Lion Head Mesa con[m]igo

the state of his self had become unbearable. his designer sweater had become a bed of dirt and stains, reeking in a way that promised the fur it had been covering for months had a far worse scent.

he needed a change. of clothes, but within himself wouldn't be bad either. for so long the little neb refrained from asking any of his hosts for help, thinking it impolite to force these giants to cater to his needs, but that morning he saw the tail end of a long bug crawl under his sweater, and he knew the time of true despair had come.

his first thought was to throw himself into the wellspring, hopefully drowning whatever had decided to make its home under his outfit. he pranced to it, as always announced by his dogtag, but froze when he saw another present there.

the dog had only a vague idea of what each rank of akashigo did, and most of his ideas were born of an, if not innocent, then unassuming mind. the fellahin he saw as nothing more than helpful and sociable individuals, as could be seen from how often he'd catch them leaving the rooms of others, clearly winded from hard work.

this one could, perhaps, possibly, be of some help to the neb (who thought of his own rank as that of a person who couldn't meaningfully contribute to the upkeep of akashigo).

"...pardon?" he spoke, hesitant. "ah don't mean t' bother, miss, but ah, uhh, ah need some help." his head and ears he kept low, as if he were a child asking a parent's permission.