Heron Lake Plateau Never mind the slacks and bashers

Yep he was ruining this one fast.  At the retort about what he'd been up to, he did look kind of hurt, his ears tilting slightly back on his skull.  What was he gonna say?  Quixote looked away from her, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but that never came.  Alpha or not, it seemed like if she was gonna go off on a rant, he was just gonna sit there and take it since he was apparently a socially inept fool.

Instead, Niamh was distracted by something else, and her exclamation drew his attention back to her, but this time way more confused.  The hell was going on?  Slowly, she started to explain, and while hie mentally was still being barraged by cartoonish question marks, things started to slowly make sense.  A little.  He craned his neck to try to get a better look but gave up as soon as he felt he was going to put weight on something that hurt.  So much for that.  Does it hold enough?  It wasn't like he could see it particularly well.

The whole thing was just awkward.  He didn't know if Screech actually meant something to her or if it was just some weird guilt/obligation thing from the incident that had trapped her in case the worst happened.  Like what was someone supposed to say to that?  He'd tried agreeing, he'd tried changing subjects but he was just bad at it all, apparently.  What else would Quixote say?  That he fell off a cliff?  Somehow that sounded like it wouldn't have gotten a good response either.  Maybe he should just leave -- oh wait, that required moving.  He lowered his head to his paws, Sorry.  I'm just a gallows humor sort of guy.  And not good at talking.  Okay, he could talk in general but not about this heavy crud.  Raven was the one who always knew the exact right thing to say in this particular kind of scenario.