Redsand Canyon ain't nothin' but a G thang, baby

backdated to the 23rd

the mastiff did not intend to go see lady whatchamacallher quite so soon. her plan was to first go snoop around the communal areas in search of a meal (gaining some weight certainly would help her story), but, unfortunately, mr. icicle dick [@Kallik] had decided to escort her instead.

diesel deliberately lumbered as she walked, taking in the sights as she went (the canyon changed fuck-all in her absence) even stopping once or twice to nip at her fur in search of some fantasy fleas to gnaw on. anything to get a rise out of him.

it was somewhere between the sparring and the punishment areas that she planted her ass down and began scratching her neck with a hind leg, the chain links of her collar clicking against each other. 

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