baby you can drive my car.

[Maserati de le Poer]

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Ah; the bliss of ignorance. Under no normal circumstance would she choose to associate with a murderer... and perhaps normally, she'd be a bit baffled by a simpleton. For now, though, any mental slips he made could be wrote off as things simply said in jest, or perhaps a degree of shyness. She had no way to know of his bizarre habits or previous prosecution--although the obsidian yearling was intellectual and intuitive, she was no mind reader. Perhaps it was for the best. His difficulty with her name was interpreted as little else other than it being foreign--although the individual syllables weren't all that complicated as they might be in German or Polish or something (she thought they flowed together nicely, actually), it was still a long name and perhaps a little more complicated than it needed to be. Three syllables were just inconvenient... it made it all the more natural to shorten it to one. His name was already there, as he cleverly pointed out a moment later. Ah, indeed! Well met, Brennt, she offered jovially. The red-marked girl considered his offer for a moment. Well, finding more at the start of the hill certainly seemed easier than trying to drag their used cans all the way back to the top. Thus, it did not take her very long to reach a decision and with a wink she tagged him lightly on the chest with her snout before taking off up the hill in a sprint. She could only assume he would follow behind. By the time she reached the summit she was panting heavily, tongue lolled out to one side. Her eyes darted about excitedly as she looked for his elusive stockpile of waste bins--or rolly rollers, as the case may be.

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