Barrow Fields i would ask, almost insist, on treating you kind and fair

PULL THE LEVER KRONK!

in an effort to redeem himself after last night's pitiful attempts at securing food, tachyon had stolen away from  lusca when she hadn't been looking. for one, he wasn't exactly enjoying the draconian side of her -- and if he could escape her wrathful eye and return bearing a gift that would rival a god's sacrifice, perhaps he could finally clasp some form of approval from the heavy-handed she-wolf. for two, it was not exactly if the two of them were talking. tachyon had never experienced a shoulder so ice-clad as a lusca scorned.

many hours after his departure he returned -- and this time, with something a little more substantial in tow. he held the tattered item high, inverting his head in the laughable way a canine often does to balance a lengthy stick. tachyon practically swaggered as he pulled towards the fierce woman, a buoyancy in his step he knew she would probably immediately deflate. all the same he bravely approached -- yet subtly he felt each stride shorten and his heart shrink as he awaited the outcry of the insatiable banshee he had come to keep company with.

RONG LEVER!!!!!

There'd been a seismical shift in The Universe of Their Relationship. A rupture in their rapport. The internecine aftereffects of their "difference in opinion" on what qualified as acceptable compensation for her time transpired; the unitary voiding of trust on one side and for the other, the soul-sucking echo of something akin to post-traumatic stress. 

He'd returned to her at the crack of dawn, shrilly whining and slinking with tail clamped to his undersides and imploring a second chance at endearing her to him. By the time he'd reappeared, her temper had defrosted and the icy contour of her gaze diminished. However, in spite of her wary gift of absolution from his sin, he was a low priority and hanging by the black widow's diaphanous spider silk. 

Unknown to her he'd slipped away again the following afternoon to reconcile harmony with more desirable provisions. Lusca acknowledged his absence but neither repined nor concerned herself with it, instead brushing it off as flakiness with a shrug of disinterest and forging ahead with her day, hoping that somewhere along the beaten path which she walked was a felled deer or raccoon that had shuffled its mortal coil for the earth to regenerate for a better purpose as fertilizer. 

However, by evening, her suitor had made his way back with something cherished in his jowls. His tail flourished like a white flag over his back; he looked exceedingly pleased with himself, hoisting something hideous in her direction with his head aloft as if it were a cumbersome club. Perhaps he'd come back bearing a melee weapon with which he'd selected to whack her with. Unsurely, the waif withdrew, lifting a leg deftly to her breast, look upon her face reading pls no kill, am too pretty lady.

"What... is it that I am looking at?" she inquired hesitantly, a dubious edge to her voice. Unlike the night before, she did not react with vexation; simply curiosity, and slight disgust. It looked wet, probably with Tachyon's drool –– entirely unsavory.

tachyon flinched as lusca moved, expecting that raised paw to be struck harshly across his jowl. yet no onslaught came -- slowly he pried open an eye, and then another, surprised to behold a semblance of surprise writ across the ghoul's waifsh face.

he hadn't really prepared an answer, but eager to please he spoke up: "Mmmuffaf." he declared brightly. yet his mein instantly plundered, for his mouth was muffled and the words he sought to impress the female with tumbled from his mouth with the unintelligible grace of a dimwit. tachyon sagged, rolling the matted carcass from his mouth and stepping back swiftly.

"mus--" he paused. he turned his head, examining her from the corner of his eye. the last time he had offered the female a meal of the rodent variety she had unleashed a scathing riposte upon him. he did not wish to revisit. "mushpig." he lied without batting an eyelid, unsure if she would accept such an outright practice of deceit.

She turned her head and scrunched her muzzle, a qualmish "blehhh," trundling from her crop as he spat the muskrat onto the soil, its slimy fur slopping from the glove of his maw. It laid in a heap now, wafting an unfamiliar scent that she sampled with an extension of her nose and quaver of nostrils.

The male began to say a word, her eyebrows lifting in anticipation for knowledge about this unfortunate artifact of God's despair, presumably after he ran out of things to design. Perhaps he'd have been better off with a ghostwriter for this travesty in particular. 

In his favor, Tachyon's fib and consequent misrepresentation of the creature flew right over her head, she would not have known a "muskrat" from a "mushpig" any better than man would know Adam from Eve. The word, however, did not make the thing look anymore palatable. Lusca gave a tilt of her head. "Mushpig." She repeated, knitting her eyebrows as she examined its undignified, raggedy carcass. From a distance, of course. She enjoyed herself some wild boar, but the prefix "mush" understandably gave her pause.

