💀 MoM IC INBOX 💀

[golisolation]

"Yo, it's the hated boss that beats you down, and beats you down, and never lets up... Yeah, big bad Guzma is here—well, I ain't, actually. Leave a message and ya boy will get back at ya. Later days, dude."

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[fauxmarth]

[with an unhappy sound, Lucina tilts herself to let him settle on his own feet, shooting a look over at the door hanging by its bottom hinge.]

Gods...not even a day in and I've already broken something horribly! And you're leaking paint and--wait, why do you have paint in your pocket in the first place?!

[golisolation]

[Now on his feet, he doesn't stare at the door for long, before looking at the more immediate problem. He's about to pull his pants off—deciding that's a smarter plan than pulling the knife out and wrestling with a geyser of paint from the punctured can, but he stops at her question. Visibly jolting at it, before looking at her a little sheepishly.

Silently, he holds up his arm that has yet to get re-painted, the purple skull emblem noticeably faded and cracked—peeling in some places.]

I was, uh, fixin' this before I found ya. I didn't wanna put the can down on the carpet or nothin', figured my pocket was good a place as any.

[Glancing at the door again, he shrugs lightly.]

We can fix the door.

[fauxmarth]

Oh--goodness, alright, well-- [she grimaces, halted from poking the door. probably for the best; she's sure she'll just make it burst into splinters even tapping it.

she exhales, still frazzled, looking about.]

Let me--find a towel or, or rags or something, so we can soak up whatever's leaking out. I'll be right back...

[she squeaks past the door and back out into the kitchen area, where a bunch of assorted boxes of utilities and odds and ends are stacked up. she'll fish around for a while until finding a couple dish rags, floating back downstairs and offering them out.]

Will this help? Mind the blade, it's probably still...still pretty sharp...

[golisolation]

[When she comes back, Guzma's taken his pants off, and considering he wasn't exactly expecting on going anywhere he was uh, free balling it. But his long ass muscle shirt practically covers him anyway. So, he's holding the jumbled up pair, the can and dagger in hand as he's trying to keep them in place so it doesn't start spraying even more than it is.]

Yeah, that should do it--here, take the handle of the dagger.

[He says that, releasing it himself so she can do that, and then swapping to take the dish rags so that he can cover the hole the moment she takes the dagger out.

If all goes well, the paint will be mostly contained. If all goes bad, Lucina might get sprayed with paint, NO BIGGIE.]

[fauxmarth]

[Lucina's not sure of much, but she's sure she wasn't expecting to see her man stripped down to his boxers upon return.

perhaps the least odd thing right now, honestly? but it gives her pause nonetheless -- but only briefly. she makes a soft, affirmative sound and moves to pull the dagger free.]

Well, as long as that's-- [YOINK.] YAH!!

[she hops back when she sees paint fly out and spatter all over her stockings, frozen in place for a beat with dagger raised.

she blinks.]

I mean...of, of all the things that could've been, paint isn't...the worst...

[golisolation]

[Or lack there of, huh? Hard to tell when he wears shirts that reach almost mid-thigh. Either way, this situation is ridiculous, but that's just life when you live with Guzma. As for the can, Guzma tries to cover it as quickly as he can, but there's still a casualty despite his efforts.

How she's holding that dagger makes him freeze for a second, till his eyes flick down towards her stockings.]

—Shit, my bad. [Better paint than blood, huh?] If ya get those in the sink, we can probably get the paint outta 'em. As for these pants, though...

[He looks to the mess he's containing between his hands.]

They're a lost damn cause.

[fauxmarth]

Oh, dear...

[rest in stained pieces, pants. Lucina frowns thoughtfully.]

You...already packed and brought the rest of your clothes over...right?

[golisolation]

Uuuuh....

[That's not promising. He looks from her, to the pants that're now basically dripping with paint, then back to her.]

I think so?

[He really, REALLY hopes so.]

[fauxmarth]

[while trying to keep her mouth from twitching into an inadvertent smile:] I hope that's the case; I can't really...see you squeezing into any stockings or...or skirts...

Shall I go look? While you trash those?

[golisolation]

Fuck no, I wouldn't be able to. I'd bust outta your stockings for sure—let alone your skirts.

[Which isn't to say he's opposed to that generally, just her skirts would maybe fit around his thigh. Guzma's got some hips on him.]

Yeah, my stuff's in our room—[Man, saying that gives him a slight flutter of warmth in his chesk]—if I did bring my clothes, they'd be in a black duffle bag.

[And while she does that, he'll be...looking for something to put these damn pants in. Maybe there's some trash bags in here? Something??? Man, where's Tupp's Grimer when you need it.]

[fauxmarth]

[honestly? Lucina thinks he's going to actually set them on fire to destroy all evidence. this is because Lucina doesn't know about paint and vapors and how that's generally a bad idea. she is not the brightest of diamonds, but dammit, she still sparkles.

she makes a brisk bee-line up to their room, making a point of not making eye contact with any bugs along the way because she will not be judged for this right now, roaming around the scattering of boxes and...back alley garbage can...? Guzma this is not how a person packs, but okay, that explains the odd smell. fair enough.

somehow, the absurdity of the situation gradually takes a backseat to the action itself -- namely, she, the girlfriend, dutifully searching through her man's belongings for pants. the domestic and intimate nature of the act settles in and makes her feel rather fluttery in the way him saying our room did him in, and for a moment she just stands there like a dope...a dope holding pants upside-down.


oh.

right.

pants. good! she chuckles and sighs out the whimsy of the moment (and the idea of Guzma wearing her goldfish-patterned stockings) before hurrying back in, holding her find out triumphantly.]

You are in luck! We won't have to make a detour before dinner to get you clean clothes. We can toast to your foresight later.