[Stepping in shit has a 50% chance of looking and smelling better than the muck caked on Solomon's shoes. Takasugi wears the stench of the bog as well, even Wyver's oppressive aroma does little to subdue their ripe procession.
When he gathers the towel to bring to Solomon, he casts a forlorn glance to his shower. A moment of intimacy, between Takasugi and the potential for cleanliness (and inevitable disappointment when the pipes do nothing more but sputter and dribble).
Annoying.
He'll light some incense when Solomon takes the towel from his hand, several slats scattered around his abode to dimly smolder.] Follow the hallway, it's at the end.
[This is the most normal exchange they've had.
Weird.
Once a more earthen scent begins to combat the stank of two dudes (chillin five feet apart in the jungle cos they're Not Gay), he moves to crumple Solomon's ruined suit jacket in his fist and deposit it into the trash.
There's no salvaging that.
When Solomon returns, a small parcel sits on the warped table. Still wrapped in simple brown paper, it's almost like a gift. (Inside, a yukata - like this, except for dudes) Takasugi has settled, watching a small smoke tendril drift from the nearest stick of incense as he drinks from a cup of brownish water.]
no subject
When he gathers the towel to bring to Solomon, he casts a forlorn glance to his shower. A moment of intimacy, between Takasugi and the potential for cleanliness (and inevitable disappointment when the pipes do nothing more but sputter and dribble).
Annoying.
He'll light some incense when Solomon takes the towel from his hand, several slats scattered around his abode to dimly smolder.] Follow the hallway, it's at the end.
[This is the most normal exchange they've had.
Weird.
Once a more earthen scent begins to combat the stank of two dudes (chillin five feet apart in the jungle cos they're Not Gay), he moves to crumple Solomon's ruined suit jacket in his fist and deposit it into the trash.
There's no salvaging that.
When Solomon returns, a small parcel sits on the warped table. Still wrapped in simple brown paper, it's almost like a gift. (Inside, a yukata - like this, except for dudes) Takasugi has settled, watching a small smoke tendril drift from the nearest stick of incense as he drinks from a cup of brownish water.]