Pocket Full of Fun [Bertolt/Kionchi]

No regard for furniture or the functions they served Bertolt lounged upon the dinner table as comfortably as he'd sink into the cushions of the couch, mouth agape in a deep yawn as his eyes blinked to fight off the blurry spots that had found a home over his pupils. These were the days he hated. When he couldn't fight back against the intangible chains his host had clamped around him and boredom crippled his mind like a glass ball slowly cracking under pressure. It was only a matter of time until the ball shattered and the pieces flew like shrapnel. He'd read every book he could find in the abode of his captor (which were scarce to begin with) and had found many of them lacking. He had studied one of them for a while, a simple picture book that illustrated many bizarre yet intriguing positions of copulation that he hadn't yet considered. Trying to pronounce the name of the book had been a challenge, the best he could muster was calm-ass-who-tera. He wasn't sure what such an odd title had to do with the contents of the book, but at least it served to occupy his mind for a while. He even cleaned up after himself.

After that he'd gotten into the cosmetics, a crime he'd committed on several occasions much to the dismay of the Cheshire who had to help him clean it off the walls. He'd learned his lesson since then though, make-up is supposed to go on the body, not the environment, so by the time he'd grown bored with his artwork he was covered in childish drawings scrawled in lipstick, the scenery caked on with foundation and the colors powdered with blush. Had he any actual art utensils he probably could have created something more respectable, but he had to make do with what he had. The problem he faced then was hiding the evidence for when Cheshire returned from whatever trip had struck her fancy.

And that was how Bertolt found himself in the shower, the smell of lavender drifting from the shampoo and mixing with the powdered scents of the cosmetics in the front room. She'd find the whittled down lipstick and mismatched powder pads eventually, but Bertolt knew that as long as he didn't make a mess she wouldn't mind too much. Make-up was easy to replace; walls, floors and ceilings were not.

The devils senses weren't yet attuned enough to perceive the details of a persons soul, as he was rinsing off the shaft of his tail all he could feel was an entity filling the space in Cheshire's home, moving through the halls and rooms towards him. At first he thought that she had returned, but there was something about the directness of her approach that concerned him. Usually she liked to take her time and remove her footwear, lounge around a bit and make him come to her. This one made a beeline right for him. Had he left evidence in the front room? Had she seen it? Was that why she was coming right for him?

Snapping his wrist around the faucet he swirled the flow of water to a grinding halt and stalled for a moment, body turning from the shower head to the back wall and back again as his mind frantically plotted it's escape route. The only door out was the one used to enter, his only chance was if he was quick enough to get through it before she could. Flicking his hand to the shower curtain he tried to pull it back and bolt but it was yanked away from him before his fingers could find it.

"How dare you!" He yelped at the image of a long haired man with a rag around his head, swiftly pulling the curtain back into place. He was about to slip towards the other end of the tub and slink through the other side of the curtain until the image he'd just witnessed began to process in his mind. It wasn't Cheshire.

The weight of that realization pounded down on his shoulders.

Curling his crimson digits around the curtain once again he pulled it slightly aside, fitting his horned head around the edge to peer at the new arrival with a raised brow and confused creases covering his face.

"You are not Special Lady." He stated the obvious, droplets of water dripping from his wagging chin as he noted the black robes and the dual wielded paintbrushes. He took stock of the weapon hanging at his side too late before his mouth blurted out it's next genius response.

"That another paintbrush in your pocket or have you come to paint Bertolt like one of your French girls?" He pulled the curtain aside and shamelessly presented himself to the stranger, tail swishing lazily left and right as he reached out to take the towel from Kionchi's arm. He dabbed at his wet his skin, adopting the path of least resistance as he waved his free hand towards the general area of the rest of Cheshire's home.

"If you're here to rob the place then please, do not let Bertolt stop you, take whatever you want. Bertolt would be quick about it if he were you however, Special Lady could return any moment and if she catches you Bertolts punishment for messing with her make-up will be nothing compared to what you'll be getting."

It sounded like a threat and before Bertolt could fix his mistake his stupid mouth had already said it.

[Words: 929][GP: 18][Total GP: 18]