SLAUGHTER LAMB OFF THE ALTAR!!!

Both  eyes  blaze,  one  a  fiery  golden  rage  &  the  other  pulsing  like  an  electric  storm  as  the  skin  melts  around  it.  He  gasps  out  a  laugh  when  his  own  bone  snaps,  other  hand  reaching  to  wrestle  the  bookend  out  of  their  grasp.  He  will  crack  their  head  open  &  spill  their  brains  with  their  sorry  excuse  of  a  weapon.

❝  You  pathetic  little  --   !   ❞

A  wave  of  energy  blasts  him  into  the  shelf  across  the  room,  head  smacking  against  it  so  hard  he  sees  stars.  Excruciating  pain  shoots  up  his  arm  as  he  attempts  to  catch  himself  with  the  wrong  hand.  The  shelf  starts  to  splinter  under  his  weight,  &  he  plummets  to  the  ground  when  it  gives  out.  The  shelf  topples  over  him.

Iago  had  cast  Hold  Monster  before  he  hit  the  ground,  &  for  a  moment,  it  seems  to  have  worked.  Underneath  the  broken  shelf,  Puck  doesn't  stir  at  all.  Then  there  is  a  low,  agonized  groan  as  the  shelf  is  pried  off  his  body.

Sitting  up  amongst  the  rubble,  Puck  sucks  in  a  breath,  wincing  with  every  move.  ❝  Fuck,  that  stings  --  ❞

Whatever  that  even  is,  he  doesn't  have  any  idea  where  the  source  of  pain  lies  on  his  body.  It  feels  like  it's  everywhere,  &  that  may  not  be  far  from  the  truth.

He  spits  out  a  single,  sharp  tooth,  loosened  from  the  blast  he  can't  remember.  His  tongue  flicks  absently  at  the  hole  where  the  fang  had  resided,  metallic  flavor  causing  a  whine  in  the  back  of  his  throat.

So  damned  hungry.

Wobbling  slightly,  he  moves  to  kick  the  tooth  towards  Iago.  ❝  You'll  have  to  m-  make  your  own  earring,  too   .   .   .   Only  fair,  I  s'pose   .   .   .   ❞

He moves and Iago ignores their knee's protest, scrambling further away, heart in their throat, fingers spasming in front of them defensively, "Don't-"

Only he kicks a tooth their direction rather than lunges for them. Iago spares it only a cursory glance, watching him instead while it rolls across the living room and bounces off of their foot.

When their eyes do leave him, they flick around the room frantically, noting exits, dead ends, obstacles- they see Lavinia on the ground still, playing dead much like they should be doing, facedown with just a single eye visible, boring into Iago to see what they'll do next.

They clench their jaw when he rakes at their scalp and yanks them closer. Rapid, short breaths of prey being cornered come from Iago as they're stiff and still in Puck's hands. His heartbeat sounds strong and steady against their cheek, while their own is so frantic and fluttering that they choke.

"Puck-" The blade is cold against their neck and they feel electrified with fear. He starts his own version of Bhaal’s mantra and Iago tries not to hear it a word of it, trying to drown him out with the click of their grinding teeth. Strings of their own cut into their skin, granting them some freedom from the spell's hold only to lean into the embrace. Already pulled taunt, their head tilts back further to expose their neck even more, welcoming the first sweet slice against the flesh there, adding another soon-to-be scar on top of others identical.

Craning their neck like so, they use this position they've been pulled into to meet Puck's eyes again, their own wide with fear. They've never considered themselves prideful; "Puck, please."

Bhaal granted the lamb movement to press closer to their killer, enough to even raise a shaky hand when tested, fingers brushing against his cheek feather-light, and so they play with his rules in mind. Puck is faster than anyone has any right to be, but their own jerky, frightened reactions are far from slow. One hand flies up to grip the blade, shoving their fingers to make space between the knife and their throat, and the other follows their gaze, thrusting their palm into that empty, dead eye, and shooting it full of hot sparks and stinging bolts. Ever-closer, they mean to shove their hand deeper into the socket until they smell him burning again.

Iago  is  not  one  to  give  in.  Their  brother  knows  this  better  than  he  knows  himself,  yet  he  finds  himself  leaning  in  when  calloused,  ice  cold  fingers  brush  his  face.  Maybe  it  is  arrogance  that  allows  him  to  indulge  in  his  need  for  touch  --  or,  maybe  something  buried  beneath  the  blood  thirst  yearns  to  give  them  an  advantage,  something  not  so  suffocating  as  his  iron  grip.

