Ankyra Sound I am the mask you wear

*lusca sheds a single, proud tumbleweed*

"oh uuh, skunk, i think, was the word i used." he clarified as he made inching inroads towards getting the frick out of this zipcode;  but she kept coming back at him with ophidian tirelessness. he danced out of wylla's infuriated range of motion, arching his ears wryly. oh, the vision she had of herself didn't coincide with the imagery of a stripey, black and white nuisance? weird. she must have never inspected her reflection in the water, because the resemblance was uncanny to him. 

lycaon set to the task of soothing over her ire, but there was a critical failure in his reasoning. "but i could compare thee to a midsummer's day if... you'd like... but... like if someone got skunked on a midsummer's day? you know?" he squinched. no, no, that probably wasn’t helping matters. best if he just exited stage left. the palefurred boy started again moving in a direction that implied he wanted pardoning, even letting the virgin loser remark roll off his back (nonetheless in the way a cube might when pushed down a tree-ridden summit, but he really enjoyed all features being intact as they were).

her next utterance was sticky with suspicion, ”how do you know Ingram?” and Lycaon in turn became questioning of her acquaintance with his now, presumably, slattern of a brother. his eyes narrowed to dubious slits. ”how do you know Ingram? you his scorned lover looking for revenge? i can tell you his exact location if so.’”