[It's enough to make her retch. Minatsuki simply raises an incredulous, unimpressed eyebrow as she can practically hear the tiny sad violin playing over his equally sad attempt at a trek over to the dumpster of destiny from where she's standing behind him, mainly out of morbid curiosity as to where he's going to take this little theatre act.

The moment he coughs up what appears to be the beginnings of a lung, however, she tromps toward and right over him with a loud, disdainful snort.]

You've gotta be shitting me. Even with your fucking cholera or tuberculosis infected ass, you couldn't make it three more goddamn steps? [She looks down at Sougo with an equally derisive sneer, flipping him the finger.] And you'd better keep your head down.

[The spoiled milk is casually tossed aside with a wrinkle of Minatsuki's nose; it...may or may not either land on or get on him in the process. The porno mag gets a snort, and is also casually thrown over her shoulder... which, again, may or may not land on him.

That's when she sees the eyemask.

Cue eyebrow raise, as she picks it up gingerly. Her expression becomes so flat, it rivals the medieval concept of the world at large, as she turns back around to look at him.]

Define 'heirloom,' jackass, because I'm pretty fucking sure this is junk just like the rest of this shit.