
"You are dripping on my lovely new floor," said Rafal. Rhian blinked at the black stone tiles, grimy and thick with soot.
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See The Reblog For The Second Poll.
See the reblog for the second poll.
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More Posts from Liketwoswansinbalance
Read both polls before voting to distinguish between what the questions are asking. The second poll is in the reblog.
It’s probable that the most pathetic, Rafal-core thing one can do is pack one’s black and navy shirts in a suitcase before leaving because one has to let a small, open wound breathe without a bandage and can’t visibly seep blood all over the sleeves of good, white shirts. 0/10. Would not recommend.
This one's only vaguely thematically relevant.
I hope no one minds the frequently posting; I'm cleaning out some drafts.
Rhian: You've never dated anyone. Do you even have a type?
Rafal: Of course I have a type. An archetype.
Rhian: That's not—
Rafal: The magus, the archmage, the black magician, the ruler, the trickster, the magnificent bastard, the king of spades...
Rhian: [rolls his eyes]