[Another day in Indulgence Clown Factory Sin Boogaloo House! Douman has never actually seen what laundry machines look like, being a Sort Of Ye Olde (Complicated), so they are mostly here out of curiosity!]
[Except...someone call 911, there is a clown here.]
Ah! Hello. [And a cheerful sort of smile.] You know, I've heard these machines are giving people quite the trouble! Huhuhu.
[Hi he's just chillin here, shirt off, the extravagent coat is slung over one of the machines to the side. He's just holding the white shirt which, now that it's off, is pretty obviously bloodsoaked on one side.]
I was told to come here. There isn't a basin or anything?
[He is shirtless though! Which makes the fact that he is actually a little wounded sort of obvious. His arms - where it's possible to see through the tattoos and the v of his chest where his shirt normally hangs open is covered in nicks and scars and slashes, healed over - some raised and pale, some darker. Nothing seems particularly fresh though.]
Who says it's my blood? [Because it's your shirt, idiot.]
[Yeah, there's no way that Douman is not going to look at all of those marks. With a huff, they actually come over, squatting down to peer at them a little closer - their eyebrows are twisted up with concern.]
You've been through a lot, I see. And...its not? Mmm. You didn't get into a fight, did you?
[He doesn't mind this one bit? This is fine. Since they're in close, they can notice one of the peacock feathers on his neck is actually a mark in the shape of a red eye. It isn't . . . quite the texture of a tattoo. But that's probably fine and normal. All the scars seem well healed over though.
The look of concern is . . . actually cute though. Poking them right in the forehead where it's all twisted up.]
Oh, no-- Or. Rather, yes, but it was before yesterday. Doesn't seem to have left anything permanent. And these are just . . . [His face screws up as he clicks his tongue.] You know what magic is, giant who says he used to be human?
[Well, that distracts them from taking a closer look at that eye - Douman hangs their head, as if the small gesture was enough to defeat them utterly.]
Oh, don't tease, mm. [But they don't seem to mind, lifting their head again.] Ah, of course I do. I'm well versed in magic and magecraft alike.
What, is bleeding on someone really that much of a viable battle strategy?
[Obviously a tease, by the way their mouth twists up to the side.]
That's good! That's good. And its quite alright. I just hardly want you passing out in the laundry room, of all places. There are better places to lose your blood.
[As they want! Molly won’t push it if they don’t want to. Some people prefer a little distance. He just sighs, looks at the shirt, and pops it back on. He’ll just live with it for now.]
[Douman holds up their hand - check out those blackened fingertips and sharp green-colored nails! The color matches with the green eyes on their skin.]
[Holding up his to match. A golden crown. His nails are also sharp in that way where they’re verging on claw-like, just a slightly darker purple than his skin. More knicks and cuts are on his fingers, and if Douman catches sight of the palm, there’s another of those red eyes on there.]
I rather like mine, actually. And I like your nails. Great color.
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W0 DAY 2
[Except...someone call 911, there is a clown here.]
Ah! Hello. [And a cheerful sort of smile.] You know, I've heard these machines are giving people quite the trouble! Huhuhu.
THAT MEME
I was told to come here. There isn't a basin or anything?
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[Douman's smile is a little tight.]
No, not that I know of. Though I wouldn't recommend using the machines. They spit slime all over people. Terrible. [A pause.] Are you alright?
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That's what it is? A machine?
[god this place is confusing]
Me? I'm fine. A little put out about my only shirt, but I suppose it is what it is.
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Yes, its a machine. Leave them alone, I say.
[And a tilt of their head.]
Are you wounded? I hope you're not still bleeding...
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[He is shirtless though! Which makes the fact that he is actually a little wounded sort of obvious. His arms - where it's possible to see through the tattoos and the v of his chest where his shirt normally hangs open is covered in nicks and scars and slashes, healed over - some raised and pale, some darker. Nothing seems particularly fresh though.]
Who says it's my blood? [Because it's your shirt, idiot.]
no subject
[Yeah, there's no way that Douman is not going to look at all of those marks. With a huff, they actually come over, squatting down to peer at them a little closer - their eyebrows are twisted up with concern.]
You've been through a lot, I see. And...its not? Mmm. You didn't get into a fight, did you?
no subject
The look of concern is . . . actually cute though. Poking them right in the forehead where it's all twisted up.]
Oh, no-- Or. Rather, yes, but it was before yesterday. Doesn't seem to have left anything permanent. And these are just . . . [His face screws up as he clicks his tongue.] You know what magic is, giant who says he used to be human?
[So that's probably a yes.]
no subject
[Well, that distracts them from taking a closer look at that eye - Douman hangs their head, as if the small gesture was enough to defeat them utterly.]
Oh, don't tease, mm. [But they don't seem to mind, lifting their head again.] Ah, of course I do. I'm well versed in magic and magecraft alike.
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[Patting them on the head now, if they're still leaning down.]
My blood does funny things.
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Funny things...? And what funny things are those, exactly?
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[ Cool. Specific! ]
Mostly useful in a fight. And it isn’t working right now, so a bit useless either way, isn’t it? Point is, I’m not hurt. Nice of you to worry though.
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[Obviously a tease, by the way their mouth twists up to the side.]
That's good! That's good. And its quite alright. I just hardly want you passing out in the laundry room, of all places. There are better places to lose your blood.
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[His mouth twists up to match - easy going. He really doesn’t seem bothered by the tease. If anything, it makes him relax a little.]
Lost plenty before, promise. Listen, I know this is rude, but I didn’t catch your name before, friend.
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[And a bit of a sheepish smile as they bow their head again.]
I do apologize! I'm the rude one, honest. The name is Ashiya Douman.
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Mollymauk Tealeaf. Molly to my friends.
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[They don't want to be presumptuous]!
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[As they want! Molly won’t push it if they don’t want to. Some people prefer a little distance. He just sighs, looks at the shirt, and pops it back on. He’ll just live with it for now.]
So, what’s your tattoo? Just for fun.
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[Douman holds up their hand - check out those blackened fingertips and sharp green-colored nails! The color matches with the green eyes on their skin.]
Here it is! And yours?
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I rather like mine, actually. And I like your nails. Great color.
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[They gesture at the eyes.]
Well. Are those eyes?
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Just tattoos. Not my favorites.
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[Hm. Interesting, but Douman will be merciful and not pry.]
Well, whatever they are...I like them. Though I guess with my propensities for eyes, I'm rather biased.
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[He doesn’t see any extra, apart from the tattoo, but one never knows.]
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