Son of a Gun
#4
He had a pair of shorts on. They were nice; long enough to drape down to his knees. He briefly wondered if the beings that created stuff like this had spent a lot of time figuring out sizes. Shopping through old stores like this was something he never really cared too much about unless it was convenient. Other wise, he'd much rather go naked. There was a cracked mirror hanging across him at a wall. He assumed the shorts would be fine after his reflection confirmed his thoughts about them fitting to his liking. Now to find some shirts...

The large muscular figure turned in time to face the other do whom was raising up a note and smiling in greeting. It have took him by surprise. He tilted his head at the sign and the fellow, glancing back in forth until he'd read the writing. "Oh... The winters aren't too bad..." he replied slowly, unsure why the man didn't just talk. Speaking was always an option. The german male had never truly encountered someone who was unable to speak.

Black irises grazed the male's attire. "The jacket will be suitable for winter, I sup–"

A bird sailed through the air right over his head. The large dog, as huge and tough as he looked, jumped in surprise and let out a loud warning growl. Soon the shame filled in at the sight of the mute and his pet exchanging smiles. This guy is weird, he thought and shook his head while his body was forced to relax in his new shorts. "I'm Toby," he finally said with a sigh.


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