I. cuddling
[Or: it's not often that Diggers wakes up in a place this nice (yeah. this nice.) and when he initially stirs, he doesn't make any move to really move. The robe is cozy? The bed is warm? The body he's wrapped around is especially warm, and as he comes awake he squeeeeezes in with a satisfied hum. Hello.

And then he actually shifts to peer at whomever he's spooning, squinting - he'll have to find his glasses - and with so much wavy hair just coming with him, all over.]

Good morning, sunshine. [Glancing around...] Well, isn't this a fine establishment we find ourselves in this morning. Is this your place, my friend?

[Is he going to let go... no.]


II. closet
[He's just gotten his hands on a tracksuit when the door shuts, and it doesn't take long to realize they're stuck in here. Oh...

Well, can he still get dressed, or...]

My friend, if you're of the shyer persuasion, you might want to turn your head and consider the decor for the next handful of minutes.

[Diggers can appreciate the variety of the sex shop. He's not familiar with all the items on offer, so he'll take some time to browse... to pick up a few more articles of clothing, at the very least, to pair with his SLUT ERA t-shirt, which he thinks is very groovy actually.

It's when he's roaming with an armful of these shirts that he's accosted by the leash and collar, which whips around his neck so quickly that the subsequent pull makes him stumble and all but faceplant into the leash's next target. He may get a faceful of chest? Hi. Sorry.

Haha... ouchie... and yet...]

Hello there, stranger... Could you give me a hand with this right quick? It's caught in my hair.

[It really is, this thing did not aim well. His goofy glasses are crooked, his hair is a wreck, he's like, half collapsed on you... This is going great.]

[It's been mere hours since he could produce art!! and Diggers is getting restless. Restless and desperate, which is why he's slinked back into the shop to get as much edible body paint as he can carry. Needs must, desperate times, etc.

He has no plan, but then again, he doesn't need one! He need only think of The Great Muse and off he goes to, ah, paint. Himself, mostly, although if you pass by a wall that seems to be mysteriously and hastily marked with a peace sign or what looks to be painted bubbles, that too was him. He's done more down his own chest, including painting the words PEACE & LOVE & ART in dramatically slanted writing. You know, so you have to look at the whole piece. The whole torso. He doesn't think they'll let him into the masquerade without a fancy costume, but he's ditched it down to a button-down shirt that he's now wearing around unbuttoned, for the sake of the art.

And he has More Paints, ahem, ahem.]

Imagination has taken over these hallowed halls of mischief and entertainment! Would you journey with me into the seas of expression? We shall pierce the night with our art!

[let him fuckin paint on you cmon do it]

[wahoo... ota 17+ for smut. he's 20. he will absolutely get wasted in any prompt, let's do it. jojoveller or pm for inquiries.]