You proceed to enter this miracle's hive. You have never done so feeling quite as motherfucking amazing as you do right now. Giving your horn a couple of squeezes along the way, you set your special little plastic bag of miracles, that pale in comparison to the one in front of you, down. You eye the room, and suddenly have this feeling things have changed, actually, you know they have, since the last time you paid your favorite chocolate blooded troll a visit. A very long, cushioned, white chair now resides smack dab in the middle of the room, and a few miscellaneous metallic devices you really don't trust are scattered throughout the place.

AT:oH, uH, tHOSE ARE SOME OF THE HUMAN, uH, tHINGS THAT DAVE HAS BEEN, uH, sHOWING ME, i UH, rEMEBERED THEM INTO BEING, uH, hERE,

You nod, giving your best smile to the miracle-bro as he answers your not yet spoken questions like some kind of mirthful messiah. You take a walk over to that elongated chair and push your hand against it, laughing a bit at it's plush feel. You grab a handful of magic dust from your pocket and splash yourself in the face for a hearty helping for luck before plopping down on the squishy thing. You sink in a bit, but even that feels really comfortable. You pat the stark white cushion next to you, leaving a shimmering hand print on the place you're hoping that your sweet Toreador will plant himself. He does as you were wishing, either not thinking about or not caring about the inevitable sparkle stain soon to appear on the rear of his pants.

You stare down at said pants for a moment before grabbing onto his leg, the motherfucking real deal, not some metal robo-wannabe limb. Miracle of fucking miracles, that is bitching awesome. You notice brown clustering in the cheeks of the owner of this no longer fake leg, and smirk in accordance. Your bro is by far the cutest motherfucker ever. You can't help yourself, so you pull up the hem of the other leg of his baggy black bottoms and peek at his somewhat scrawny calf. Now his whole face burns a pretty miraculous shade of cocoa.

AT:uH, tHEY WERE K-KIND OF JUST, uH, bACK ONCE i, uH, wAS D-DEAD,,,,

TC:ThAtS fUcKiNg MiRaCulOuS bRo.

AT:yEAH, i SUPPOSE IT IS PRETTY, uH, mIRACULOUS,

TC:TaV?

AT:uH, yES,,

TC:WhY aRe YoU bLuShInG sO mOThErFuCkInG mUcH?

AT:i UH, wELL,,,,

AT:,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

TC:BrO?

You can't breathe. Your almost kind of a matesprit, or at least that is what you hope he is, has just asked you a question far to humiliating to answer. This being because answering that aforementioned question would require seeming very forward. You're afraid that he wouldn't want you to be forward, even though you're actually pretty sure he would like that. Still, fear overrides logic and has its dear friend low self esteem stab at it with the sharp horns of possible failure. Your clownish bro removes his hands and stares at you worriedly. You bite your lip for a second before taking a deep breath and spitting out a half-expletived excuse.

AT:i DONT KNOW, uH, aCTUALLY,,,

AT:aHAHA,,

TC:Oh, AlRiGhT tHeN.

You mentally kick yourself right in the face, square between those oversized bull horns of yours. You ask yourself what Rufio would do to redeem himself, but quickly shake your head no to that, probably making yourself look like more of an idiot than you've already managed. Rufio is fake, like unicorns, pixies, so on so forth, and even if he was real, he wouldn't have screwed that up in the first place, so he wouldn't have to win back any face with his clownish guest. You somehow muster up enough guts to try an actual and truth-full response.

AT:oR, uH, iF i HAD TO GUESS, iD SAY THAT ITS PROBABLY, uH, bEING S-SO CLOSE TO, uH,, yOU,

AT:aCTUALLY,

AT:aHAHAHA,,

TC: :o)

TC: So YoU lIKe BeInG cLoSe To ThIs MoThErfUcKeR?

AT:uH, i,,

AT:yES, i VERY MUCH DO, uH, lIKE THAT,

You are fighting back the urge to laugh, because even though you know it'd be because of how totally and utterly adorable your miracle is being right now, you also know that he will think you are making fun of him. The last thing you want is for that motherfucker to feel any kind of bad, so you keep your giggles in, despite how hard it is becoming to do so. You lean towards said motherfucker and press your finger to his nose, letting loose an obligatory "HoNk" and grinning from horn to candy corn colored horn. The corners of his lips tease upward as a timid response, as even more of that coffee blood finds it's way to his face. You lose the battle with your laugh-box and chuckle a bit manically. Surprisingly enough he does the same thing, albeit more nervously than manically by quite a lot, but nonetheless.

TC:YoUvE gOt A pReTtY fUcKiNg MiRaCuLoUs LaUgH bRo.

AT:aH, uH, tHANK YOU, i THINK,

TC:No MoThErFuCkInG pRoBlEm TaV.

You move in even closer, draping your arms around the shoulders of your motherfucking best flushed bro ever. You can feel him tense up for just a moment before he mimics your movements and you sense his fingers lock together on the back of your neck. Feeling a bit adventurous, you shift and throw your leg around to the other side of the motherfucker, kneeling above his lap, attempting a somewhat seductive gaze that just melts into your usual dopey smile before it's even noticed. Not that you think he would've noticed even if it had stayed on for an hour, he was too busy squeezing his eyes shut, being a cute little shy motherfucker again. You take initiative, and press a hope-full kiss to the bridge of that miracles nose. He smiles sweetly, eyelids creeping open.

Tavros:Go Along with it ===