Kintla Flatlands The voices inside my head, I hate them.

And just when the level of uncomfortably dropped, it rose again sharply. He had no more finished speaking it seemed when the dark-haired fellow curled his maw into a snarl, though his mumbling was just out of earshot to Mordecai. In response, the Ostrega pulled his ears back sharply, but withheld the urge to bristle and growl back. This canine was a particular one and the nagging sensation that he needed to consider making an exit and staying far, far away rode up on him.

It seemed that his presence did have some sort of effect, though. The awkward beat of silence, the coughing cover up. He honed in on what was being said quickly, as though he were going to really miss some crucial bit of information that might have been key to keeping his own hide on. It did not surprise him to find that he wasn't the only drifter of sorts that had been wandering around; Mordecai wouldn't have been surprised if his inability to keep from having an expressive conversation with himself didn't have something to do with it. “You might want to get the talking to yourself thing under control then.” He also had no problem in stating this, however flat and plain it came from his mouth.

No doubt that was something the other worried about, anyway.