Black Morass Idealism sits prison

The cheekiness in her voice wasn’t missed, but the golden Magnetar overrode it, used to the sardonic ways of life after years of travel and wanderlust. She turned to look toward him, and a light frown pulled at the serpentine Ostrega’s features, his eyes studying her cloudy gaze with dawning recognition as her eyes fell blankly just away from him.

“Pippin,” he returned easily, canting his muzzle to the side lightly. “Do you want to tell me your name, or should I call you ‘Lil’ Sauce?’ Seems like it could be fitting—cheeky.”