"Hm. You better taste it first." She suggested. "You know. In case it's tainted meat." Tacked on as a second thought –– Lusca gurned with queasy reluctance.

tachyon was vexed -- partially because his distortion of the truth had not flagged alarm in the female and partially because she had turned down his offering. this rejection marked the second or third (well, actually, he'd lost track at this point) time that lusca had shot him down from elation like a hunter pierces the flowy bosom of a swan -- and like the deadstruck, tachyon plummeted swiftly to earth.

he afforded her a scant smile, unsure of how to proceed. his own mouth watered and he feared if he set upon the scant meal that he would devour it whole. but with a shrug he did as she commanded, placing a broad paw along the broken critter's back and ripping from its spine a lengthy strip of flesh. he gulped quickly, scarce allowing the tangy flavor to touch his tongue for fear it would rouse his appetite.

To Lusca's surprise Tachyon wasted no time in gingerly debriding a piece of his hardwon mushpig, slurping it down his gullet in nothing flat. She hupped over and squinched, pitching her snout under his chin and bopping upwards, then raising her head to stare intensely at his mouth. "Open wide." The black shuck urged him, "open." She pushed, wanting to check if his tongue had turned green.

tachyon couldn't believe it. a female -- she -- had touched him. and not with the intention to hurt either.

every molecule in his body sped in its oscillation, humming with a vibrant tune of ecstasy and thrill. he felt a ventral chill along his body, one which swept up his underside and ignited his fur in kinetic frenzy. he dared not meet her eye-- while she was oblivious that his senses were atwitter, he was not -- and he struggled to remain somewhat sentient.

"see." he parted his jaws wide, his tongue lolling. it was then he made his move -- while her temper was still at bay and she was caught off guard -- with a quick jaunt forward he passed his tongue across the length of her cheek in a smearing display of juvenile torment and affection.. and then he ran -- like really fast -- because he probably just signed his death warrant.

If she had known that the touch-deprived hombre was seemingly in the throes of puberty and would react to the (PLATONIC!!!!) brush of his underchin with such an outpouring of titillation she would definitely not have made such a gesture. He was aflutter; practically vibrating – a motor response not unlike that of a pubescent boy thrilled at getting a passing whiff of Regina George's majestic mane. Or something else that the author of this post won't elaborate on because it's naughty.

"See." The crocodile parted his toothy chops and she peered in, squeezing one eye shut to more efficiently inspect the portal to his bottomless craw. His tongue was about as expected – muted pink, clammy, muculent. There was no mold, no fuzz, no grinch-green staining to be seen. As she went to pull back her head and comment you need to floss, he thought it wise to prod the sleeping bear and slough a sloppy, prolonged sweep of his tongue across her cheek ruffs. She became well acquainted with his breath. It was unpleasant.

Stunned, Lusca's eyes quickly widened to satellite dish proportions. She froze with legs splayed and ears aslope, like a deer caught in headlights. After a second, her eye twitched, pupils en route to his face. The CSS of her faculties was overwritten, breaking some bracket somewhere and redirecting the entire website of her gray matter to a 404 page. 

"You." Pause. "Are." Pause. "Dead."

Aaaaand he was off to the races. Roaring ferociously, she shook off the shell-shock paralyzing her legs and thrust into warp-speed after him. Unlike last time, she quickly gained on him as he scurried and racked through the brush, often bulldozing into branches that then whipped backwards to whop Lusca right between the eyes. It stung, but epinephrine released into her bloodstream and blocked out the pain receptors.

Briefly she caught up and lunged forward, snapping her teeth around the end-tip of his tail and trying to pull him back so she could kick his ass proper.

there was no doubt in his mind he was dead -- but it was a mistake he was happy to commit. there was no time to recognize the widening of her dinner-plate eyes, nor the indignity that flooded it -- he was swift on his feet despite her best attempts to slake skin from his fur. her roaring was formidable -- terrifying even, and tachyon tried his best to figure out how to defuse the situation.

except for he was running and stuff, and had never been skilled at that multitasking gig. he was so bad, in fact, that he slowed down as he thought of how to escape her teeth and consequentially was rewarded with a sharp sting of fang meeting his tender tail.

