Ugh, there was that brow again. Dirge finally recognized the look - his mother raised her brow in the same exact way when she saw another business woman wearing a tacky blouse, or ill fitting pants. That's what Dirge was to Drona, apparently; a tacky outfit.
He wasn't okay with that. The boil's face got a little downcast, brows furrowed and hitodama staying silently still. Fangs pressed into his inner lip, fists clenched. Obviously she wouldn't need his stuff - tacky outfits didn't have anything to give. "Oh- alright. I guess I'll see you later, then?" He mumbled, grabbing the boxes off the small cloud behind him and setting them by the door.
Be polite, Dirge. What would a good boil do?
"Um, unless you want some help unpacking?"
THIS IS HALLOWEEN
WHERE IT IS ALWAYS HALLOWEEN (and sometimes exams)
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