Wheeling Gull Isle molotov cocktails on me like accessories

I might still come back and tweak this a little more, grah... I think I've at least gotten most of the typos now, though I'd swear I've fixed one or two of these *multiple* times at this point, lawlz.
That new avatar is really lovely though, in the meantime!  :D

Still stiff, still ill at ease, he inanely replies, Oh, okay. Wait, no, that wasn't quite right. He scrambles lamely to add, Right, well it's— good to meet you. His voice peters out rather unconvincingly, and he stares down at his toes for a moment in discomfort, questioning his own terrible attempts at smoothing over social awkwardness, right before he remembers that Reed told him not to grovel so absurdly so he yanks his head back up into its overstarched collar position again and rolls his eyes uncomfortably down to look at her. I was, uh... He has to pause for a long moment and search his brain, his previous course of action having been totally derailed by his mistaking of the purpose of den-digging and the ensuing emotional kerfuffle. Oh crap...what was he doing, again? Was it really that important?! Maybe he should make something up— but no, that'd never work; this young thing seems pretty sharp and would probably bite his fool head off for outright lying to her, and certainly she'd be able to tell— panic starts to rise in his eyes as he squirms and digs through his uncooperative layers of brain.

. . . hunting rats? he finally finishes, dredging the answer up at last, and cranes his stiff neck over and sideways to look at his forgotten prize, making sure it is indeed still there and hasn't magically disappeared or wandered off or who knows what. He has to search for a moment to find it, and thinks for a second with growing alarm that maybe he is misremembering, maybe he is going crazy and there was never any rat at all, until—oh there is is. Duh. All right then. Driftwood sits there for a moment and mentally scolds himself for being so ridiculously panicky over things that actually turn out to be nothing. You'd've thought from the way his heart was still pounding and how he'd had to struggle to find it that the entire island's fate rested on finding the answer, or something. Sheeeesh. It seemed a little silly to him in hindsight, and he folded his ears back and looked away in embarrassment. Now that he had most thoroughly humiliated himself he was sure the haughty, regal young girl was going to dismiss him for his sheer uncoolness, if nothing else, and leave him wandering away alone and wretched to go beat himself up elsewhere.

Er, do you want it? he does try adding, however, nudging the fat little rodent's limp corpse slightly closer to her with a timidly-outstretched paw. He thinks that perhaps the distraction of food might help to smooth things over at least a little bit before he's inevitably kicked outta here. I meant to give it to Seelie and the babies... he half-murmurs, and then, realizing that this sounds an awful lot like he's trying to manipulatively guilt-trip her or something, hastily adds in a fluster, But it's okay! I found the whole nest over there with her, only I couldn't carry them all, all at once. It wasn't because he was such a useless wilting violet here, no really, it wasn't, see? He wasn't a complete inept idiot, all evidence to the contrary! Then his eyes widened as he realized he may have just tripped hmself up a little yet again: The rat mom's whole nest over there, I meant of course, that is, not Seelie's! Shoot, maybe he should think about leaving the pack if he was going to make this much of a muddle of what he was certain were simple, straightforward, easy and uncomplicated interactions for everyone else in Undersea.