The Fantasy

Pixie Frost · 04-24-2011, 01:39 AM

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My posts are duck sauce. Speaking of Duck Sauce, BARBRA STREISAND. Tongue Ah, the wonders of when songs get in my head…Word Count: 456

“Oh, they aren’t?” she inquired as Mars went on to explain that the pups were not the result of a mateship. “Well, in any case, I hope the pups turn out healthy and happy.” The tricolored wolf seemed to be upset about it, for some reason, judging by the frown on his face and the way he spoke about it, but Pixie decided not to question him further on it. She often found it hard to tell what was going on in Mars’s mind, and trying to question him about him brought no answers, only frustration at learning nothing more about him.

Her eyes widened as Mars began to talk about how he met his friend. She had heard of Los Angeles before; supposedly it used to be one of the biggest and most powerful cities in the world, but after the humans died out it became a shell of its former self, just like the rest of human towns. She vaguely remembered her brother mentioning Nevada at some point when he was talking about other “states” similar to Penny Slavia, where she grew up. “Nevada…isn’t that where…whatchacallit…Las Veggies is? No no no, not Las Veggies…Las Vegas?” It was one of the cities Melbourne had talked to her about. It had been nicknamed “Sin City” and filled with buildings called casinos, of which Pixie knew nothing about other than the name. “Krystalle’s a cool name,” she added, then let herself fall silent as she continued to play along with the song Mars was playing, letting her guitar back his up.

She didn’t respond when he told her he was sorry to hear about Denali’s death. He didn’t seem eager to stay on the subject any longer and neither did she. Really, who would be eager to? Instead she watched the little sheep and snickered along with Mars as he let out another baa. “I’ve wondered what it would be like to raise a sheep,” she mused, looking towards the man. “I’m not too fond of goats, but sheep aren’t like them, are they? They don’t try to head-butt you or anything like that?” She looked back at the sheep and added, “Yours seems to be pretty well behaved.” Pixie could deal with a little bad behavior, though; she had had to train a stallion, after all. But she could tell when Magic was in a bad mood and when he was most likely to try to kick or bite her. With goats, she could never tell, because even in a good mood, the ones that lived around the cottage out in the woods in Crimson Dreams would sometimes try to head-butt her because they wanted to play. But that didn’t make their horns hurt any less.

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