Ocean's Breath Plateau A wasteland we covered in glitter and broadcast
137 Posts
Ooc — xynien
All Welcome 
The numbness of those first days had faded, and in its wake Marina discovered the many facets of parenthood. She discovered them alone, as she had known she would and had dreaded greatly, but there was a small joy in this too. No one else's opinions mattered, no one could impose on the things she had decided for her children. Such as names.
@Carlisle and @Brockleigh, she'd decided to call them. Carl and Brock. In her defense, she was terrible at naming things. It had occurred to her to ask @Rodyn for his opinion during the days he'd stayed with her, but ultimately Marina had decided that she'd earned the right to name her kids herself. After they were named, they seemed more real to her, somehow. She doted on them endlessly.
Their teeth were beginning to come in, and so today Marina decided she would introduce them to meat. She didn't know the first thing about weaning, however, and her bright idea was to present the children with strips of meat. Small enough that they wouldn't choke, she hoped, but she could not have anticipated that chewing would present a small difficulty for such tiny puppies.
7 Posts
Ooc — Summer
Broccoli, as it turns out, is not very interesting. Marina might have been fascinated, but objectively there was nothing particularly special about her daughter. Brockleigh was nothing but a plain leafy green tawny pup, boring. A little cheese might have gone a long way, or even mayonnaise if you really hate yourself.

She stared blankly at the strip of meat presented to her and her brother. Some part of her registered it as food, but it also looked like a lot of work. Milk was easier, wasn't it? Brockleigh reached for her mother, not misunderstanding the assignment but deliberately shirking it. She didn't want to work for her meals!
8 Posts
Ooc — box
Carlisle was a tempestuous little fellow. If he did not like his position, he screamed. If he didn’t like the wind blowing through the front of the den, he screamed. If he screamed too loud, he’d scream again.

Screaming was a state of being.

His sister looked at him. Carl bristled, opening his barely toothed maw like a baby bird begging for food from its parent. A thin, reedy noise left him, a precursor to a shriek because his sister was looking at him! Meat was a bygone with his sisters eyes on him. So, he screamed the scream of a dog toy being stepped on, or a baby leopard gecko being menaced by a fly. Thin, reedy, screechy, every adjective for high pitched and annoying.