Otter Creek [m]una vez más, con sentimiento

That word again.  What, is that your name? Lavarse.  She said it in a clear mockery of his accent and hoped that would piss him off.  Anything to wipe the smug smile off his face.

The only language she had experience with was her mom’s ptero. At least she could be pretty sure he wouldn’t know that, which meant the instant she ran into anyone familiar she’d be able to get a message off. The thought gave her a bit of hope, even if she knew the chances were pretty ridiculous.

He wanted her to clean up, obviously.  She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction and considered stubbornly shoving for the edge. The water felt too good and her pelt was a mess that she could feel. She wasn’t about to leave it, not even for stubbornness. And, like, who knows where his teeth have been. She drank, then began meticulously combing the ick from her fur.

The water was too deep to really whirl around in, but she rounded on him as quickly as she could when he approached. You had your chance, fuckface.  She growled, keeping her back to him. Movement here wouldn’t just be a problem for her at least. Maybe she could give him a good dunk.

And still a part of her, one she was ashamed of, loved the attention. He was ugly but he was also dangerous, and the combination of those two things made the ugly more of a quirk than a problem. Of course he was ugly. Ruthless criminals were almost always ugly. And this one, for some reason, wanted to keep her around. He stared at her like she was something he wanted.

She didn’t want to enjoy it, both because she was ashamed and because she knew, if she made it too easy, that interest could easily disappear. But she did enjoy it, and some toxic need in her reveled in being worth this kind of trouble.