to a small chair and you oblige him. 

“Yes, I thought I’d make an early start. There are a few things I need to take care of before I return to House Beneviento.” You smile. 

The chair beneath you squishes as you sit, moisture seeping through your clothes. You’re grateful you had the foresight to wear less-than-stellar apparel. Whatever was seeping into it now would never come out, of that you were certain. 

“Ah, yes. Donna said you had a busy day ahead of you. Thirsty?” 

He motions to a row of drinks. Soda, water bottles, lemonade—or, what looks like lemonade. All of them are without a lid and make you uneasy. Still, you won’t refuse him. 

“Just some water, if you’d be so kind. Did Donna tell you much of my plans for the day?” You ask. 

An open water bottle is placed gently in your hand and you offer a smile. You suddenly feel very sorry for Moreau. If Mother Miranda had shown him more care, explaining how to control the Cadou’s abilities, you have no doubt that he could be a fine host. But he’d been the weakest of them all and fell prey to her neglect. 

Who had he been before the Cadou? You doubt he was always like this. House Moreau would have fallen ages ago if that were the case. 

“Only that you’d be delivering the films for me and then going to get food in the village.” He explains in a gurgling, eager voice.

He turns and you quickly dump some of the water from your bottle out and onto the same cushion you sit on. It’s already soaked through, but it still retains the water poured on it. 

“Something like that. The Duke is selling his wares in Castle Dimitrescu today, so I have to make the trek there. Normally I’d wait until he was in the village square, but we’re running low on many ingredients, and I have no other option.” 

“I understand. That seems rather difficult. Lucky for me that I can catch my own food.” He laughs, sitting back in his chair. 

“Yes,” You laugh as well, “Things would be quite simple if Donna and I could fish from the waterfall. Angie does love fish. Though I think the force of it would break our line.” 

“Perhaps. Though there must be a stream higher on the mountain that you could fish from.” 

You pause. That is a wonderful idea. It’d allow Angie to have some fun and keep Donna relaxed, as no one would be around. And you could put off certain visits into the village. 

“Moreau, that is an excellent idea.” 

He beams at your praise, looking rather bashful. You wonder when someone has last been kind to him. Alcina is kind, but her patience runs thin–especially when her maiden fails to join her. Heisenberg rarely comes inside and speaks to him, leaving his things outside of the gate instead. Donna only sees him at meetings. It is difficult to get a word in around Angie, who has a habit of offering him brutal insults. 

You make the mental note to invite him up to House Beneviento sometime soon. Donna will worry about his sickness ruining the house, but you can have a nice lunch outside, maybe on the fenced area near the cliff. It offers an intriguing view of his reservoir while protecting your gardens and home. Though it’s unlikely he’ll come at all. 

Angie will have to be on her best behavior if so. Perhaps the Duke will have something to bribe her with. She adores candy, but the sugar makes her worse than normal. You won’t get any sleep for days if you give it to her. Maybe the idea of fishing will be incentive enough. 

“Thank you. I’m sure Miss Angie will enjoy it very much when you mention it.” Moreau says finally. 

“Of that I have no doubt. If my expectations are correct, I’ll be purchasing a more personalized fishing rod soon enough. She expects nothing but the best. I suppose Donna and I spoil her in that way.” 

“She wouldn’t handle not being spoiled.” 

“Yes, well, Cassandra and Daniela rubbed off on her. Being the only doll capable of verbal communication and complex movement has given her an ego.” 

“Of course. And what of Alcina and her daughters? Are they faring well?” Moreau asks, turning slightly to grab a drink of his own. You take the opportunity to dump out more water. 

You open your mouth to make an easy quip, one you often make at home, before stopping yourself. The nature of Alcina’s relationship with her maiden is rather… concealed from Moreau. He’ll have no qualms, but Mother Miranda will if it gets back to her. To him, the maiden is just a close friend and advisor of Alcina’s. 

“From her most recent call with Donna, I’m led to believe so. We may dine with them soon. Her advisor has suggested a more consistent meal plan in the castle that she is eager to show off.” You tell him, another smile creeping onto your face. 

Though Donna was on the phone, you’d heard nearly all of it. Alcina likes to bemoan her maiden’s organizational tactics, but the fondness and pride in her voice speaks volumes. The invitation is tentative, but you are eager to go when the date is set. Meals in Castle Dimitrescu are divine, as is the conversation. 

“How lovely. I do hope I’ll receive an invitation.” Moreau speaks. A tinge of sadness works its way into his voice. 

“You will. It has been only a tentative invitation until Alcina has more of a plan. The menu for the evening is still being crafted to the needs of the Lords.” You assure. 

