#redrighte

“WELL, Y'DID,” he grumbles, even as ink speaks his heartfelt apology. he knows the little guy means well - red’s always been a decent judge of character - but fuck if it didn’t take him long enough to reach a conclusion. IT’S BAD enough he has to entertain the little matchstick with three hours of sleep and a shitty attitude, but his magic started acting up around the same time ink whipped that damn flute out. every note felt like a tidal wave against his brain, sloshing his magic around the inside of his skull. he kept his left eye shut tight, only peeking out through his right, but magic still leaked through, dripping and evaporating on his cheek like dry ice. EVENTUALLY, he reached his breaking point. his whole skull and spine throbs, and he can’t think straight enough between the hustle and bustle to just ask the kid to quit. red slung an arm over his shoulders, dwarfing ink against his boiling body, and takes his entire face in his palm. once his point has been made, the hand releases, and red mercifully deflates with the addition of a little more silence. “ASS'OLE,” he grumbled, shifting around just enough to free his flask for a little self-medication. “can’t take a hint. can’t give it a rest. lucky i don’ feel like yelling, or you’d be licked by now … ”

the  artist’s  brow  line  raises,    hands  politely  clasp  in  his  lap  --    even  as  his  mouth  curves  into  a  suppressed  smile  at  his  friend’s  expense.    he  feels  bad,    don’t  get  him  wrong,    but  it  does  little  to  lessen  the  taste  of  laughter  on  his  tongue.    when  red  reaches  for  his    ‘self-medication’    ink  does  the  same,    reaching  into  the  inner  pocket  of  his  blazer,    fingers  close  around  a  small  vial,    &&    he  quickly  takes  a  sip  before  returning  it  again.

a  deep  breath,    his  eyelights  flick  to  something  more  easily  sympathetic,    not  so  laced  with  the  joy  of  his  own  shenanigans.    he  stands  from  the  bar    &&    places  a  tentative,    reassuring  hand  up  on  red’s  shoulder.

      ❛   if   you   felt   like   yelling   i’d   be   halfway   outta   town.  ❜      he  admits.    he  knew  red  had  a  temper  on  him,    &&    while  not  one  to  take  things  too  seriously,    he  still  didn’t  want  to be  on  the  receiving  end  of  it.    ink  could  tell  he  wasn’t  in  danger  of  being  yelled  at  at  the  moment,    red  looked  way  too  tired  for  that.

✱ @redrighte  called   //  accepting.

[ rest ] your muse resting their arm over mine’s shoulder  && [ scold ]  your muse scolding mine for something .

mismatched  eyelights  glance  up  to  red’s  face  as  the  larger  skeleton  drapes  an  arm  over  his  narrow  shoulders,    flute  held  still  against  his  teeth.    irritation  drips  off  of  the  mobster,    &&  ink  has  the  decency  to  look  sheepish.    tucking  the  instrument  away  in  his  shirt,    he  places  a  hand  on  red’s  face,    not  pushing  him  off  even  as  the  drunken  monster  leans  heavily  on  him.

       ❛  'm  sorry,  ❜      he  murmurs,    keeping  his  voice  low  as  to  avoid  causing  any  additional  trouble,    eyelights  show  a  mint  green  triangle    &&    a  dark  blue  cross      ❛  i  wasn’t  trying  to  give  you  a  headache.  ❜      

✱ @redrighte  served  tea  //  accepting.

he  isn’t  picky,   he  looks  in  the  tall  clear  glass  for  a  minute  before  easily  downing  its  contents.    it  tastes  like  cheap  alcohol,    vinegar    &&    cigarette  smoke.    his  eyelights  flicker  curiously  as  he  sets  the  glass  back  down.    the  tastes  are  ...    unfamiliar,    &&  he  always  likes  to  try  new  things.

guardian  covers  his  mouth  with  his  scarf,    dripping  ink  onto  the  coffee  stained  carpet  beneath  them.    he  at  least  has  the  decency  to  look  sheepish  under  red’s  glare.    he  tends  to  get  overexcited  --    an  overexcitement  can  lead  to  him  ...    well,    purging  any  leftovers  in  his  chest  cavity.