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Casimiro fluffed another layer of shaving cream over the tricky spots right beneath his nose and where his jaw led up to his ear. He stretched his chin to tauten the skin and carefully drew his straight edge razor over it again; he had been putting more work into a clean shave ever since his one eye went dead.
He did another sweep over the last spot that needed it before neatly cleaning the sharp steel, drying it and putting it back in its case before washing up his own mug with a piping hot face cloth. Finas may have laughed at him when Casimiro took a cheap little online barber's course, but it had been decades upon some more decades since he had gotten it professionally done.
At twenty years into bitching about it, Finas suggested he get off his skinny immortal ass and do something about it, in the politest and frosted British way possible.
He paused as he passed the black (Most of the towels, face cloths, and carpets were black because they hid blood stains fairly well) face cloth over his once broken and since straightened nose and sniffed at once before turning on his partner standing in front of his side of the copper sink and shook the limp cloth at him indignantly.
"Fin', there's fucking rust in the water pipes again!" Finas rolled his eyes skyward under the fluffy ink coloured towel holding his wet hair up out of his face and continued neatly snipping away at the minuscule hairs coming out on his chin with a equally small pair of trimming scissors.
"Well then, there's the lime cleaning supplies under the sink." He continued shaping up his beard. Casimiro continued his berating as he crossed over to the shower and hung the aforementioned face cloth over the side of the bath tub to drip dry in a worn soft t-shirt and sweatpants.
"That isn't the point. We're freaking Nosferatu Lords of Darkness," Finas had figured out the Italiano had been reading Christopher Moore books again if he was quoting them, "-And we shouldn't have to do this stuff any more. It's like flossing. Or asking you to go to mist and go down the tub drain so you can undo that damn hair ball you shed every time you shower."
Finas was longing for the sun to come up so Casimiro would either shut up or say something beyond whining over the torture of still having to perform mundane chores. "That's why they invented Water Picks and Drain-O." Finas gave Casimiro a less than warm and fuzzy look. "Cassy."
It wasn't like either of them actually drank the water in the first place. Casimiro was just being cranky because after so many years of being undead, they had to latch onto something just to keep from going senile. And coming up with new and fascinating ways of hair removal and ducking around chores was starting to get a bit stale.
Casimiro sighed silently in defeat and focused on working the hair styling gunk out of his hair, since they usually slept through the day and nobody but Finas saw it un-styled for the most part.
"Maybe I should take up playing the bagpipes." A playful smirk lit up his mismatched eyes as he carefully clipped his toenails over the bathroom garbage can. "Y'know, in a really short kilt and going commando?"
Finas was pulling his cold lip up to see if he had missed anything in his fangs or teeth whilst brushing them. He dead panned,
"Or we could put out a want ad for a Minion."
"What do we need a mint flavoured onion for?" Casimiro asked with a innocent bat of his long eyelashes that was in sharp contrast to his amused and fang filled grin.