say your prayers and comb your hair

Lilin Soulstorm · 01-14-2012, 04:45 PM

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slight pp, nyah. :3

Word Count → 544

The challenge intensified further given his willingness and whimsical taunts. He was so refreshingly different from other people she'd encountered, shattering a canvas of seasoned misconceptions and remolding it into something legitimate. This was an unexpected change of great significance, beatifically welcomed by the self-proclaimed cult heir. It had taken one out of hundreds to make a difference, one male to prove his selfworth. Already, she understood a little more: why Lillith had been capable of creating friendly liaisons with some of them at an earlier time in her life or why she spoke of her childhood playmate, a male of the de le Poer bloodline, with such an emotional attachment. Clearly, not all of them were brutes. Perhaps this was why her dam, according to the tracks she'd followed up until their dissipation, had come back to these lands.

A doggish bark had escaped the confinements of her maw when his good-natured nip had assailed one of her digits; an unwarranted threat of a fake retaliation, beware! Fun, games and laughter did not come without consequences for the two-toned female. Admist the lively atmosphere there was a pinch of guilt preventing her from giving in entirely. Her mentor would disapprove of such conduct, of this she was certain. But Lillith was nowhere remotely close and her daughter found herself empowered by this stranger's contagious amiability.

Her nose crinkled with amplified discouragement when his confession came about. He was dirty indeed and seemingly proud of it. She made no fuss about it though. “How typical.” One thing she did know for a fact, hygiene was never a male's top priority. Perhaps it wouldn't have been such a big deal to Lilin if her undercoat weren't thicker than average and matted so easily. It actually made for a good source of warmth during the winter months but come spring, shedding would be a plague. By the time she found what she'd been looking for, he had already taken a seat up on the table. Proactivity was a wonderful thing and it pleased her immensely. Brushing out the coat had to be the first step to a well-executed groom.

“I'm Lilin, by the way.” she offered gratuitously, moving over to the table and setting down her acquisitions next to him: a slicker brush and a dematting comb. Hesitating, the Soulstorm juvenile briefly debated whether the grooming table's capacity could support two wolves at once. She decided against it though, judging it wiser to experiment while standing up and avoid the awkwardness that would surely ensue if they broke the table and somehow both landed face first on the floor. Instead, she positioned herself safely behind him. A gentle tug on the male's cap was enough to release him from its possession, revealing quite the messy hairdo that lay hidden underneath. A stifled laugh accompanied her discovery as she leaned over his shoulder and returned the piece of clothing to its owner.

She chose the slicker brush first, examining the thin metal tines by pressing on them with the tip of her finger. They were smooth and flexible enough, ensuring an unyielding level of comfort for the test subject. It was with great care and delicacy that she exerted the first stroke. “Does this hurt?”

table by the Mentors!

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