Lost Creek Hollow too bad, you're not invited, i'm in charge - byeeee

it turns out being a puppy battering-ram was not as fulfilling a job as mclumpy thought it was. bouncing back with a skull-shaking recoil, sionnach plopped to the ground with birds tittering cheerily around her head.

aengus, too dense a material to subvert from his trajectory, continued like a determined asteroid -- his cold nose once more pressing against her lumpy pits. she squealed again, stamping her feet in a tiny tantrum against the earth. COLD. WET. HATE.



there are some animals that have been blessed with marvelous self defense mechanisms when a predator or an annoyance comes too close. the grasshopper summons acridic spit. the skunk releases a noxious odor. the octopus shits out a black stain to obscure predator vision and swims away.

sionnach didn't come factory installed with any such mechanism (wtf mom - you had ONE JOB) so instead she did what comes naturally to thirteen year old boys and select few perverted adult men -- she tried her best to clamber on aengus and then released a warm stream of yellow wizzle: enjoy the april showers, betch.