Wheeling Gull Isle And We'll Go A-Waltzing Matilda No More

Pfft, oh no worries—I've been pretty darn slow myself  >.<  *shakes fist at RL*

We live here now. The words came crashing down upon him like a ton of bricks. Maybe it should have been an obvious conclusion to him, in truth, but—well, it wasn't. Oh... I, uh... that's nice? he managed. Y-y-yeah, I used to live here. Whoops, hadn't he already said that? With Undersea, I mean. He was not making a terribly impressive show of himself here, was he. But hey, at least neither of the women seemed inclined to leap upon him and rend his flesh from his bones in punishment for his presumptuousness or awkwardness or anything, at least not yet. 

The higher-ranking female that the other—Padma?—kept looking to seemed to be relaxing at least a little, to stand there more neutrally or maybe even welcomingly. Nervous Driftwood really wasn't sure which of the two was intended by, uh, Strand (or had it been "Straw" or something? Shoot). Or possibly some other, more subtle meaning that was escaping him entirely. Nonetheless, he unconsciously inched a little closer to her, feeling like the combination of her authority and her deliberately-less-hostile mien was a safer bet at the moment. Okay, he said to her quite meekly, and then was thrown for another loop. Skills? His completely unhelpful brain froze up and refused to offer any suggestions beyond the most obvious—maximally awkward small talk? Foot-in-mouth syndrome when meeting strangers from other packs? The unstoppable ability to vex and annoy any female in his presence? Yes, surely all these things he was so ably demonstrating were exactly what Straw wanted to see and hear about from him, here. I mean, I, uh... He stopped himself before he stammered too much more, and tried again. But I used to live here, and could help show you around? was all that he managed. Although... if you've been here awhile... maybe you've already found everything. The woodpile! The dens! The caches—was any of it safe from these wild interlopers?! Driftwood drooped further and gazed on the strange girls with increasing misery. And even if they had gleefully shredded and stomped all over his former possessions and memories, what really could he actually do about any of it, after all? And hadn't Straw made it plain enough—those were their caches now, to do with as they saw fit? Driftwood felt a pang, and thought again of Moorhen—and wondered if she had managed to recover any of her own most-prized property before these two had showed up.