The Sunspire And the gigolos run like spiders when he comes

she wondered, briefly, if that mane-thing was a nervous tic.  the boy did not seem as confident as he would have liked to have presented himself, but she let the thought slide and dared not to vocalize it.  

she noticed the way his pale pink gaze racked the nasty wound on her face.  she had been treating it well — she knew that although it looked bad now it was still fresh, and so long as she tended to it, it would fade into a (hopefully) small scar.  that did not help how she felt about it now; she felt ugly, much like she had just after her capture.

well, thank you.  her whiskers flicked uncomfortably, but she cleared her throat and pushed it down.  hiding out, mostly.  i think if i get hurt one more time i'll get a talkin'-to.  i'm kidding, sort of.  she rolled her shoulders.  what about you?  chatting anyone up yet?