she packed a wallop and he was sent forward in a scooting yowl, howling as his tail fled under his body. he turned around, blubbering between breaths --

"fair is the muzzle that lashes at me
though sharp the teeth be which quickly wield them
and parry they must, on to sunder me
so swift i must act to appease this femme --- "

she was still hot on his tail, her breath rank on his rump with anger -- anger that fueled his desparation to sing as pretty as possible --

"in vain i contain what my heartstrings know
that this fierce amazon is nonpareil
so fate has ordained, and let kismet show
that my soul can't deny what my heart feels"

he finished his refrain, worriedly casting a glance behind him. but the sheba had slowed -- the kraken had receded -- and so he grew emboldened as he cast his lulting voice to the sky:

"so woman, dear woman, lay down your sword
lest you act too rash and regret your ire
come close my dear love, attack not my gourd
for i like living, and death, it be dire

quit thy dragon-rage, accept my mushpig
or else next time, i'll bring poisonous figs!"

Confusion flushed her head and wreaked anarchy upon her thought processes as he began his refrain, rattletrap voice cranking out a rococo ballad that she could only vaguely interpret as a passionately phonic letter proclaiming his adoration for the unhinged broad falling over herself in his wake. A broad fast becoming worn out despite her resolve to pry his liver from his innards and sell them to the black market so could collect enough money to buy a pistol to put in her mouth.

She slowed up and strained her ears towards him, chest huffing with exasperation, head spinning and reeling with humiliation. He sang to the stratosphere, crooning his serenade to the omnipotence of the sun with booming enthusiasm. She knew if she started after him again, he would easily outpace her, so instead, camouflaging a mixed palette of feelings, to don serenity of swan plumage, she sweetly trilled at him. "Oh Romeo! I'm absolutely besotted," Lusca cried, shimmying her bosom like a showgirl and fluttering her eyes. "Come here and let me lay one on ya, lug!" Doe-like in her mannerisms, she flashed him a winsome smile.

he couldn't believe it -- his ramshackle, cobbled-together sonnet had worked. and while it was true to the last refrain, he had not expected such a turnaround in the waif -- perhaps his benevolence had finally eeked through to her narrow skull and implied some small fragment of benefice.

he didn't waste time then, heeding to her every command -- and as she fell back in the manner of a victorian wench he practically swept down upon her, his tail thrumming happily in the dirt and his muzzle split wide in a black-gummed grin. he was not the best of bards, but his crooning voice had secured her -- eureka! gods be good, he would soon have the spitfire woman as his bona-fide paramour.

It was without a trifle of demur that he glided towards her, without a doubt prepared for a fleet of kisses and apologies for not seeing him for his authentic self – a true songsmith, a libertine of the highest order!

She humored his giddiness for a moment – stricken with vertigo he most assuredly was, flitting upon his toetips with a tail thumping craters into the dirt – and inclined towards his snoot, provocative glint in her lantern eyes. As she drew inches from his face, pinning her gaze deeply into the depths of childlike naivety, she discerned the crux of innocence she was about to wring out of his soul.

Without warning, she shrinked backwards, lifted her paw and swung – hopefully delivering an expression of pent up aggression smack across his snout. Afterwards, again, she got up in his face and bunched her mug against his own. "Don't you ever do that again." – the words, sauced with undiluted scorn, grated out from between gritted fangs.

this was it -- the fates had ordained it -- and at last, the fickle planets had aligned and proffered tachyon with his prize -- the scant and deprived form of lusca. tachyon was gobsmacked, his gaze wide and wondering -- even the gleam of the saliva that pooled in the corner of his mouth seemed starried and incandescent in quality as lusca pulled towards him in an enticing embrace.

and suddenly, the world was upturned and satan gallumped about it -- his goat legs coming trouncing down upon tachyon's dashed dreams in the form of a swift paw dealt sharply across the sensitive bridge of his muzzle. tachyon staggered, blubbering in shock that such a doe-eyed waif could be so spiteful -- truly, it was an act against his constitution from beyond the pale.

he rubbed his cheek forlornly, his gaze refusing to meet the glowing kiln-orange of lusca's own. he spoke at length, his muzzle tilted down to the earth in a melodic hum:

"once a tavern wretch crossed me twix the trail
her form pleasing, if not decidedly frail..
slattern she was she cast a spell upon me
though not before striking my phizog brutalLY

travelers should you meet this siren
heed my caution, she be a hireling
paid to string your heart bare and crush it
RUN! -- otherwise she'll take your soul and flush it"

with that he wriggled backwards, preparing himself for a second blow from this impetuous and cruel scullion!!

