Oxy

A call from the lesbian catches your ears and you already know what is afoot. You have planned with them, schemed with them, to make this day a reality, but it does not make you any less angry, any less enraged, at what has transpired. The glass horn has brutally beaten the Phantom Seeker, ruined her sleek lines and left her cuts and scabs and scars where there should be fur and beauty. Of course, you still find the saccharine lady beautiful. You have followed her from the Ocean, getting a little lost along the way as you gathered up a few remaining locoweed plants and shoved them in your bag, but you arrive in time. Actually, just in time to hear Snowflake ask about you. You walk up beside her, not worthy to join your Sugar Queen on her throne, and nudge her in the shoulder. The action is a little rough, a little forced, but she seems to like affection. Maybe it will help put her at ease.

Raising your head then to look around, you find many faces that are well known to you. The names... not so much, but faces are good enough for now. To Rostislav, you do your best to simply look. You'd prefer to furrow your brow, to lay back your ears and to snarl at him in an acrimonious display. You restrain yourself. It won't do to be chasing off potential... allies. Life is rough when you're plotting a malicious takeover. Your gaze passes then to Agrona, trying to catch her eye; to Delinne, wondering where she has stored her small, intoxicated child; to Cealestis, curious at her sudden return; to Cashmere, who was your unworthy opponent; to Somnus, who facilitated the moment where you think you might have secretly lost your heart to Circuta; and then finally to Histe.

It is to this last mare that you ultimately decide to move to, leaving Snowflake behind. Out of all of the Asylum members gathered here today, the cannibalistic mare is the one most foreign and most intriguing to you (besides your Sugar Queen, of course). You suspect that her erratic behavior will be the most difficult to win over and you're not really sure where to start, but you've got to begin somewhere. You carelessly throw Eris' feather cape that you have won from her onto the ground kicking it in front of you as you try to sidle up next to the brindle, just far enough away to avoid her blood-seeking teeth. “I see you've won a useless prize as well,” you offer, nodding to the glass horn that her cat carries beside her. You don't say much more, as you're not entirely interested in the conversation but you're not sure how to keep the Blood Bitch from running off to tell the Glass Horn about this clandestine meeting. It's a start.

scars remind us our past is real