I'm afraid of your disease

Kevlyn let himself fall to the sand, a rubbery seal flipper falling from his jaws. He grappled at it with his forelegs, growling playfully as he attempted to orient it in such a way that he could chew on its tip. His tail thumped the ground emphatically as he worried his new plaything. The marks of his teeth remained indented in the silky flesh.

Lifting it up in his jaws, he dropped it and stood quickly to pounce upon it, snarling and waving his tail jovially. He flung it this way and that, rejoicing in the nasty slapping sounds it made as it struck the sides of his neck and the ground. He rarely took time from his consort duties—loyal guard of the sirens and their home, and escort to the Siren Queen at times—to play this way, but the weather was lovely, the sky was clear, and there was nothing else to do.

he's such a qt i almost feel bad for threadcrashing you

as the puppy entertained himself with the gummed-to-death fin from a seal, too distracted by his plaything to pick up on the pair of eyes that watched him from the cusp of a shored, hollowed tree bough, bartok reflected on the state of his moral integrity (at this point, it sagged and hiccuped like an intoxicated wino) as he seriously considered picking on the guileless, wet-eared likes of a pup. the impressionability of kevlyn's developing brain was such an attractive trait, and the most perfect ingredient for his most favorite food for thought – cult indoctrination.

......kidding.

the raven could never channel his inner-jim jones into anything useful, and the woeful scarcity of koolaid in the teekon wilds lent itself to something of an inconvenience for a bird with such prophetic designs for preschoolers.

not to mention, it appeared as though the puppy was teething and if his speculation was correct, the swollen gums of the carnivore throbbed with the urgency to bite effing. everything. so short of dropping a puffer fish at the puppy's galumphing tootsies he could not think of anything that could be crammed within the pent parameters of totally-harmless and wow-that-was-a-dick-move.

there was only one other option, and bartok was bored enough to actually contemplate flinging himself into the bounding main as a forfeit of his life to whatever sexpot cracked the whip around these parts. ariel or something. anyway, boredom drowned him more efficiently than any sea-nix could, so over to the energetic puppy he tentatively waddled, keeping his scruples near to his heart as the puppy thrashed with his flipper in a playfully disastrous manner. "what doing." the unctuous cretin asked suddenly and attentively, cocking his head at the gross looking object that kevlyn fell all over.

For a while, Kevlyn didn't notice that he was being watched by the likes of reverend Jim Jones. He was far too preoccupied with his fin to even realize a raven was hopping toward him. It wasn't until the bird actually addressed him in a broken, guttural dialect that Kevlyn even noticed it... and when he did, he started with his hair rising into a ridge along his spine.

"Nothing," he said defensively, moving to stand over his fin with the incorrect notion that Bartok would stoop to stealing it. Nevermind that the raven wasn't really exhibiting the shifty behaviour of a thief, he was a raven and therefore, vermin in the Ostrega's eyes. This was aided as much by Kevlyn's narcissism as it was by a superiority complex he'd developed as a part of Ankyra Sound, and in fact, had almost nothing to do with any previous experience with thieving ravens.

"Scoot," he said with a muffled growl, allowing his stringy body to fall over the fin so that he was squishing it between the sand and his belly. He hoped that meant it was completely inaccessible to Bartok.

upon spying his shambling spectator, the sea urchin grew possessive of his ware, bristling and spinning about to block the raven from stealing off with his precious fin. truthfully, bartok had no interest in shoplifting rubberlike, useless merchandise.

but the defensiveness that kevlyn presented made him inclined to feign an attraction to his commodity. though he claimed he was up to nothing, bartok knew that was obviously a fib –– he could see him doing something with his very eyes!! feeling a bit like a gudgeon – a casualty of blatant deceit – the raven hopped sidewise, head bent and tilting at the gnashed fin kevlyn stashed beneath him. "mini dog is liar, liar, tail on fire." he grated, tsking and dithering nearer to the pup's peaked underbelly...

"scoot." the petulant child demanded before flopping his gut over the thing as though it were an efficient hiding place. well, it was inaccessible now, but it did little to slake the nuisance's dedication to harassment. "scoot." he mimicked him, voicebox flawlessly imitating the adolescent tonality of kevlyn's dialect. bartok squawked with amusement. "scoot!!!"