yallstupid

[...Mother of Mew, that's precious.

Guzma isn't an early riser by design, but he's come to get up at least not as close to noon, to harvest goods and food, train his pokemon, and work on fixing up their home. It's around that time that he finds the little gift left out on their doorstep, and the picture pretty much clinches who would be darned enough to think he'd wear a flower crown on his head like some weird fairy-type.

...Ugh, he'll remember this, and takes the two crowns inside to lay on his and Luna's hammocks apiece. Maybe he can loosen his and make it into more of a lei, so he can wear it and not look totally foolish. Aah...that little brat, he's red in the face and huffing, already scheming on what to give her in return.

He has an idea, but it'll take a while to get.]

[DEEP INHALE.

Ren, you're making this extremely difficult, but...but. The trek from wherever she lives might just give him the amount of time to get in a few more minutes of sleep. Lord, even a half hour would be sheer bliss for the night owl that is Guzma. He can't take this crack of dawn bullcrap some other people can do. He's not built like that, and never has been.]

Yeah...yeah, 'kay. C'mon over and, uh... [He breathes out, putting a hand over his eyes to try and get some rest again.] ...take your time.

[The reprieve, however short, is still beneficial - Guzma manages to get another forty minutes of sleep as Ren makes her way over to his little shack. During all the ‘updates’ she gives to him, Guzma snorts or hums sleepily in response before stuffing the stone of farspeech down into the depths of his blankets to smother the sound somewhat. His patience seems to have run out...sorry, boo.

When she arrives, Guzma just barely hears Ren’s voice coming from the stone, buried under his mess of blankets and crumpled clothes (and centipuppy plush).]

My bed is warmer. [He is not getting up before he is ready and not a soul can make him.]

[Oh my god, please. Ren, child, dearest and most precious little sister. Let him sleep.

The rock doesn't even hecking matter anymore, and Guzma momentarily curls his pillow around his ears to drown out the sound of her voice. This was a mistake...he's practically awake already, but this has become a battle and by god, he is neither going to back down nor is he going to lose. But Guzma knows the only way to end this is to take matters, and this wretched, little goblin, into his own hands.

He drags his hands down his face, swings himself out of his hammock, and stomps to the front door, nearly wrenching it off whatever hinges the poor, old, dilapidated slab of wood still sticks to.]

Yes...Ren. I like to sleep. I like it a whole hecking lot, yeah. [He grabs her very suddenly, tucks her under one arm like a football, and carries Ren right back to his hammock.] So you n' me are gonna go to sleep. Right now.

[It's blessedly quiet, and GUzma breathes out as he drags himself and this tiny nuisance back to his hammock, peering through the darkness and wondering how in the loving heck Luna can sleep through all this. She's a heavier sleeper than even he is, in this case, and he envies her to no end. Blessed be she who sleeps through this nonsense. Whatever she's got, he wants some. No more of this early rising bullcrap. Sleep is good and he likes it very much. The sun is for losers.

Just as Guzma is about to dump Ren into his hammock, yawning openly, he blinks at her comment and pauses. What in the world is she talking about? Drawings? He can just barely see the ash on his arms from where she touched him and raises a dark brow in confusion, his face screwing up a bit. Girl, please, he'll probably take a rinse once he gets up anyway, but still...keep your grubby mitts to yourself, please and thank.]

Wha...huh? [Lord, his brain is still in standby - he's not awake enough for deep thinking. PLEASE LET HIM SLEEP, YOU TERRIBLE GREMLIN.] The heck're y'all talking about?

[All Guzma can see in the dim light of his home is a dirty little arm flailing wildly in front of his face. He blinks for a moment before setting Ren down in his hammock, moving aside his blankets and stuffed centipuppy plush (which he will offer her to snuggle with in a moment) before sitting down himself and offering his large hand to her to offer up her little, noodly arm for him to inspect.

Paintings? I mean, there's...something there, and he frowns as he rubs his fingers through the dirty marking and rubs them together before putting them to his face to give a testing sniff. Ash, that's good. He wouldn't be very happy if she was rubbing some sort of poisonous substance on her skin, and Arceus knows there's plenty of that to be found or discovered on the islands.]

My--...oh, you mean these? [Guzma holds out his own arm, where the mark of his former team are painted expertly in purple body paint. He's done it so many times that even applying the tattoo with his less dominant hand has become an easy task for him now.] It's not--...well, I guess it kinda is a drawing, but s'called a tattoo when you apply it to your skin like I do. Mine's not permanent either, but it takes way longer for it to go away.

[Guzma's not to the point where he can have someone jabbing him with a needle for hours just yet. Probably never, to be fair. Body paint is more costly, but he's learned to live with it.]