Her strike connected to his beak with all the precision of a nun's swift reprimand – the upturned palm of an open slap. The instant gratification that happily coexisted with physical violence did not disappoint. Lusca felt redeemed at last, and it was with smug satisfaction that she sheathed her blade and hauled off the assault.

Admirably, Tachyon took his blow in commendable stride. The slate serenader buffed out his offended snout with a pitiable sort of wretchedness, and mopped up his woe with a new bleak stanza that bespoke heartache and torment. 

Clearing her throat, upon the summation of his sonnet, the not-strongstress raucously belted out her own little ditty: 

"Boyo, you tried, 
now nurse your wounded pride!
Next time a fetching dame catches your eye, 
perhaps try a bouquet of roses, not rye!"

his brown knitted as lusca concocted the perfect riposte -- a witty little retort that left him reeling. it didn't help his nose still stung -- with a dark scowl shot in her direction he rubbed his sore muzzle. it appeared playing bard was a two person game -- and while he didn't mind the competition, he certainly minded the not-so-subtle jab cleverly insinuated into her stanzas. a jab, he thought, that was as painful as the physical one that preceded it.

"woe is me," he began to croon, lifting his wounded muzzle skyward -- "how could it beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, this lady she beeeeeeeeeee, starving and SKIIIINNYYY,  reeeeeeGRETAAAABLYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY --" he pried an eye open, peering at her with uncertainty -- "she woooonnnnnt


toOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCHH


MYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY


mushpIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIG!" his ditty ended on a high note -- as did he -- fearful of a second snout-jab, tachyon stepped back for his safety.

lol i was never good at poetry in shakespearean class and i'm not good at poetry now

If the look of devastation writhing upon his mug was any indication, the kettleblack female could only infer that her lousy quatrain had successfully speared his heart -- she was no maestro, and the composition of her was more of a consonantal clash than the vowel-chime his pipes produced. He, on the other hand, was entitled to the handle sonnet virtuoso; his comprehensive word-stock may have lent him an unfair advantage over the girl. Maybe they'd be on more level ground if this was a yo-mama rap battle –– her experience as a participant in poetry slams was unfortunately limited to "never."

Nonetheless his ensanguined ego built her up and a complacent smirk took to its routine post on her lips, chin jutted with an utmost air of braggadocio. She thought, if only the injury to his feelings manifested a physical mark in the same way the impact of her knuckle sandwich had rattled his brainbox and left an inflamed nostril – a site as leaky as an unstaunched wench and twice as scorned. She could look upon it and jeer.

Head aloft with ears standing to attention -- ready to confiscate his rejoining ode -- she pranced a tight circuit around him, bottlebrush tail flying like a streamer in a stiff wind. 

Tipping his nickel muzzle on high, the boy keened, he screeched, and left a death toll of an indeterminable number deep within the forest around them. If her eardrums, newly spectral, stricken with tinnitus unaccounted for before his moaning dirge, had not been tone-deaf foregoing his song, they certainly were now as they rang shrilly. 

Lusca peeled from him the same moment he hippety-hopped away from her, ending his joyful hymn. Suddenly dropping to a play-bow, her tail drooped against her scrawny haunches -- a competitive gleam came to her eye. 

"Ye plunder is weak and your loot caput-y,
I know what you're after, the best treasure of all,
x-marks the spot: my callipygian booty!"

No consideration taken of iambic pentameter. None. She winked one eye shut, giving her best impression of a swash-buckling buccaneer she could muster, swanggggin' her rump knowing full well it would get him in a tizzy. 

Then suddenly, standing up straight, as if struck by revelation (this was, however, something she had meant to tell him earlier prior to his infraction of personal space and consequent heinous crime of pasting his mouth-dongle to her face like a barnacle sticks to substrate), her voice lowered ominously.

"Ohhh, how could have I neglected to mention,
we have encountered an eensy-teensy problem --
the behavior of pathogens, my argent gentian,

You see, you may yet develop disease of the skin,
Perhaps leprosy, or gigantism, who knows, 
we may even start to see a pectoral fin...

She eased closer to him.

Give it an hour, maybe two, mine friend,
your moshpig could resurrect to bite you --
food-borne illness takes time to set in."

