Ankyra Sound you're my pika girl in the poke world, oh i won the gym badge but you won my heart
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Ooc — Kris
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He met each day with a new complaint — partly because he was rapidly developing new sounds and gestures with which to make these new complaints and partly because that was his nature. If his siblings crowded him, he writhed and shoved his paws into their ribs. If they were too far away, he squawked until either he found them, they found him, or his mother arranged them to his liking. If he wanted a teat, and a teat could not be found that instant, he thrashed his gumless jaws at his mother's belly until he captured one, and then punished it by yanking and tugging as much as he suckled. How dare that sentient tit defy him..

Suffice to say, the first born was hard to content and he made that known. He whirred often — as he had the day he was evicted from the womb — in lieu of a developed growl. He whirred even when he suckled, and sometimes when he slept; two times he ought to have been satisfied. Despite his infancy, however, there were a range of tones to his neonatal grumbling. That was to say, while it seemed he was never happy, it did seem that he was capable of different levels of misery. For example, the whirs he serenaded his family with were quietest and softest when he rested snugly, with his siblings and his mother just near enough to warm him but not too near to smother him.

On his seventh morning, Rhakios woke to a new sensation to dislike. Something was pricking, scratching, and tickling along his skin. He jerked his head from side to side and wriggled, but the culprit — some hard shelled beetle — was straddling his spine and well out of his reach. The boy butted into his sleeping siblings, and finding no relief, started to crawl and bumble his way away from them to the empty floor of the den. The beetle and the discomfort remained even as he rolled on to his side and flailed, then it crawled over top of his skull and, to his horror, pitched on his face. This elicited a high-pitched shriek of protest from his small muzzle — yet another new sound for him to voice his upset with.
you are never gonna be saved by kicking roses
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just for reference, he would def make this sound https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UFuBxzGSNYY


in light of Nyx’s overall malaise, Lycaon often found himself loitering curiously in proximity to the grotto. prior to the nativity of the fearsome four, he’d never once encountered the early stages of their ilk, and the preoccupation of that novelty had long drawn him from his lure to the golden minx. 

to his torment, he was rarely invited inside to witness the evolution of fiends and, out of respect, did not insist upon creepily sitting in the corner of Caiaphas' ward as an audience to her laid-bare, engorged rutabagas. he may have pleaded his case as a nursemaid but alas, he had no sentient tits with which to aid her. his resume, or lack thereof, made him woefully underqualified for such a job. 

even so, that didn’t stop him from strolling super casual-like by the grotto mouth every ten or twenty minutes to listen for any scritching, or maybe a humble plea from Caiaphas to supervise while she slipped out to attend an aquarobics class or something. ”did you call me?” he would pop his head through the threshold, scraping for conversation after detecting the most hushed of rustlings within—like a cubscout desperate to feel useful to his troop scoutmaster on camp-out night. ”no? thought heard you ask for something. okay, just checking in. keep up the great work.” then, hurriedly dismissing himself, he set to resuming scuffing rocks around the entrance with boredom.

to his delight, persistence paid off, and after days of his milling around like a goddamn louse, Caiaphas emerged and requested his supervision over the little angels (likely motivated by pity, assuming pity was an emotional state she possessed). Lycaon pretended to mull it over, hemming and hawing, like maybe he had better stuff to do.. but ultimately and oh-so-modestly, he agreed to “help her out, since she insisted”. 

on the inside, he was a confetti bazooka triggered by elation. Lycaon flew into the lair and set to the task of baby minding, giddily laying beside the loafs with the expectation that they would soon regale him with entertainment and engagement. 

well, after about ten minutes of watching them saw logs like the little deadbeats they were, Lycaon came to a troubling conclusion––

––what the frick. infants are so BORING. eyelids growing heavy, the fair-headed boy was on the verge of nodding off when a kvetching alarm jolted his body wide awake. what an invigorating method of activating ones sympathetic nerovus system! startled and now thoroughly roused, Lycaon performed a disorganized headcount and counted five.. wait, six? how many were there again? they all looked the same, goddamn it.

after some canvassing, he appraised the source of the mayday—little Rhakios’ shrill refrain was the one to grace his ears. and what mellifluous vocals they were. unsure how to proceed, Lycaon shuffled on his elbows closer to the hump-dumpling until they were up close and personal. ”what’s all the hubbub, bub? ya—“ his eyes gravitated to the insect scaling the pup’s topside and horror gripped Lycaon’s sensibilities like a vice. “––EEH HEU HEUAUHU.” he shrieked, a sound not much different from the trumpet Rhakios’ lungs begot.  luckily for him, all witnesses to such an emasculating display of bravura were deaf and remained peacefully asleep and not a soul stirred. except his. his soul was, like, climbing the walls as he ricocheted backwards with dismay.

the little guy was obviously agitated by the beetle’s rude use of him as a mount and Lycaon couldn’t just let his baby bro suffer like that; so, summoning the courage of a man he should have already been, Lycaon eased back into his position alongside Rhakios and plucked the nuisance from the darkened dome upon which it wriggled, banishing it to the dim passages with a whisk of his muzzle. a shudder ran the length of his hackles to his tailtip. 

”don’t worry, i got it.” he reassured unlistening ears. outstretching a pale limb, Lycaon righted the infant and drew him into tilde of his wrist, cradling him between his legs and intrusively began inspecting the babe with cold prods of his nose, snuffling each tiny toe-bean. ”mmm.. no mortal wounds… i reckon you’re gonna pull through.”
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run in here come get yall juice
20 Posts
Ooc — Kris
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#3
Rhakios cried, snorted and sneezed, drawing his head back into his neck like a scared turtle and swiping his paws clumsily across his face to no avail. The insect had anchored itself to him and he had neither the reach nor the coordination to effectively dislodge it. Fortunately for him, there was a white knight nearby. In a moment the beetle was plucked from between his eyes and cast elsewhere, and he was nudged up right and drawn into a protective embrace. Rhakios was instantly relieved, and his distressed wailing simmered to a soft bubbling whirr of semi-contentment.

It did not last long. Lycaon's cold nose was upon him and the wee anklebiter had had enough of unpleasant stimulation for one day. He announced his ire with a sharp yip of some kind, swatting and shoving his paw out against the invading nose as it dared to sniff at his toes.