Lion Head Mesa If I wanted to, wanted to

gucci got to haptic preening, washing his face and whiskers feline-like.

he made as if he hadn't heard the jodai, despite batty ears having been turned that way. "y'know," the vizier began, casual, conversational - then suddenly startled by a gruff chuff on his level.

it took maybe a moment to process what was being offered. another to ponder the ethicality of it. third contemplated the ration of dignity to potential delight.

and so the royal vizier, hopping onto stubby limbs, curved tail a-wag, ascended up the firm back - oh mah gawd ya could grind meat on those - of the guard, and came to straddle the spine, shielded by shovel-like shoulderblades on either side.

"yippee!" he yapped as a puppy when khaba rose - then shut it, thinking that too discourteous to the man.

gucci leaned forward, apologetic, but grin still in his voice. "pardon, ah hope ah ain't pressin' nah bad spot?"  he kneaded the ebony fur, his tail swept the same. "s like bein' astride some mighty bear!'