#* ic. reply. ( re: lemontart. )

[wolfgroom]

slaps a percy sticker on his shoulder. pats him.

large brown eyes peer from underneath dark furrowed brows, stare unyielding, the etch of his perpetual frown growing stiff around the edges. it is such a far cry from a smile, an untrained eye might even think him a minute away from putting the knife in his belt to use. but, as the sticker droops from one corner, he's quick to secure it back in place, palm flatting it against the fabric of his suit with uncharacteristic care.

he is not going to linger on how the percy sticker feels like being seen beyond the worst parts of him. he is not going to admit to being emotionally invested in what tank engine from some children's tv show he's assigned. that doesn't change the fact that it does, and he has, and he'll kill the motherfucker who makes the sticker fall off his shoulder.