LMFAO oh my god i think he's outmatched

he had expected something in the way of retort -- something physical and come to hurt him. but none came -- instead, the skinny she-beast dropped her chest to the earth in a playbow and launched into an animated lyric.

half the words she spoke he didn't know -- he watched her in awe (keeping his distance) as she once more exposed why she was a far more intellectual study than he. what he did grasp (however thinly) from her limerick was that the mushpig was not an acceptable entree. tachyon's brow folded, a frown trenching the crease of his countenance as he crooned an injured and tuneless rebuke:

"you think you're quite witty
with that silly little ditty
but if the lady insists
this 'pig has no merit
she'll have to sit through her tummy-fit
for this mushpig is all
my hungry talons could maul
its tender
and meaty
salty
and juicy and
good for eat-y
ill take it myself 'cos i cant allow you to shelf
this perfectly good little mushpig
and while i am feasting
your eyes will be heaving
with regret and greed
having refused to feed
on this perfectly good little mushpig"

with that he cast a doleful scowl in her direction before retrieving the mangled "mushpig". he didn't really trust she would allow him to eat it in peace, so he dragged the thing away from her and hunched over it protectively, gnawing eagerly on a shattered limb.

im sorry this is wretched i wrote this on my phone whilst playing -.- i kept getting skipped over hueheheh

He sang out and she bobbed her head to and fro, spiritedly, using her foreclaw to surf along air with his mellifluous cadence.

After he finished, Twchyon scampered off to retrieve his execrable wares, returning with it toted betwixt his maw. With the (accurate) foresight that she may not allow him peace with his slop he scuttled away with his back to her. The hellrake did not think this very hospitable of him! She gathered her haunches under her hindend and flung her forefeet through the air, spanking her paws against the mushy loam with frolicsome fervor. "Oh oh! Wait I got one." she crowed, tromping like a standardbred champion over to the hunkered heap of wolf.

"Ah he he hem-- oh it's a haiku.

Puke puke puke puke puke,
Puke puke puke puke puke puke puke,
Puke puke puke puke puke,
BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARF."

She made retching noises, stooped over Tachyon's scrooched-down head as he made short work of the alms hoarded beneath him. High-stepping over his backside she pretended to wobble and stumble, her scruffy breeches collapsing and bearing down square upon his head. Perched there, like a stone-faced gargoyle on his revered watchtower, she snickered, hoping her difficult behavior was imposing on his din-din.

"I crown thee, King Butthead!" she brayed in a deep officiating voice, brow drudged down and hooding her eyes. Subtly peering down at him, Lu rose to her feet slightly, then plopped right back down asudden with the intention of giving him a facefull of moldered flesh on behalf of her tukhus.

rofl the imagery of this is priceless.. and then i fail and press enter 2 early oops -.-

tachyon was sentient enough to realize lusca's excited display was entirely a farce -- with a jaded eye he turned away from her, shouldering his ego from her melodramatic displays of patronizing mirth.

his pride was sufficiently wounded - to the point where a sourness dulled the ash of his muzzle and clouded his gaze. when lusca peered over him yakking he hunched his shoulders and compacted his body into a defensive hump, eating the mangled piece with dangerous gusto. lusca then had the ingenuity to slide over him -- with a huff he craned his neck and muzzle backwards, peering down his snout at her pipey little face. he would have been supremely agonized she disrupted his meal were it not for the fact he preferred her over mushpig -- with an exaggerated purse of his lips he swung his muzzle towards her cheek to supplant a sloppy and drooly kiss on her precious wittle head.

that would teach her to mess with a grump while eating..

Her attempt to make him face-plant his scrum had miscarried as he braced his hale neck against her dump-truck-rump and reared his head back effortlessly. He admired her bottom-side up -- she had to wonder how many chins he had beheld to his own horror -- and with a lip pucker (and a dearth of lessons learned from his last act of vandalism), laid another big one on her. Unsanitary, wet, and handsomely gift-wrapped in dragon breath. She wanted to tear his tongue from his mouth. "EUAAAGHHHHHHH! FREAK!" Squealing, Lusca lost her footing and lumbered backwards over his battle-ship gray cape. Quickly righting herself the wretch swung about to snarl in his face, drool hanging in ropes around her gums.

