Overture Downs your mother's throat clicks and my spirit swims right to the hook

he spoke and with all haste she felt heat swarm her cheeks, eyes dancing itchily away from the face of the boy she'd just roundly insulted. all that remained of her dignity was sublimed by the jaws of something of truly chthonian hatching.   

foot, meet mouth. 

a word or several -- all excuses, none of them good -- took wing on a sharp inhale, but only silence elapsed in her fluster of shame. she let out her breath in a sigh. yeah, this was shaping up to be one of those core memories that haunts you as you try to fall asleep. 

his offense was the brush painting her into a corner that felt as vulgar as it definitely looked. phaedra bit her lip.

"you're not. look-" she turned when he made to leave, an apology framed on her lips, but no chance was given before those very same lips were passionately kissed by the fouled-up fowl. she was gobsmacked. so, so literally gobsmacked. 

very cool. 

very deserved.

the shock was slow to absorb. phaedra stood agape and goggle-eyed -- the bare essentials of bitch-slapped-by-bird. and then he got to walk off without looking back at the explosion, like a fucking neat guy? no! 

a scandalized scoff followed the gaucherie of hiccuping feathers. "NO! I INSIST!" she vented, taking the vague shape that maybe resembled a killdeer at some point and lobbing it at the back of aventus' head with all the might of a woman scorned.