Firestone Hot Springs Paper Faces on Parade

Been awhile since I heard that song, hee!  <3  Otoh, this is the third time I've started this post, lulz  e.e;;  My computer thinks Apples are especially tasty, apparently, whoops?  ;) This version is totally the best one, though, eliminating all the flaws of every prior incarnation to reward your quiet and patient awaiting of it. Noreally.  <.<  >.>

*sends her muse to go flick the bad little fat-shaming weasel on the nose in warning* You are a bad bad little beast and Santa Claus is skipping your burrow entirely this year, mark my words. ...Although really, with Nynka, if it wasn't that it would undoubtedly have been something else she'd find to mock, pfft.  :P

Nynka paused in her acrobatics and slowly turned to look up and down at the critter who'd addressed her. She oughta have known from the accent and timbre it was another of those interfering canines; she'd swear the Teekons held more of them than fleas, this year, really. Had she had a proper eyebrow it would have been very skeptically raised at the fat white poofball, who may have herself been made of a congealed ball of steam, from the coloration and cloudy roundness. Nynka resisted the temptation to go over and give her a good hard poke to see whether she really was made just of fur and skin and bones like everyone else, in order to instead reply: I will...go 'spoof'? She looked the canid up and down again with her weaselly whiskers quirked in intermingled disbelief and amusement both. Yeah, is that what happened to you? Or did you get, uh, 'ptomaine poisoning' and poison ivy and who knows what else?

Nynka sat back on her haunches and folded her forepaws neatly in front of her, relaxing and, once the next extra-thick burst of steam that puffed up between them had dissipated, examining the rotund and noisy creature afresh. Nynka never was afraid of wolves, but this one she was even more certain she could outrun without even really trying. Though the creature obviously must have kept herself pretty decently fed in one way or another; the weasel wondered just what it was she managed to catch so much of, to be in that shape. Was she preparing to try and hibernate, like a bear? And if so, did that then mean that whatever hunting ground she frequented were about to become, hmmm, available for an enterprising young mustelid, perhaps, let us say? Nynka certainly wouldn't mind sharing in a supply of food as steady as this beast had been selfishly enjoying, that was for certain.