Even if he never comes, the invitation will be sent and preparations made. His anxiety makes it nearly impossible to leave his home, but that doesn’t make the invite any less important. It is a small effort to make Moreau feel included. 

“I understand. Alcina is very thorough.” 

“Absolutely, she is,” You agree with a smile before leaning forward, like you were sharing a secret, “If I’m honest, I was surprised she let Donna know so soon. It is to be kept under wraps, but you won’t tell, of course? Not even Heisenburg is aware of this just yet.” 

“Oh, I won’t tell a soul.” He agrees eagerly. 

Moreau isn't the most pleasant to look at, but it does warm your heart to see him smile so genuinely. You are no stranger to the cruelty of Mother Miranda, but he’s never done anything to deserve this. He doesn’t deserve near-total abandonment or constant humiliation. Under all of the unpleasant symptoms, he is a decent man. Hope that one day she’ll see her ways prods your mind. You aren’t going to hold your breath. 

The hands of your watch are past where they should be. You’ve given too much of your time away. With a polite, yet genuine smile, you stand from the seat. 

“I’m sorry to leave so abruptly, but I’ve stayed longer than I intended to. I hope you’ll understand.” 

“Of course. Good luck on your errands.” Moreau nods and stands, watching as you leave, calling after you, “I’ll return your films soon!” 

You laugh under your breath, but don’t stop. To make it from the reservoir to Castle Dimitrescu, then home, will take almost all of your time. You only hope to return before it is too late. Donna will worry excessively and hole up in her workshop, losing control over her thoughts until they manifest into the baby. 

The way back is easier now that you've traversed it. Landmarks stand out and guide your way, until you’re dipping back through the center of town. Your eyes glance over what you know; gates with various symbols leading to each Lord, well-used homes with crumbling foundations, and- wait, that can’t be right. 

Sitting off to the side is a large wagon that you recognize. The Duke waves with a friendly smile. You’ve truly never seen him here on this day of the week, always holed up in Castle Dimitrescu on business. 

You stop in surprise, before moving over to the open wagon, offering a pleasant smile of your own. He seems unphased by your evident confusion. 

“Ah, Lady Y/N, how lovely to see you.” 

“You as well, Duke. How is business?” You ask. 

A gleam catches your eye, making you turn away from the Duke to look at it. Sitting on a shelf is a little tin doll. Peculiar. You lift it from the shelf, feeling the weight in your arms. Perhaps like Angie is to you and Donna, she’d like a doll of her own. With a little help from Heisenburg you could even give her some of the Cadou. 

Where Donna’s dolls are porcelain and wood with cloth outfits, this doll is entirely metal. The dollmaker wouldn’t have to worry about outfitting her. 

“Very busy today,” He smiles, then notices your interest, “I see Little Tin Thalia has caught your attention. A rare find, all the way from the States. Quite the unique treasure.” 

“She’s brilliantly crafted. How did you come to acquire her?” You ask, running a finger gently over the doll’s appendages. 

“A metalworker, long since passed, packed her away before his death. His great-granddaughter found her and she’s made her way to me. I thought she might catch your eye.” 

His eyes twinkle with a knowing energy and you laugh, unable to deny his thoughts. She is a precious little thing. Areas along her surface are brown with rust, little scratches marring the metal. She is in desperate need of some love and care. It’s a perfect task for your family. 

“How much for her?” 

“For you? 500 lei.” He offers with a gesture of his hand.

You raise an eyebrow. It’s a bit steep for a doll made of tin, but you want her, and you aren’t in the mood to haggle. You tuck her in the crook of your arm, rifling in a pouch full of lei for the correct amount. 

Adding on the money for your normal groceries, you hand it over in exchange for another bag of goods. You continue to browse on the off chance that something will stand out. Eventually you pluck a new movie from the shelf. 

“I’m rather surprised to see you here today, Duke, Alcina normally has you in the castle all day.” You say, handing over the items for him to package. 

“Quite right. I would have been there longer, had Lady Dimitrescu had the choice in keeping our meeting.” 

The comment piques your interest. Alcina always keeps her meetings, unless someone is sick. Was one of her daughters ill again? The drafty castle doesn’t help them much during the winter months. 

“What do you mean by that?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. 

“I’m afraid Lady Dimitrescu had her hands rather full with an unwanted visitor. Perhaps you know him? He goes by the name of Ethan Winters.” He says, holding your now-wrapped items out to take.

You reach out to take them, stopping just short when the name grips your mind. Donna explained her meeting with the other Lords just the day before. Ethan’s daughter, Rosemary, was the perfect vessel for Mother Miranda’s daughter. Each Lord had been gifted a piece of her. 

