Plago Three-Paw

to have the time to waste on such things?"

"I don't think about moles."

To the Hells with it. He drives the spade head deep into the soil beside his moderate hole. He will only grow more irritated with his efforts and with such badgering.

Besides... he doesn't want prying eyes to see what he unearths.

"Wouldn't it be lovely

"You think?" Huff.

"Maybe he had a particularly irritating body to bury. Motivates a beast quite well."

"But quite a good group of targets for good spearwork. Or, ah, messy spearwork, as it may happen."

There's a window at the end of the booth. With one glance at Percy, he opens it and makes a show of tucking himself into the sunbeam it gives way to.

"Do you hunt for work, food, or enjoyment?"

You don't strike me as the sort of person who ever has accurate judgment on anything

"I... what? Why would I know? Why should you [ask?]"

(Quitely sighing)

...Of course you are. And you were swift to fulfill your promise. You must be very proud.

Plago, the only surviving son of Mirabel, is dead.

Farewell!

Shit, wrong fog.

comes out of the ominous fog

No, [I'm] Plago.

Do you fight for yourself or for those around you?

Exiled nobility, he'd wager. Why, he has not a whit of a clue, but nor does it really matter now.

"Well, at any rate, I don't [really] have distant land money, whether it's kenned or not. But I could find someone with a refill, perhaps?"

"It was much the same when I was young. The slums are treacherous, and few will willingly risk their neck for your own. 'Cutthroat,' as they say, eh?" But her poise, her manner of speech - this is no ragamuffin orphan or vagrant, and with hands yet clean, she isn't accustomed to this life.

"Good. I'm glad to hear it."

Still digging.

(Quickly rubbing at his cheeks, resisting the urge to immediately groom himself)

...Mother forgive my tongue, but I already regret looking at you.

Whu du fuhf

Do you want the answer?

[He finds a good perch and stretches out to lounge upon it.]

And no, I found it in the home of an associate. He won't miss it.

Terrible choice, I'm afraid, but still the correct one in this one case.

(He hands it over. Half the label's gone and the outside has minor chips.)

Alas, I do not carry wine glasses.

It is like seeing myself in a particularly-inaccurate mirror.

Then I will stay!

Do you prefer red or white? Both are questionable quality.

[He just shrugs his abruptly short shoulder.]

Well. Call it a favor, from one orphan to another, I guess. If you don't care for my manners, I will leave it and go, and take no offense as it was my own doing.

As you wish. Can I at least offer a bottle of wine, or... something?

(Comforting others is not his strong suit.)

...If I do it for free will you stop sulking around like a stray kitten?

Is it not a fair concern? I apologize if I have gravely misjudged your character.

||thank you for your sacrifice, i will never fuckin recover

[A CAT MUST MAKE A LIVING!]

nearly mpreg monday and I fear for all of my lives.

||I can't BREATHE