Lion Head Mesa Atum

A floral scent came down the hall, and Gucci, just exiting Crowfeather's chambers, followed it. The touch of artificial lavender had long faded away from his fur and grime had ruined his precious sweater, leaving the chihuahua grossed out by his own lack of hygiene. At least now he smelled like he belonged there, among the feral canines of Akashigo. 

He followed the fragrance, his dog tag tinkling with each pair of steps. Soon, he saw the creamy white form of a most graceful Fellahin. He made a little yap to announce himself.

"G'day, Miss!" As of late he'd been a bit too anxious to afford anything more than a polite smile and a single wag of the low-held tail. "Ah must inquire, what d'ya use t' smell jes' so exquisite?"