08-04-2009, 12:16 AM
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Hallo, love, sorry to keep you waiting! She makes me giggle, too, she's pretty awesome.
Now he was fairly certain that she was being vulgar, or at least more mouthy than the average wolf female. Spunk was good. He liked spirit. It took him several moments to catch up to every phrase she uttered - trying to translate her lilting colloquialisms on the fly - but so far, she had left a good impression. Bridling with self-supplied compliments, the flashy king tossed his shiny new coin as he drawled, "Now, nobody's 'wee' around here, et c'est la vérité. You're in prime position to take a look for yourself," he added, raising an eyebrow challengingly. His plumed tail waved behind him, to music only he could hear. It was good to be king.
The wiry wolfhound rattled off some expletives at the sight of his asymmetrical lack of appendage. He was surprised she had not noticed when she first woke up - it was usually what stranger's eyes were drawn to, before they noticed his dazzling handsomeness. He made a show of massaging the silvery scar tissue, grunting as his pawpads traced the line where his fur stopped growing. "Ahh, it still hurts me sometimes," he lied, smiling indulgently at the Irish girl. "It was no young one, but a mast from my ship - broke off in a windstorm and pinned me to the deck. Crushed every bone from my fingertips to my shoulder - my crew had to saw it off me just to get me out." He was about to elaborate further about how brave he had been, biting on a piece of fabric so that he did not utter a sound throughout the grisly and fictional amputation, but he realized that the flighty female had already dismissed him. That was his allure, his best scar, his trump card! She was not interested in how he had lost an arm? Feeling huffy, he concluded that "scundered" did not mean anything of value.
Warily, the collie-hybrid watched her circle him and continue her rollicking dialogue. He did not know whether he was a "right knacker", or whether or not he should be. It was difficult to flirt when the lady in question did not act very lady-like. He couldn't tell whether she was being coquettish, or making fun of him. Probably a little bit of both. But one bit caught his ear, and he quickly spoke up, eager to take control of the conversation again. "Emerald Island... just like Firefly...! She did not insist on the same vernacular as you seem so fond of, mademoiselle, but I have seen your rolling coastline, and one of your kinswomen was a member of my kingdom until recently." He smiled proudly, feeling as though that information should mean something. The wolfhound sounded proud of her origins. Maybe this would interest her more.
Now he was fairly certain that she was being vulgar, or at least more mouthy than the average wolf female. Spunk was good. He liked spirit. It took him several moments to catch up to every phrase she uttered - trying to translate her lilting colloquialisms on the fly - but so far, she had left a good impression. Bridling with self-supplied compliments, the flashy king tossed his shiny new coin as he drawled, "Now, nobody's 'wee' around here, et c'est la vérité. You're in prime position to take a look for yourself," he added, raising an eyebrow challengingly. His plumed tail waved behind him, to music only he could hear. It was good to be king.
The wiry wolfhound rattled off some expletives at the sight of his asymmetrical lack of appendage. He was surprised she had not noticed when she first woke up - it was usually what stranger's eyes were drawn to, before they noticed his dazzling handsomeness. He made a show of massaging the silvery scar tissue, grunting as his pawpads traced the line where his fur stopped growing. "Ahh, it still hurts me sometimes," he lied, smiling indulgently at the Irish girl. "It was no young one, but a mast from my ship - broke off in a windstorm and pinned me to the deck. Crushed every bone from my fingertips to my shoulder - my crew had to saw it off me just to get me out." He was about to elaborate further about how brave he had been, biting on a piece of fabric so that he did not utter a sound throughout the grisly and fictional amputation, but he realized that the flighty female had already dismissed him. That was his allure, his best scar, his trump card! She was not interested in how he had lost an arm? Feeling huffy, he concluded that "scundered" did not mean anything of value.
Warily, the collie-hybrid watched her circle him and continue her rollicking dialogue. He did not know whether he was a "right knacker", or whether or not he should be. It was difficult to flirt when the lady in question did not act very lady-like. He couldn't tell whether she was being coquettish, or making fun of him. Probably a little bit of both. But one bit caught his ear, and he quickly spoke up, eager to take control of the conversation again. "Emerald Island... just like Firefly...! She did not insist on the same vernacular as you seem so fond of, mademoiselle, but I have seen your rolling coastline, and one of your kinswomen was a member of my kingdom until recently." He smiled proudly, feeling as though that information should mean something. The wolfhound sounded proud of her origins. Maybe this would interest her more.