#psycasted

MISTLETOE. || accepting!

dear god why. 

he loves the libra parties most of the time – loves helping to organize them, especially, but he hadn’t been in charge of decorating this time around, and as such, he hadn’t noticed the mistletoe hung over nearly every doorway.  who’d done it – was it kk?  she was something of an instigator; a distinct possibility, at least for the source of the idea, if not the implementation.  or maybe it had been that security girl who liked to flirt.  regardless of whose idea it had been, he’s certainly planning his grisly revenge scheme as he stands frozen beneath the decorative plant alongside william macbeth, one of his dearest friends. 

     ❛ w-well, uh – um – i guess w-we should, uh – ❜

he tosses a pleading, frantic look into the crowd, praying that someone, anyone will have mercy.  pull him away, or cause a distraction – anything to get him out of this situation, or at least to take the attention off of him.  he doesn’t mind the idea of kissing black so much; what’s a peck on the cheek between good friends?  but with an audience, he feels like he might keel over right then and there.  and how pathetic would that be?  working for libra, arguably one of the most dangerous jobs in the most dangerous city in the world, and dying because of some fucking mistletoe?  michella would never let him live it down.

but then someone – the voice sounds suspiciously like zapp’s, the bastard – starts a chant, and leo knows he has to do it quickly.  just get it over with.  and then the party will resume and everything will be fine.  it’ll be like it never happened!  right?  this isn’t going to make things weird, is it?  oh god.  oh god oh god oh god –

@psycasted / accents!! / 1/10