#whiteleo

“I’m, like, serious, I can’t,” Leo wheezes, “do any more of,” wheeze, “this anymore, c’mon White, just tell me,” wheeze, “what I did wrong already?”

White’s green eyes drift over to his face from where they had been resting on a model of the new barriers designed to protect the city from a new, rumored onslaught from the Thirteen Kings; they judge him for a heart-scorching thirty seconds before she bounds over to him, yanks his spine up straight with a wave of her finger, and jabs him in the chest with a long, slender finger.

“YOU,” she informs him, “are a shrimpy little weakling who can’t perform strong magic on his own,” and she bulldozes over another slew of protests to continue, “and I need you to be able to do that before we play like big kids to fix these shields, little magi, so grab your monkey, and I’ll see you in another two laps for lunch.”

bonus:

her @ leo ‘why wont u tell her (white) u like her’