#macxbre

oh my go d

 fite me

I wanna see it!

I don't have it yet, silly. Would you like to join me on the adventure of getting it, though?

Sleep in my character’s bed—your call if my character is with yours or not

When Libra crawled into bed for what seemed like the first time in ages, he really had not anticipated a pair of arms to loop loosely about his waist, or a warm, sleepy body to press snugly against his back. The priest gave an undignified yelp, tensing against the unexpected contact— while Henry, exhausted, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn against his palm, snuggled ever closer. “Hey Libra!”

A soft, fond sigh. It wasn’t the first time the dark mage had pulled this— it was a bad habit the monk fed into, harboring him in his tent whenever he did something bad. “Have you gotten yourself into trouble again, Henry?”

Judging by the muffled laughter against his back, yes. Shameless. Libra would normally launch into a very serious talk with him, but… sleep tugging at emerald eyes, he could not bring himself to do it just now.

yaaaay ; v; would you prefer to plot something?

{ 22 }  Pick a song for my character to sing for karaoke night 

raises hand from the background

Paint my character's nails

A fine, shiny, black varnish now adorned the nails of his right hand, glinting and gleaming in the sunlight strangely. Libra flexed long, slender fingers, watching them bend and curl as if they had become some sort of freakish disembodied limb— because they looked that way, painted like a Plegian’s, and seeing them laced in prayer later was guaranteed to throw him off.

Henry was actually enjoying himself, he could tell. He applied the polish gently and immaculately, a sign of practice— he’d actually, and successfully, painted the nails of several members of their camp in their sleep, but every time he tried Libra’s tent the monk had already risen before him or woke shortly after his entrance.

It frustrated him. But that was why he was here now, holding his hand as he painted it, blowing occasionally at the fingers of his prettied phantom limb. It was the only way Libra could get him to attend the next church service, a feat that was quickly escalating into stranger and more extravagant demands on the dark mage’s part.

But he hadn’t asked for blood, so Libra really couldn’t complain.