Lion Head Mesa [M]No filter on your mouth

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The turning tail of Machiavelli wreaked havoc.

"No." The sudden push from her mouth was trembled out.
Stumbling up from position, the imp scrambled. Forward, forward, until her body blocked his haphazardly from leave. A low head, and pondering, watery eyes that dug through Machi's. Her voice turned soft, to a near whine. Pathetic and cruelly, disastrously splayed before the man. "You are leaving?"
"Don't leave me." 

Oh, and her head shook slowly, side to side as it consistently lowered farther and farther, smaller and smaller in frame. A frown on inked lips, and fur that clung snug to skin. Plead, and a beg, oh, so now this man would stay a little longer. Be here a little longer. "Stay?" The edge of her muzzle, inching closer to the neck of his. The mazoi barracks were not thick in walls, and Legend spoke hushed. "You stay with me?" Quick, antsy, quieter and quieter in whines, in voice. With a tail anchored to the ground from how it tried to belly and ears that were tight against her scalp. A voice and soul that now asked, tell me you'll stay with me. Stay. Stay. Stay. Stay.