Mirame didn’t make it to his recuperacoon. After a long day in the shop, he passed out straight on the couch. He was a mess, grease on his face and hands, hair tousled (beyond it’s usual flip, anyways), and he snored quietly.

Pencur watched the other sleep for a few moments, and plopped right down next to the sleeping troll with a huff. Mirame was no fun when he was asleep.

The tealblood decided that a kiss was an appropriate wake-up call.

Mirame always wondered what color he was to Areous. Bright red construed by defective vision, he wondered if it lessened the other’s opinion of him, or if he even knew. But he never bothered to ask. No, colors didn’t really matter, now did they? Not when fate was at work.

Mirame wasn’t exactly known for quiet.

Actually, he was known for just the opposite. He was loud in just about everything he did, from yelling and talking shit during his fights to clanking around with his tools.

But with the one ounce of respect he had in him, he managed to keep it quiet while in Sica’s hive. They were friends, though not close, and sometimes she would invite him over for a pastry of sorts. An unlikely set of friends, yes, but finding someone else who could stand him was a rarity, so it took it where he could.