The flask had sent a shiver down your spine. How cruel it was to mutilate the child in such a way, but you held your tongue. You were powerless to change the situation. 

Heisenburg had been left in charge of Ethan Winters. He must have failed for him to make it to Castle Dimitrescu, where he’d surely be- Your mind stops. The Duke’s words ring through you like a shot. 

Alcina never misses a meeting. She always has a choice in whether to keep it or not. If she no longer had one… then that means… 

You don’t bother to grab your items, turning on your heels and running in the direction of home. If the Dimitrescu family had fallen, then yours was next. Donna was next. 

“Lady Y/N, your things!” The Duke calls. 

“I’ll return for them!” You throw over your shoulder, not hesitating for a moment. 

Donna is in no way as fragile as everyone thinks. Yes, she struggles in ways that the other Lords don’t, but she’s powerful in her abilities. Her way of bending minds would kill any normal man. But you’re quickly gathering that Ethan Winters is not normal, not in the slightest. You need to get to Donna before he does. 

The snow beneath your feet is slippery, your legs kicking up behind you as you struggle to keep your footing. You fall forward a few times. The muscles in your arms suffer from the impacts of catching your weight, but you don’t stop. You won’t stop until you’re back in House Beneviento. 

You shouldn’t have gone out today. How stupid, how foolish you are. They’re all in danger because you left. 

Every muscle in your body screams with the exertion of running while fighting to keep a hold on the ground. You want to stop just for a moment, just to catch your breath. Your heart won’t let you. All you can feel is fear clawing at your composure, bit by bit. 

If he was there, would Donna know that the person in the house wasn’t you? Would she be locked up inside her workshop, blocking out any input from her other dolls? 

You try to pick up the pace. 

The dolls you had so lovingly offered kisses earlier now vibrate as you pass. Whether from curiosity or fear, you don’t stop to find out. You do offer up a message, panting it out as you run. 

“Tell Donna I’m coming!” You call out. 

More than anything, you wish to have that direct line to her at this moment–the psychic link her dolls can communicate with her through. It’d make it so much easier than relying on your physical health and strength to get you home, only offering messages through her dolls. What were they thinking? What were they feeling? 

Do they know what the situation is? Are they trying to tell you, in their own ways? Your heart can’t beat any faster, tensing and pulsating with the stress of the unknown. Muscles ache, craving a break, however small. 

Your lungs are working overtime, throat burning and aching with the cold air you’re rapidly inhaling. It’s almost over. You’re nearly home, the outline of the roof becoming clearer through tree branches. 

Nothing stands out as peculiar. The gardens lay untouched, nothing broken or marred by another presence. But the air feels still. Too still. While you move, the rest of the world is waiting for something, something you can’t understand. 

Wooden stairs creak as you ascend them, slowly turning the knob on the front door. You let it swing back and reveal the living room. Everything is the same. Nothing is out of place, nothing is broken, just… lost in that perfect stillness. Maybe you worried for nothing. Your heart calms, a bolt of relief making you slouch. 

Donna is probably still in bed, though Angie will be up and about somewhere. She loves the workshop almost as much as your beloved did; she loves to play that she is Donna, creating peculiar amalgamations of wood and porcelain from scraps. 

Your heart stops when the stillness is broken by a scream. 

It comes from your right, down a hallway lined with peeling wallpaper. The sound is drawn out and you run again. No snow slows you this time as you whip through the corners, throwing open the door the sound came from. 

You can’t stop your shriek at the scene before you. That vile man, Ethan Winters, stands over your beloved Donna–a pair of shears have been buried in her skull and ripped away. Blood runs over the side of her face, but her eye looks at you. For just a second there is something behind it; love, fear, regret… all passing in an instant. Then her body drops to the floor, the impact like a punch to your gut. 

“No, no… Donna,” You sob, shoving Ethan Winters aside to drop by her body. You cradle her head in your hands, hoping that she’ll show any sign of life, “Donna, wake up, please.” 

Nothing. 

No breath, blink, not even a tiny quirk of her lips. She’s gone. Your love is dead, staring past you without a glimmer of personality. 

How could this be possible? It couldn’t be her time. You have so many plans, dreams that weren’t fulfilled. The fence near the cliff still needs to be fixed, a table and chairs already ordered from the Duke waiting in the shed. The three of you are supposed to enjoy the hot summer days out there. Angie would have run too close to the fence, but she’d never go too far, enticed by the lemonade and sandwiches spread on the table. 

