Fabian was furious. Oh, yeah, it had seemed like a brilliant idea to get the majority of the Order together for a little soirée at Dearborn's in lieu of recent successes, but this was not what he had in mind as far as how things would play out. He had to be at work in less than an hour, for Merlin's sake! And so he stood in front of that bathroom mirror fuming over what he saw in his reflection. "Don't," he spoke towards the reflective surface, but it was clearly directed to the blonde woman leaning against threshold trying to stifle laughs left and right.
"Fab," Emmeline started, but didn't get past that before a chuckle broke lose and she had to cover her mouth before it grew any louder. With everyone else having already vacated that cottage for work and what have you it was only the two of them left, but it was quite obvious that Fabian wasn't having any of this. Were she not so amused, she might have thought to helpfully point out that it was odd how he could give insults and jokes, but not take, but decided to keep mum on that front.
"Vance," he shot back, bright blue eyes still wide as he stared at the collection of drawings that graced his face. The same ones that wouldn't come off with simple soap and water, as he'd already found out. "How could you let them do this!" Honestly, if he wasn't such a lightweight that he passed out first, he wouldn't have been left at the hands of his drunken vigilante friends, but eh - like he would take the blame.
"It's-" There was another start of a giggle fit, this one being a bit harder to ward off, though she eventually managed. "It's not that bad, besides... I think you look rather fabulous with the green mustache." Emmeline didn't think now would be the best time to bring up the fact that last night she had insisted said mustache be made into a curly Q one when Frank had started to draw it. She had feminine wiles on her side should it come up later, but knew they probably wouldn't help now that the dramatic side of Fabian Prewett was out in full force.
There was a pained whimper from the one with the colourful 'facial hair' before he picked up that damp washrag and began scrubbing at his face again. "Hate'chu all," he muttered through the terry cloth.