Lion Head Mesa [M]No filter on your mouth

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The floor must have been cold on her side. She should've been conditioned to stay there, and that, she was. She could be. Her cheek rubbed vertically on the ground, eyes fluttering forward and an empty frown upon etched on pretty lips.

"I am," the imp stated, and the look offered was unkempt.

Begging. If he said begging, then there she was begging, and her neck bent away from him. Her ears tugged the floor. She was pathetic. She just couldn't accept rejection, could she? She begged to him again when her maw turned underneath him, her brows tensing as confusion riddled her face. 

Why, how easily Machi could do this to her. How quickly was she nothing? Then, looking down his neck, then up the underside of his chin and to his maw, her muscles relaxed. Pulled away, then shying away in a cower. A question to dismantle her perception of herself then in front of him. Confidence fleeing, and looking to leech, yet so quickly could it fail. So quickly could it fall. "What, you don't like it when I beg?"