Moving to straddle him (and thus immobilize), she tried to scruff him with her teeth. If her hold was a success, she would then yank Tachyon against her chest and stare down the smoking gun-barrel of her snout. However, despite this being a show of dominance over him, he would likely spin it as her playing his Reindeer games. "Demobed to Peathant Athfayf." Shoving him away with a dismissive hmph, Lu shuddered and wiped her tongue against the dirt, scrubbing his kiss away with the deliberate swipe of an ankle and privately speculating on what carcinogenic diseases she had contracted this time from the recesses of his mouth. Especially if mushpig was a regular fixture of his diet. 

Around him her sable brow seemed to be permanently stapled above her eyes as a petulant scrunch -- she huffed, withholding the all but insurmountable urge to sock it to him. He would just run, and she would not give chase. Wounding his pride some more seemed to be the best route to go and a clench of her jaw temporarily smothered the fire in her belly he continued to stoke with petrol and roast marshmallows over. "I would kiss the frog but then he would turn into a prince and I would be usurped, or betrothed, and both of those sound inconvenient for me." Lusca declared with a lofty upswing of her chin.

his second attempt at criminal affection was met with resounding success -- and for a brief moment, tachyon soaked in the afterglow of his meager victory. the slyph pulled back quick as the lash of a tree bough, her ears whipped forwards in affront and a look of disgust colored her skinny visage. this was a suitable brand of revenge for tachyon, and he smirled* into his broad paws.

alas, the sharp fiend had other things in mind for him and she was quick to exact vengeance. tachyon, still on his belly, was left little defense -- he instantly went limp, rolling halfway onto his back in the manner of an upturned marshmellow. feebly he beat his tail against the fold of his haunches, his front paws brought over his wide chest in a gesture of unremitting submission. he would even have tried to lick her chin, but we all know where that gets him.

your next drawing scene, developing before our very eyes. he's op qt

In the manner of a slaphappy Golden Retriever Tachyon wormed and floundered his weight until he was situated cozily beneath her on his backside, paws curled like apostrophes against his breast with tail a-thumping. He could have, without great difficulty, tossed the woe-begotten churl across the forest like one throws al-dente pasta against a cupboard, if he were so inclined. Alas, of course, he helped himself to the alternative of reveling in the small triumph of getting a female on top of him. 

Hovering her funnel-shaped snout mere inches above his (opening herself up to future unsolicited baths), Lusca pried her jowls wide apart and laxly unfurled her tongue with evil designs on snicker snagging him. A long, disgusting bungee-cord of spittle dangled in suspension, threatening to plink into his eyeball.

fearing rebuke despite his unfurled position, tachyon's eyelids pulled tight. he remained supine for a moment, feeling lusca shift over him none-too delicately. a silence stretched between them, followed by a suspicious 'slurp'.

tachyon pried a single eye open, a sharp report of his bright yellow gaze settling on the unsettling length of drool that hung like a tattered rope from lusca's slender jowls. he recoiled visibly, his head practically disappearing into his throat fluff. with a groan he brought his paws over his face and emitted a hoarse whine of disgust, ears pinned shut to ward off any potential unwanted saliva-inbound visitation.

As he shied away from her looming sputum, wincing as the glob swung like the pendant of a hypnotist before his resistant eyes, a wry smile fossilized in her face. The croaky, plaintive whine that scritched from his soul was like gospel music to her ears -- she pinned him closer still to then earth and made quite the disgusting blecking noise as she rumpled her tongue and let the rope of drool shlepp off its cusp to land wherever it may.

try as he might to recede into his ruffed neckline the way a turtle may be inclined to rapidly withdraw into its ironclad shell, tachyon could do no such thing and instead was left woefully in the open. he watched the drool with a horrified expression as it swung back and forth, his ears drawn forward in an anxious expression of horrified indignity -- until at last the string of sputum encountered the end of its travails and landed with a resounding slatter down the stop of his muzzle.

tachyon's eyes crossed as he peered at the offensive gout of saliva, his brow hiked in stifled revulsion. his whine reappeared with a renewed vigor -- "eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee..."

a shrill thing, continuing ---

until it was abruptly stopped -- tachyon's gaze crossed once more as the drool shifted, buoyed by gravity as it pulled down his muzzle towards his eyes. "EEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE." his whine a protest growing louder the further the drool descended until at last he sought to halt the watery progress by vigorously rubbing his head on whichever of lusca's front limbs was closest and readily available.