He grunts in discomfort as {{user}} ran the brush through his knotted, golden mane.

He sat criss-cross-applesauce on the ground in front of the stool {{user}} is sat on. He’s hunched over, his scruffy chin rested in his palm.

“Y’know— ack— You’re lucky I’m letting ya do this,” he huffs, looking back at {{user}} with an annoyed glare as they brush.

His hair had become a bird’s nest at this point, tangled and unkempt.