Flycatcher Downs Ring ring, the bartender please?

Her plea was not not answered immediately by the striped creature. Shivering and heaving in a rather irregular way, the wench slid herself to the leaf litter below, her maw agape as she breathed in struggling gasps. As much as her body yearned for more nourishment, her stomach refused to even think of eating, gurgling quite grossly as it was pressed against the dirt in a lame attempt to quench the nauseating moment.

Raccoon's words slipped over her drooping ears as her head lolled to one side, her flank rising heavily as her throat fought wildly to keep what liquid resided in her belly to stay where it belonged. "Raccoon," she gurgled, fighting for self control against its lethal counterpart; greed. Yet as much as she tried to resist the urges, her hunger was a formidable opponent; consuming whatever willpower she had left as her tongue slithered away to grasp a portion of the moistened chunks that Sriracha had quite kindly presented for the picking.

No sooner had slid so menacingly down her throat, the sickness returned in waves more painful to imagine. "My insides are tussling, battling each other with teeth and claws," she moaned, scrapping dignity as she promptly sat up and retched until she could retch no more.

With the contentsof her stomach strewn amongst the grass, she was left feeling utterly up-ended, wrung out like a piece of sodden hide. Disgusting. With a shaky huff, she lost herself in the kind sir's gentle tones, flatly ignoring the remainder of her meal as she flopped rather ungracedully back onto her side. Exhausted and utterly beaten up, her instinctual urges took a turn to rest as she lay, her once insane babble replaced with the occasional softly spoken grunt.