Tuktu Weir queen of numbers

"To whom it may concern: I have recieved letters and telephone messages from men which have annoyed me very much and I take this occasion to ask them publicly, please do not annoy me. I, Mme. St. Clair, am not looking for a husband or a sweetheart. If they do not stop annoying me, I shall publish their names and letters in the newspaper." - Stephanie St. Clair

Tagging for reference!

That morning, Queenie had returned home to check in on @Delight, before heading back out into the wilderness. It wasn't that she disliked being within the territory, but it was the monotony of it all that really turned her gears. She had become so accustomed to adventure and discoveries that having to settle for daily patrols and occasional conversation was a most cumbersome development. 

Queenie sighed as she kneeled down to stretch beside the wide body of water, then lifted her snout to the air to see if there were any nearby loners.

"to whom it may concern: i make lov of u regardless." -- sal st creep

he wakened, feverish. the oxidized metal that ligatured his neck had rusted at its hinges and no longer yielded with posture adjustments. grafts of flesh and matted fur stuck to its links and ripped open any scabs that had begun healing-- the ore would soon poison his blood if he was not slackened from its noose. he would painfully succumb to sepsis. 
the guttersnipe may as well already went the way of flesh and bone the way his sloughed sickly beneath his skin. he loped in a strange, splaying manner, tail wicking the air with the beat of his trounce. for a man indisposed as he, absalom did not show it in his gait. it was almost jolly in manner, though death's winged pestilence circled him overhead. 
until he saw the mottled girl ahead. he slowed his roll to a slouching pitiful state and for a short time, watched her from a distance. she would likely discern his approach as she lifted her snout, the spectral color of her eyes drawing his attention--and what comely features for her to boast.  
his legs carried him to the opposite side of the water with a limp that was entirely, if not expertly, feigned. standing across from her, it appeared if he were to move an inch further his bones would clatter to the earth like a misassembled skeleton. "i have vultures but i need aloe vera." he rasped plainly--as though it were the most conventional thing he could possibly utter.

 

Queenie's nose had only been in the air for a minute or so before being assaulted a putrid, no-good scent that seemed a bit too close for comfort. She dropped her snout to look around with a quizzical expression that quickly turned to disgust once she'd laid eyes on the wanderer.

Less from fear or for threat, Queenie's hackles raised to full height from surprise; he was quite the sight. Ew, shit, she whispered, not caring if he'd heard or not, What happened to you? Although the question was one that might have seemed to hold some sort of compassion, it was clear that Queenie hadn't meant it so sweetly.

absalom did not flinch at her susurration--ew summarized the unthrifty man in every way, but he lacked the ability to reflect on himself in a way that would derive insecurity. "i was attacked." he responded. the girl lent a demure appearance that was not consistent with the oath on her tongue--she seemed more assured of herself, and his inclinations sought a softer touch. "in the bog. by a red wolf." he elaborated, his face awash with angst. "he tried to strangle me."

That was unfortunate but not uncommon, sadly; a lot of wolves seemed to be raised with the inclination to trust unless given a reason not to. It was a cruel lesson to teach one's children, especially in a world where so few abided. Because she was raised right and knew better than to believe ever word from a beggar's mouth, Queenie doubted the story and wished to continue prodding.

Why didn't you fight back? she asked, thinking that if someone tried to strangle her, she would make sure it was the last thing they did. Queenie was often put into tough spots back at home; constantly under threat, not knowing friend from foe, she had to learn how to fight back.

"what makes you think i didn't?" he served back, commanding his body into grueling movement once more to slink a hair closer to the merle dryad. there was a distinct lack of concern behind her questioning and he parsed she was the judicious type--suspicious, but not to any neurotic extent. in the privacy of his mind, he turned over whether this one was more thorn than petal.
"he found me, in my piteous, weak state, and showed me mercy by leaving me only slightly worse for it." absalom explained, exaggerating limpness as he shifted his weight.

The movement was one that Queenie took as a threat and, being the wolf that she was, she responded with one of her own — a bubbling growl that crackled from the depths of her throat like licks from a fresh flame. Where he was before had been too close, but where he was now, it seemed like he was offering a challenge. Not only was he too close to her, but he was too close to home; Queenie didn't appreciate his front.

If you fought back, she replied, her growl now quieting to a low hum, then you didn't fight back good enough. There was a pause while she looked him once over, trying to gauge his ability and sniff out what he was hiding. Don't pity yourself.

last post. thanks for entertaining the slimeball!

he stopped his ambivilant advance toward her, taking the snarl as a tacit demand. he hid the smirk that begged to twitch on his lips, and backed away courteously. "do you think you are impervious?" he asked in response to the insistence that he hadn't fought hard enough against his alleged assailant. would she say the same if he were a violated woman? had indra fought hard enough for her life, he wondered?
queenie openly examined him, and he invited it; if she wanted to look upon his haggard frame and paint illness as self-pity, he was her canvas."the most useless of emotions--i wouldn't subject myself." absalom slowly lowered his belly to the rimecrusted ground and began to lap at the water adjoining them, a loss of interest scouring his focus.
when he was finished, he simply rose and left the woman where he found her, not intending to see her again. he picked up quickly which rosebushes had thorns, and the one in his rearview was most certainly willing to prick his finger.

I might as well be. Life had a way of showing Queenie time and time again that no matter what happened before, she'd have to be there to wake up the morning after. Sometimes it was a blessing, others, it was a curse. She watched as he fell to take his few laps of water, though her guard didn't drop until he was completely out of sight. Soon after, Queenie made her way back to the territory, planning on talking to Delight about their new neighbor.