The Heartwood [m] partyin' to hella late

aw, thanks! ^-^ <3

Tatum felt the subtle quirk of her brow line when he sat, abruptly, on the earthen floor of the woods they currently inhabited. That simple action told Tatum that he had no intentions of going anywhere, and after a few moments of deliberation — after all the longer she humored him the more chance she had to getting sucked in to being recruited — slowly lowered herself upon her own haunches, her tail sweeping the leaf and bracken littered ground beneath her once before it stilled. It had been a long time she'd came across someone who could appreciate her level of humor and she felt the draw, even if the defiant beastie inside her screamed for her to 'get the fuck out'. Just because she hadn't been actively searching for a pack didn't mean she would so readily turn an offer away if it came her way. Sure, it wasn't a pressure issue now, but summer and plentiful prey wouldn't last forever and winter would force her into bitterly making a choice against her will. Perhaps, it wasn't such a bad thing to lay her options out on the table now — while time was still something she had. It was easy for Tatum to flirt, to toss around coquette behavior if because she flirted with everyone. When it came to lovers she took male or females, and she had no set criteria except they had to accept her for who she was (and if they were affronted by her they certainly wouldn't be open to being lovers anyway). Tatum didn't want to change and didn't want to have personal change imposed upon her. She couldn't help how she felt, and she believed that “love” — though she found the word to be nothing short of a crux — was blind. It was gender-less.

Tatum's velveteen ears cupped forth when FitzDutiful spoke laying out his assessment for her. He had a keen eye, she had to give him that. “Maybe I'm just a priss,” She teased, though she was impressed with what he'd deduced, mentally admitting that he wasn't wrong. She was capable. It was a funny image: imagining herself being all stuck up. Being “prissy” wasn't her thing. “My muscles aren't shit compared to yours, mr. buff as fuck,” She voiced her previous nickname for him allowed with a soft snort of amusement, though she was envious of his build. She was just...androgynous, neither too feminine or too masculine. “but I do keep myself fit, as you said. You've got a good eye,” Which meant she had no real reason to really say 'no'; and who knew if the offer would still be around if she managed to convince herself that she needed to check out her options. 

“Foxhound trained me in both,” She had no preference for one or the other, would take whatever the pack needed as a trade because it made the most sense when she didn't want to choose one over the other. “So are you offering me a place or what, handsome?” Might as well cut to the chase, right?