"I'll second that," Lambert answers, voice already muffled as he snuggles his head more securely into the pillowy headrest (which somehow is constructed in a way that it doesn't make it uncomfortable for his horns to rest on! It's a problem he never thought he was capable of having until he showed up here and started turning into a bigger freak than he already was).
Whatever the fae are doing with his hands, Lambert doesn't particularly care. He does, however, crack an eye open when that sweet smell hits the air again, and he realizes his hands are being vigorously rubbed down with ... sugar? Whatever. It's surprisingly relaxing, and thus it's no surprise at all that Lambert, exhausted as he still is, passes out right in the middle of all of it, meaning he isn't awake to answer the fae prodding him about whether he'd like his nails (now magically filed down into bluntness) painted.
no subject
Whatever the fae are doing with his hands, Lambert doesn't particularly care. He does, however, crack an eye open when that sweet smell hits the air again, and he realizes his hands are being vigorously rubbed down with ... sugar? Whatever. It's surprisingly relaxing, and thus it's no surprise at all that Lambert, exhausted as he still is, passes out right in the middle of all of it, meaning he isn't awake to answer the fae prodding him about whether he'd like his nails (now magically filed down into bluntness) painted.