You had just purchased the wood to build new planter boxes for the windows. Donna’s dream of making her home a colorful, beautiful oasis during the warmer months… gone. Never to come true. Why her? Why Donna, whose only desire was to make the things around her beautiful? 

Her cheeks would never flush with embarrassment or desire again, her lips would never be pulled into a smile. Angie would never tease her again. You’d never kiss her. 

“Angie, darling, wake up… This isn’t a funny game,” You sob, gently shaking the doll in hopes of waking her, “You can have your surprise if you just wake up.” 

No glee or maniacal giggles, no playful attempts to bite at your fingers. Just stillness. A silence that felt like it could slowly unravel you. 

Everything you loved… dead. 

A heavy breath reminds you of another presence. The sadness in you contorts into something worse, something overwhelming. You want to destroy Ethan Winters. You want to bury the same shears into his skull until it collapses–maybe then he’d feel an ounce of the pain Donna had, that you feel now. 

“You did this!” You snarl, standing and throwing yourself at the man. 

Ethan throws his arm out. It’s so fast that you don’t notice his weapon until the handle of his shears protrude from your chest. White-hot pain sends you to the floor, a choked cry leaving your lips. The blood pouring from the wound is almost more than your tears. 

Your body is taut with adrenalin, a primal desire to fight or escape. But you can’t. There is no reason to, your only reasons lying across the room; lifeless. No more smiles or laughter, no more love pouring from them, filling you up like an empty glass. 

Not caring any longer for what Ethan could do or even for the pain in your chest, you grip at the floorboards. You can barely breathe as you drag yourself across the room. The blood pouring from your wound stains your dress, vision going blurry. 

Ethan watches in shock and confusion as you do this. Under your breath, in between pained gasps, he can hear you crying out a single word. A name. Donna. It doesn’t stop, even when you’re beside the body of the dead woman, clutching her. 

You bury your face into her neck and shut your eyes. Her skin is still warm, but the scent of her is replaced with that of blood. Of decay. Something is missing. You’re ready to die, to meet her, but the scene is wrong. 

Pulling Angie from behind Donna, you tuck the doll in your arms between the two of you. You hadn’t been able to protect her, protect them, when it mattered. But you will hold them now. In death, you’ll surround them with all your love. That is all you have to give. 

“Donna, I’m sorry,” You whimper, pressing a kiss to her hairline, “I’m so sorry.” 

You know deep in your heart that it shouldn’t be you apologizing. There was another, someone else who was meant to protect all of you. Protect the Dimitrescu family, protect your Donna and Angie. This blood is not on your hands. 

As your eyes slip closed for the last time, one last breath leaving your lungs, the anger seeps from you. It becomes something more, something… promising. Attaching itself to Ethan Winters, it knows one thing, the only thing it needs to aid him in destroying the true evil; the same thought your mind echoes before your soul vanishes. 

"I think it has to do with the excitement of going to that place and the possibilities of the day."

"Ugh," she groaned, nudging him with her elbow. "Carry me?" 

His jovial laughter made her smile. "What a great idea!"

"Really?" Her eyes widened with the hope of some rest. 

"Sure, one of us deserves a break."

"You're the best!" She threw her arms around him. With a quick peck on the cheek, she moved behind him.

Troy quickly grabbed her wrist. In one swift motion, he spun her back around to face him.

Her brows turned down in confusion, a pout filling her lips. "But you said!"

"No, I said one of us deserves a break. I never suggested that it should be you."

Astraea scoffed in amusement. "Wait, you're serious?"

"Why shouldn't I be?" Troy smirked at the idea. "Who climbed that tree to score that delicious fruit you enjoyed ever so much?"

"For the record, I offered to climb it."

"But did you?" He stroked his beard curiously. 

"You're impossible," Astraea lamented.

"More improbable," he countered. 

"Fine."

"Wait, really? I didn't think—" 

"What, you afraid I'll drop you?" A mischievous glint sparked in her eyes.

"Are we talking on accident or on purpose?"

Astraea shrugged playfully. Her lips curled up. "Tick tock, Hassan. Now or never!"

Troy hummed dramatically in consideration. He rested the back of his hand against his forehead. His legs buckled as he pretended to be faint. "My feet are rather tired, and my legs are feeling weak suddenly."

"Imagine that!" She rolled her eyes. Her head shook to the sides. "Let's go, Princess."

"Why, thank you!" With a flick of his wrist, Troy brushed back his imaginary flowing locks fitting of a Disney princess and hopped on her back. 

Thanks for reading. It took way longer to write than I would have liked giving puppy's constant need for attention. I literally wrote a sentence here and there, but I think it all makes sense? Let's hope! Sorry for any typos! I had to proof read in sections.