Pleas  for  mercy  cried  out  to  Bhaal's  Chosen  fall  on  deaf  ears,  but  he  listens  to  them  now.  Even  as  his  nail  sink  deeper  into  their  skull,  Puck  cradles  his  twin  with  the  utmost  care.  He  breathes  in  deeply  the  scent  of  fear  he  knows  best,  nose  pressed  in  their  hair.  There  is  a  part  of  him  that  never  wants  this  moment  to  end.  If  he  could  sit  here  with  Iago  in  his  arms,  a  blade  to  their  throat  as  magic  sparks  between  their  fingers,  until  the  end  of  the  world,  he  would.

Just  as  Iago  can  track  Puck's  fastest  movements,  he  can  do  the  same  with  theirs.  He  feels  it  happen  before  it  begins.  His  whole  body  tenses,  his  fist  clenching  tighter  around  the  knife.  It  presses  harder  against  Iago's  throat  as  their  hand  flies  to  shield  it.

Lightning  sparks  aim  for  his  eyes  that  squeeze  shut  before  the  blow,  but  the  pain  still  comes  all  the  time.  He  bellows  in  their  ear,  knife  dropping  to  the  floorboards.  The  hand  in  their  hair  yanks  harshly  as  the  other  now  scrambles  to  seize  their  neck  on  its  own,  forcing  them  away  from  his  burning  face.  He  manhandles  them  until  he  has  them  pinned  by  the  throat  on  the  ground.

❝  I  am  right  here,  bloodtwin.  Did  you  think  I  would  not  find  you  ?   Did  you  think  you  could  hide  ?   ❞

Physically, they're no match for him, it isn't worth the effort to try to stop him from jerking them around like a rottweiler with a toy. They're about to choke out a spell to hold him when he throws them to the floor and knocks the wind from their lungs, cutting them off with a garbled cry.

Their nails scratch up the skin at his hands around their throat, and they meet his eyes again, nauseated by the charred, bloody mess they've made of one. A flake of burnt flesh sloughs off onto their cheek below and they scream the best they can without being able to take a full breath.

Iago can't stand to hear him talk, can't stand the way he keeps trying to shatter their illusion of their brother there just below the surface. They fight like a cornered animal, like a furious child with no courtesy to play fair. Thrashing, they manage to stomp harshly on his tail, grinding their heel into it. Their claws leave his shredded hands to grab for his face instead, finding purchase on his earring - made of their very own tooth - and ripping the piercing with a vicious yank.

The words spilling out of his mouth make them feel small and stupid, and then even smaller and stupider since they know they're intended to do just that. Yes, Iago ran away. Yes, they dragged their brother with them. Yes, they've ended up in this wretched, cold house, no better than before, with the delusion that it would help. No, no, it wouldn't help, they know, they know, nothing ever helps, but they couldn't take another minute surrounded by hungry eyes and drenched in blood and cloaked in white and waking up on the ornate altar due to a newfound habit of sleepwalking. They know now that it's a matter of blood and destiny. They know they can't hide, they know they can't be safe or happy or free or alive for much longer, but they couldn't take it, they couldn't stand even just one more prayer -

       ❝  Demanding  little  .  .  .  ❞       Curses  cut  by  a  defeated  huff   &   for  a  moment,  he  bristled  at  the  mere  image  of  a  cat  laying  rolled  up,  happy  as  could  be,  in  one  makeshift  bed  made  out  of  his  clothes.  How  claws  would  press  gently  into  his  shirt,  no  shot  puncturing  it  with  little,  tiny  holes   &   making  an  unwearable  mess  out  of  it.

   He  wasn't  heartless.  His  heart  must  be  even  bigger  than  most     (  at  least  on  a  pragmatic  scale  )     !

Bernard  grumbled  a  muttered  row  of  infernal  nonsense  under  his  breath   ;   and  eventually  stripped  free  from  his  shirt  with  one  folded  stretch  over  his  head.     (  A  practiced  skill.  No  questions  will  be  answered.  )

A  bare-chested  tiefling  swapped  with  the  sneezing   &   sniffling  paladin  who  was  standing  there,  fighting  with  Iago  seconds  before.  Bunched  shirt  pushed  against  their  chest     –    Nine  Hells,  they  can  keep  it.

       ❝  You  need  my  pants  too    ?     Socks    ?  ?  ?     Might  want  to  start  sketching  a  whole  tavern  for  the  thing  while  you're  at  it.  ❞       He  was  going  to  clean  himself  anyway,  there  was  probably  fur  somewhere  on  his  body  which  demanded  to  be  washed  off,  lest  he  ends  up  with  them  on  his  tongue  later. 

