LIKE A HEATHEN CLUNG TO THE HOMILY | body paint & weekly task

[size=9pt]Warpaint. It was something deeply rooted in Moon’s history. His pride wore their gorgeous, intricate patterns - swirling over their cheekbones, their forehead, so carefully applied - like badges of honor. Not once does he recall seeing his mother wihout black ink caked in the fur of her face.

For that precise reason, Agathe’s announcement should be call for panic. It should trigger something in him and send him spiraling into a mess of nerves and recollections— but it didn’t. Not this time. Maybe he’s reached his breaking point, the fifth stage of grief, and all there is from here on out is numbness and pathetic grabs at humor, or maybe, maybe he’s really, actually recovering. Whatever it was, the reaction he always braced himself for never came.

So Moon, high on the fact that his paws aren’t trembling and his heart isn’t thundering at the mere mention of something that reminds him of his past, walks up behind Titan, slaps him on the shoulder in what might seem like an act of brotherly encouragement, and, facing Agathe, promptly mouths, ’Draw a dick.’