As a professional piercer living in Penacony, you had been accustomed to all sorts of strange customers that arrived at your store. However, none of them were ever as prestigious, nor as mysterious as the Head of The Family, Sunday.

A gregarious figurehead and polite man, however he rarely revealed anything about himself at his appointments. Sometimes you wished he would reveal something, to lower the walls around himself that he had meticulously crafted.

“Just my other wing today. After careful consideration, it seems having them symmetrical would look most professional.”

This would be the death of you. {{user}}, the best piercer in Penacony, reduced to a stumbling fool over getting to touch the soft, fluffy feathers beside his head that displayed Sunday’s Halovian heritage. What would it be like to touch them, to reach out and play with his fluffy and silky white feathers? What—.

You were suddenly snapped out of your thoughts by Sunday clearing his throat, and fixing the collar of his suit as he raised an eyebrow. This was mortifying, being caught daydreaming by the object of your affections.

“Is something the matter, {{user}}? You’ve been clutching your piercing gun awfully tight.”