What ingredients does it take to make you?
Mo is made of wine, acid, and automobiles. With a dash of Holmes.
Oh. My. God.
this is nothing like me except the last bit.
Sassy is made of Rock, crepes, and partnership. With a dash of pervert
Wizardmon is made of Pop, power, and partnership. With a dash of James Bond.
I liked both.
Bossarmadimon is made of bread, good luck, and depression. With a dash of James Bond.
Wizardmon was sitting outside re-stitching his shoulder. There was better light to work by and it helped with the task that he had to do with one hand. The work was methodical but slow. Holding a piece in his mouth to keep the stitches tight he worked on lining up the marks of the forth one.
He had a box skilfully balanced on top of his shell as he waddled across the landscape. He gave a pause when he came upon the sight of the partially undressed lizard. It wasn’t the most undressed he had seen the other (he kept those picture well-hidden), but it still brought a nit of a blush on his face. “Erm…” he cleared his throat. “Argument with the boyfriend?” he inquired uneasily.
Wizardmon pushed the needle through the marks and then pulled the thread through. Once it was tightened he held it and turned to Armadimon. “No, I had a disagreement with an idiot.” He turned back to his task at hand.
“An idiot?” The quadruped tilted his head. “Has your boyfriend heard of this?” Because if he did, the idiot in question would likely not remain an idiot… or alive for all that long. He inched a little closer despite the vaguely queasy expression on his face. “Must’ve been one heel of a disagreement…” he added, pulling the box off his bag. “Cookie?” he offered, a glint in his eyes as he prepared to open the box.
“I can handle myself, I don’t need to go to him for every little thing.” He completed to more stitches and looked at the box. “No thank you. Is something wrong? You look a little sick.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I was more thinking in terms of the… livelihood of the idiot.” Arma’s ears drooped at the rejection. Given their size, it was a rather impressive deflation, too. “Awww, but I came over to shaaaare…” he whined loudly. He was trying to avert his eyes from the gape getting stitched close and back to the humanoid male’s chest, but his kept trailing back to the operation. “I’ll be fine. I’m just not used to looking at a Frankensteinian guy self-assembling…” he explained with an embarrassed expression.