eff' that, i'll take fifty!

[Anselm de le Poer]

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-- Comfort was easy to come by. A full belly, plenty of hydration, a comfy seat or den, good health... all of these things made it easy to be comfortable. Acceptance, however, could be a hard thing to find. Inferni accepted him, and yet that automatically mandated that the rest of the world did not. Yet strangely, he felt alright here. This place had never done him any harm, and neither had the mysterious woman whose name he did not know. He'd never felt so embraced by the environment or the moment before--it was like the couch was swallowing him whole. So were her eyes. His own drifted down to her hand as she touched him. The sensation was strange to him--it was delicate and light. Lately, none of the touches he had received possessed any amount of warmth at all, for typically they were outright vicious. Furthermore, it called his attention to his own fur. The lines she drew over his skin spiralled outward and melted together with the natural streaks of colour in his fur, breathing, and seeming to take on a life all their own. He closed his eyes and the swirls remained, vibrant in colour and ever evolving. They swelled in size, spiralled into one another, then cascaded into a sea of checker boards and a whirlpool of pulsating triangles. It became dizzying, so he opened his eyes again. The triangles subsided somewhat, but he was struck at once by how queer everything looked--the drugs must have really been kicking in now. Colours and textures that didn't exist eddied about and melded together, giving him the distinct impression that he was in a painting. Pulsing, throbbing... why was everything pulsing? Looking down again, he was met with a rather horrific sight: his little (or not so little) soldier stood at full attention. Beneath his fur, his skin turned a shade of red that could have rivalled the hue of his eyes. He jerked his gaze up to Poe suddenly, and his ears went back sheepishly. His mind screamed at him to do something--to utter an apology, to flick it so it went away, something, anything, but all he could do was stare dumbly at it like a kid that just hit puberty and saw his first boobie.

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