Barrow Fields i would ask, almost insist, on treating you kind and fair

She watched with indestructible glee as her body fluid peeled off the slather of her tongue and plunged to its journey's-end as a viscid splotch against the inkbarred bridge of his muzzle, creeping point-blank as the laws of gravity went into immediate effect. She thought he would have been less faint-hearted with a musket between his eyes.

The horror could only consummated by one clarion soundbite, and from the grimace he wore she saw its approach and braced herself as his body trembled until a stentorian, primordial screech was fit to be unleashed from its thousand year old catacomb within his soul. Squirrels scattered. Birds took off in all directions with an abrupt conclusion to their chirruping. A senile Peter Cottontail's coup de grace unfolded. As for Lusca, the high-pitched whinge came into direct contact with her ear, which disoriented her briefly. Psyduck has hurt itself in its confusion. 

He struggled to circumvent the inevitability of slimy, mucid scum floating around like a contact lens in his eye socket, even going so far as to exploit the proximity of her stilt-like leg, appropriating it as his very own personal hankie. 

A look of disgust descended darkly upon her face. "UUUUUUUUGH!" she bleated with abject offense, possessively extracting her foreleg from his range of motion and wrenching it close to her heart. The purled scrunch of her brows gave him an unequivocal visual aid to witness her contempt for his complete deficit of manners. "So super rude."