Evening came and went, until the sun was only a fitful gleam across a sea of cresting waves, and the air became cooled by refreshing whisks of seagoing wind. With little else to do that might occupy her increasingly hateful mind, Lusca sat several yards at bay from Caiaphas' post, her igneous stare smoldering holes into the back of her head––a flame to dehydrated parchment paper. 

An uptight expression creased her brow, refusing to budge as she rolled all the abuse she'd suffered from the woman, for weeks now and with no end on the horizon, like a dime over the callused knuckle of her mind.

Cheery evening, isn't it? 

Startling, Lusca shifted into her lame leg and grimaced––though the pain had mitigated over the weeks, it was still a nagging, troublesome sensation when she wasn't mindful of her weight distribution. 

Seemingly out of nowhere, the rufous female arrived on site of the white-knuckled assembly, approaching Caiaphas foremost with her cheery narration of the scene. Lusca watched in silence, allowing them the doings of social devoir; attitude skewered and eyes narrowed to slits as 'Phas poked her tongue and remarked upon the integrity of her delicious bisque. She knew sarcasm. She was fluent in sarcasm. That was totally sarcasm. Meet me in Hell's Kitchen, ho.

Enough of that. Bouncing off her haunches, the omega put on a polite smile and jogged over to the duo. "Ladies." She tipped her snout at Rosalyn and Rosalyn's shadow, alternating looks between them but also watching Caiaphas out of the corner of her eye. And to the coal-headed matriarch, she turned with a coldness mulling over her countenance and said: "Caiaphas." Her lip snagged on her tooth––a smarmy smile if anything at all. 

She parted her lips to answer Rosalyn's question, but Caiaphas rudely lobbed her oar in and pried the two away from what could have potentially been a very illuminating conversation. The wolf swung her lank hips away from the countess, circling at Rosalyn's rear, fearing she was due for a hiding. 

Engry Oorchin––not to say that Lusca didn't enjoy her own imaginative epithets for Caiaphas and her Squalid Squad, but they were used often in the adytum of her own thoughts, and the consideration of trot out Fishwife preyed on her mind the instant Caiaphas' gums curled contemptuously around the alias. Lusca's countenance dimmed as she was taunted, likened to Gollum in a roundabout way, and she pulled up alongside the ruddy female, again, staring unblinkingly at their queen consort. "Mm, discovered. Interesting wording. I too have heard it used synonymously with captured." She said. 

Resentment built until it was fit to scream from her. Never once had "fitting in" seemed so uninviting as it did when placed under Saltwinter's "survivors" brand name. Not thrivers. Survivors. They weren't even striving for prosperity, they were perfectly content with struggling and graduating through ranks in the pack was equivalent to graduating from University of Phoenix––useless and unimpressive. "Actually––Rosalyn, was it?––we are relatives. Albeit distant ones." she blatantly scanned Caiaphas' figure. "It's incredible how some of you managed to avoid extinction. You sure did miss some key evolutionary milestones. Empathy, intelligence––and oh, it's tragic how inbreeding affects one's appearance." 

Clicking her teeth at the sharply regarding gaze of the little omega, Caiaphas hissed a parting utterance that could only be perceived as a halfhearted, unconfident attempt at bullyragging Lusca back into her rank. She shrank back with flattened ears, flinching at the threat of Caiaphas' teeth fretting against scar tissue, but straightened right back up as the witch, in a fit of pique, stalked away. A smirk drew to her lips. 

Decidedly satisfied with the outcome of her insults––in spite of knowing well she would pay hefty taxes for it later––she straightened her shoulders and turned to Rosalyn. "Family reunions are a bitch."

As the ruddy woman made to depart, Lusca grinned with a new sense of comradery and bid her tongueless farewell, slinking off to find an appropriate hiding spot in anticipation of discipline for her, frankly gross, misconduct.