Redsand Canyon backstreet's back alright

diesel's attention was squarely upon the big kahuna, her sleazy smile melting off her lips (what remained of them) with the speed of summer snow. with one word he could have every fang in the vicinity piercing her throat, and she intended to not give him a reason to command so.

(at least not until she put some distance between herself and mereo)

the sweet, enticing scent of heat was like a sugar cube in a bowl of shit. the mastiff briefly eased her rigidness as to look over the boss's shoulder and give the offender an expression that would read as a disappointed "really?" in any language known to canid. 

well, expect that the mangled muzzle might've given her a particularly thick accent.

the imperator's attention was back upon her, and diesel stiffened again, head low, tail low, doing as much as her stupid fucking stick-it-to-the-man attitude would permit her to without betraying what she stood for (she, herself and her freedom). she'd never grovel before the big grey daddy-o of mereo. she had decided that even before the sunspires were on the horizon.

he wanted to know where she was torn a new one.

"hvell ain't it ooious, hai fash-" she began, then realised he meant where as in the geographical location, not which bit the clorox-colored bitch bit off. 

she went quiet and slack-jawed a moment, irises in corners, rewinding her journey back to late winter. drool flowed freely.

eventually she focused back on the boss, licking away the built-up saliva.

"i don't know itsh na'ee, oot there'sh another 'auntain chain hen you crosh the hlatnends. there wash a ravine, full of 'ounsh. ree'ains. and a foresht, 'ery closh. i think.." he brows knit with immense braining. "i think the chreesh there 'ere e'ergreen, 'eecause they had needle lee's."