[ Jesus, there's just something so absolutely fucking absurd about getting a thumbs up from a man in a robe with a dislocated shoulder in the middle of the fucking woods while they're both deaf. A huff of a laugh escapes him, obviously neither of them hear it. And then another, and then another, and he's got to turn around so Mace doesn't think he's a goddamn lunatic.
He loses his fucking shit. Hysterical laughter that shakes his shoulders, that tips his head back, a mess of filthy bloody curly hair the only thing that hides his expression probably.
God fucking damn it, this is insane. This whole thing is insane. He's losing his mind. Mace is wearing a fucking robe. They're gonna die and Mace is wearing a fucking robe.
That hysteria, that dark and wild amusement, it's still in his expression when the touch makes him compose himself. Makes him turn around, one hand passing over his mouth to try and hide it.
Okay.
Alright.
Time to focus.
He gives Mace a nod, then touches the skin of his chest for all that it can communicate - bare skin.
His hand glows blue. Making you a shirt.
He offers the hammer back out with his left while his right knits together the same plain white fabric as what he's wearing now.
It only comes in one size: his. The's got broad shoulders, though, and a wide chest. Should be alright.
The shoes on the other hand - his eyes dip down to Mace's feet, to compare. ]
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He loses his fucking shit. Hysterical laughter that shakes his shoulders, that tips his head back, a mess of filthy bloody curly hair the only thing that hides his expression probably.
God fucking damn it, this is insane. This whole thing is insane. He's losing his mind. Mace is wearing a fucking robe. They're gonna die and Mace is wearing a fucking robe.
That hysteria, that dark and wild amusement, it's still in his expression when the touch makes him compose himself. Makes him turn around, one hand passing over his mouth to try and hide it.
Okay.
Alright.
Time to focus.
He gives Mace a nod, then touches the skin of his chest for all that it can communicate - bare skin.
His hand glows blue. Making you a shirt.
He offers the hammer back out with his left while his right knits together the same plain white fabric as what he's wearing now.
It only comes in one size: his. The's got broad shoulders, though, and a wide chest. Should be alright.
The shoes on the other hand - his eyes dip down to Mace's feet, to compare. ]