—— he could not help it; a quiet, however not inaudible, chuckle escapes his lips.
the mask maker shifted his position on the wooden chair. his tattooed arm rests on
the chairs’ backrest. he should not have laughed; mastering the needle & thread was
not easy, especially for someone who had just begun to practice it.
—— red hues follow the young ghouls’ fingers, continuing to observe her progress.
unfortunately, the amateur had bent the needle, up to the point where it might no
longer be useable. the silence in the studio lingers, until the mask maker burst out
in a loud laugh. the now amused ghoul could not stop grinning like a complete
idiot.—— heavy breaths follow shortly after it seems like the echoing laughter had
stopped.
” ——geez, touka-chan, ”
Mere defeat at the hands of a pin perhaps had to be on the top of her most shameful moments in regards to self sufficiency and nary did the male ghoul’s laughter encourage anything but a personalize trauma. It’s childish the way that lighter oculi narrow, hinging on the very lips that breath chortle after chortle in the wake of a mishap.
In her lap, the mask lays heavy, gawkish looking and thread-barren at the seams. There had been some semblance of pride in fixing it herself, the tattered strands of cloth and leather patched up almost haphazardly but it had been by her hand alone. Though clearly the rest of the trauma work would best be left to a individual of… increased talents.
❝ Just take it, ❞
She snarls harshly, timbre echoing with a slighted venom whilst she shoves the fullface rabbit head towards the man lounging across the back of his chair. Her temper had been tested, worn, and finally battered over a thin layer of patience. No doubt he’d make a fool of her within seconds of needlework. It didn’t matter – she needed her mask. Yet thinking any of her or her companions would be around permanently to help… Well, that’s a cause for foolishness.
