MILO
now they're standing in the door
singin' "that's my shit, that's my shit"
singin' "that's my shit, that's my shit"
It’s a curious thing, to watch as this wild animal is cradled in Amalia’s arms. It’s another curious thing to feel the wind as it picks up, an invisible blanket of healing that has the Hel perching up easily on her arm, testing out its limb that had just a few moments prior bent at odd angles. And if Milo knew anything of modern media, he might question whether Amalia was a princess of sorts.
He doesn’t, what a shame.
Instead, a grin crosses his face, bending over a bit to get a better look at the Hel. “Y’know, if she wants ta sit on yer shoulder, y’might be able to walk on the water.” A red brow raises as his attention flickers back to Amalia’s face, his own shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. “Did ya heal ‘er with magic?”
He doesn’t, what a shame.
Instead, a grin crosses his face, bending over a bit to get a better look at the Hel. “Y’know, if she wants ta sit on yer shoulder, y’might be able to walk on the water.” A red brow raises as his attention flickers back to Amalia’s face, his own shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. “Did ya heal ‘er with magic?”
that's what everybody wants an' some more
singing "you may be the death of me"
singing "you may be the death of me"
