[felix doesn't say anything, but his expression says it all—exasperated ire. he is standing on the counter in the kitchen, in the middle of attempting to cut the mistletoe down, precisely so this wouldn't happen in the first place. there's a garbage bag filled with more mistletoe nearby.
mentally, dimitri can feel a jolt of alarm. what now. what fresh hell would this mistletoe avoidance bring. a sprite at his ankles chitters furiously. he covers his mouth as he coughs out a black cloud—then a peony.]
no subject
mentally, dimitri can feel a jolt of alarm. what now. what fresh hell would this mistletoe avoidance bring. a sprite at his ankles chitters furiously. he covers his mouth as he coughs out a black cloud—then a peony.]
I don't plan to.
[and back he goes to hacking the sprigs down.]