(no subject)
"Nice."
Moist is standing in his front yard. There isn't a picket fence, but there are a few chared pieces of metal. The sooty face of Deathsycthe looked at him reproachfully. In turn, Moist looked down at the seven puppies, the proud mother. Nearby, Arnold was grunting and pulling industriously at leg bone.
The meat was more or less unidentifiable. He didn't know where the carcass had come from and preferred that, really, but he had prodded at the lump of meat and bone and tendons briefly, carefully looking for something identifiable. A tuft of hide, for instance. Or better yet: a watch.
It was unidentifiable mostly because Anna had spent the morning giving it a thorough pre-chewing, carefully depositing each masticated morsel on what turned out to be Moist von Lipwig's second best shirt.
"A picnic, is it?" he asked Anna, who looked at him for only a second before completly dismissing him, capturing Zwerg by the back of the head and holding him down for a gentle but forced bath. "Oh, no, really, it's fine. Help yourself. It's fine. It's not as if it's something like one shirt in twenty I get that aren't striped or have a serial number across the back of the shoulders. It's just fine." He paced, carefully stepping over the squshy, wobbly bits, before turning back on the wolf, leveling a finger at her. Arnold was tactfully quiet.
"You're supposed to like me, you realize. I'm sure that made it into the vows."
Moist is standing in his front yard. There isn't a picket fence, but there are a few chared pieces of metal. The sooty face of Deathsycthe looked at him reproachfully. In turn, Moist looked down at the seven puppies, the proud mother. Nearby, Arnold was grunting and pulling industriously at leg bone.
The meat was more or less unidentifiable. He didn't know where the carcass had come from and preferred that, really, but he had prodded at the lump of meat and bone and tendons briefly, carefully looking for something identifiable. A tuft of hide, for instance. Or better yet: a watch.
It was unidentifiable mostly because Anna had spent the morning giving it a thorough pre-chewing, carefully depositing each masticated morsel on what turned out to be Moist von Lipwig's second best shirt.
"A picnic, is it?" he asked Anna, who looked at him for only a second before completly dismissing him, capturing Zwerg by the back of the head and holding him down for a gentle but forced bath. "Oh, no, really, it's fine. Help yourself. It's fine. It's not as if it's something like one shirt in twenty I get that aren't striped or have a serial number across the back of the shoulders. It's just fine." He paced, carefully stepping over the squshy, wobbly bits, before turning back on the wolf, leveling a finger at her. Arnold was tactfully quiet.
"You're supposed to like me, you realize. I'm sure that made it into the vows."