Bramblepoint the world we know is turning

Titmouse? She'd said, catching him completely off-guard. This time he was silent, and while his mouth wanted to hinge and drop the skull again, instead he gripped it tightly. So tight in fact that there would be teeth marks scored in to the otherwise smooth dome for the rest of time.

It wasn't a name he was proud of. It wasn't one he'd freely given, either. Which begged the question - who the fuck was this?

With more care than he had previously shown, Tit placed the skull down and seemed to glower over it, scrutinizing the dark girl; he wasn't observant enough to recognize the autumn-like markings on her body, and the white bits were greyed within the woodlands many shadows. No, he still didn't make the connection. No, he stoutly refused, I'm... I'm Screech. Who the fuck are you?