Redhawk Caldera westworld

"Hm," Kaizer noised thoughtfully, his mind drifting over to the colors she gave him, and wondering why she chose them. He supposed that the colors came from the most natural things about him -- as he rather enjoyed romping (and peeing) -- but the wolf couldn't be certain. He also supposed that he could ask... but in feeling that he had already asked one question too many, the follow-up queries became fat and twisted in his mouth, unable to crest the curve of his lips without the sheer force of willpower to make them. He sighed, maybe a little frustrated with himself, and resumed tending to her shoulders before eventually taking on the bevel of her spine.

Raven's pelt was much sleeker than his own, and especially more well-kept, making his job nearly twice as easy as hers. He finished in all the places of her he could reach, his tongue slightly numb and visions of plants dancing merrily in his head. Unintentionally -- more so, unwittingly -- he had ingested spores of poppy powder that had been lost to the breeze and had become embedded in her fur like hermetic pollen. It wasn't enough for him to recognize that he felt different, but his energy had slacked somewhat, and further comforted by her touch, Kaizer rubbed his face into her side, as if to tuck himself in, and his eyes fluttered to a close.

What became apparent now was that he had an incredibly low tolerance for drugs.