[Dimitri weakly raises his head, his expression softening as much as he can manage. He's still angry at the spirits for messing with him and just as mad at himself for digging such a miserable pit of pride. Too nauseas for words, Dimitri turns the parfait around so that Ceto can read the instructions on the cookie.]
I'm three in.
[The two empty parfait dishes are still on the table to mock him.]
Are you okay? [Are they making Ceto sick too? Or is Dimitri the only one this dumb?]
no subject
I'm three in.
[The two empty parfait dishes are still on the table to mock him.]
Are you okay? [Are they making Ceto sick too? Or is Dimitri the only one this dumb?]