Laughter falls from your lips as the less than impressive specimen whirls to face you, upset that you messed with her child. But you do not fear her wrath, tiny little thing that she is. Even her words, so full of fire, are nothing but an empty thread. Calling you ugly? Boring, you’ve heard it a million times before. “No, nothing better,” you grunt in response, pondering whether or not you should follow up on this insult with some more interesting displays. And so while you ponder, catching the mare’s eyes for a moment or two, you decide that you better reach down and grab one of your beloved plants- food for thought, if you will.

Except, as you reach down to your bag, something isn’t right… It’s hard to say what is wrong, at first, your addled mind having to drift through fog to grab hold of what it is you were trying to think. And then you arrive there- the thought that Kou has planted in your head, and you drop the vine back into your bag as though it were poison, an ugly scream falling from your lips as you try to figure out why you were about to eat poison in the first place. Eyes wide with panic, you stumble back a few steps and stare at the creamy bitch. “You tried to poison me!” you hiss- obviously you wouldn’t be stupid enough to put poison in your man bag.

And while you would normally be quick to respond, you are momentarily stopped by the thought that you had just eaten some of this poison a moment ago. Colic, diarrhea, what is to come!?! Your ears fall back on your head and you whirl about to look at your stomach, as though it is an alien rather than your own.

But while you’re busy acting a fool, your companion is busy getting to work. Although you frighten her and treat her terribly, she has developed something akin to stokholm syndrome. And so, even though you clearly started this whole altercation, she can’t help but feel like she needs to do something to protect you. She calls upon her own magic, lifting a rock from the ground and whips it through the air with all of the strength she can manage. Interestingly, her target is not the creamy mare, but you.

As the rock strikes your ass, a new sort of panic overtakes you, and in your high state, you over-react just as your boggart through you might. With a pathetic sort of half-rear, you begin to canter forward, directly towards the creamy mare, if she has not moved, head not screwed on tight enough to have much sense of what you’re doing. All you know is that something hit you from behind, and you’re not going to stand still long enough to let it hit you again.

we all look for ways to make the pain go away