The swiftness with which he undressed made them raise an eyebrow by mere milimeters, but they were quick to snatch the shirt from him.

"Oh, so now you're eager to help," they huffed. "If I knew all it would take was an excuse to undress, I would have started there..."

       Much  like  a  medieval  maiden        who  saw  a  mouse   ;   Bernard  jumped    &     lifted  one  foot  as  the  kitty  scuttles  past.  A  stern  look  followed  its  departure,  then  back  to  the  cat-less  Iago.  Mixed  feelings.  He  was  truly  glad  this  feline  wasn't  a  staying  visitor  for  the  night.  Then  there  was  the  person  who  threatened  to  let  hell  lose  on  the  city  if  said  feline  wasn't  staying.  And  the  cat  decided  for  humanity's  demise.

       ❝  See,  a  free  animal.  It  didn't  even  want  to  have  a  sleepover.  ❞       His  shirt  flicked  back  down  when  the  tiefling  began  to  straighten  up.  A  relieved  breath,  alas,  his  nose  wasn't  anywhere  near  freed  from  the  allergic  reaction.  The  sorcerer  had  to  be  as  difficult  as  they  were.  Even  their    (  arguably  )    most  slow-witted  companion  understood  that  they  can't  keep  cats  around  because  dear  Benny  will  sneeze   &   feel  unbelievably  unwell.  So  why  not  Iago  .  .  .

       ❝  No.  You  won't  get  the  Netherstones.  ❞       Matter  of  fact.  It's  not  like  they  could  .  .  .  reach  them,  right    ?     He  could  push  Iago  into  the  dirt  while  half  asleep.  If  they  decided  to  throw  hands,  so  be  it.        ❝  No  stones  for  you  until  you  swipe  that  creepy  look  outta  your  face.  ❞      He  was  still  so  itchy    !       ❝  Please  go   &   take  a  bath,  change  your  clothes.  Feeling  like  my  skin  is  about  to  shed.  ❞

They did continue to stare at him with that creepy look, though, unblinking and hoping their gaze could at least inflict him with a migraine on top of the sneezing fit.

"No." Simple and petty as that.

He writhes on the ground, his screams little more than a murmur again, while Iago turns to Lavinia, hissing, "Get out of our way-"

His voice makes their heart stop, really, truly stop. There's something so telling about when it is Puck's voice being directed and when not even that is left of their brother.

They've never thought to ask if anyone else notices, considering no one else ever hears that and lives to tell the tale. Lavinia gives them an answer now, though, as old and weak and slow and unwelcome as she is, looking at Puck with more interest than she has ever spared him. Looking at the thing that stole their brother with something like the awe of the congregation they're running from. Reverence. Puck's tone demands it, expects it, and Lavinia responds with more veneration in two words than Iago has mustered in the past year, "That's Him?"

Iago's vision washes with red, a rage so sudden that it kicks their heart back thundering in their chest like a battering ram. They'll kill her. They'll kill her here and now. They'll take her needles and thread them through her eyes and rip her stringy hair from her scalp and break her cold fingers and shatter her sneering teeth and tear into her throat until blood fills her wheezing lungs. They're not a sniveling fool, they still keep Puck in their sight, watching every twitch and jerk of his vessel while he sermonizes, but surely he wouldn't oppose to sharing a bit of bloodshed alongside his sibling dearest before he gets to the main course-

His command comes a moment too soon and Iago chokes on the guttural scream near to bubbling out of them. Violently thrown into supplication, their knees hit the floor with a crack that jolts pain up their legs and snaps their jaw shut on their tongue. Their attention fixes on Puck entirely again, shoving Lavinia out of their mind when they see her collapse beside them, forced to yield so far as to press her head to the floor with a solid thump. They hope it hurts. If they've broken a knee, they hope she's shattered both of hers.

Blood dribbles down their chin onto the floor between sparking hands held flush to the wood. Fighting against the command feels like being crushed, but their fingernails scratch beneath them in an attempt to break out of the position. Their neck feels like it'll snap from still keeping upright, eyes still boring into Puck, looking to meet his even if there's nothing of him in them.

They only have to wait it out until he's back. Stall. Redirect. Survive.

The  reverence  sends  a  thrill  down  his  spine.  It  strokes  his  ego  like  a  scratched  bug  bite,  engorging  the  red  blot.  Too  long  has  it  been  since  the  walking  corpses  surrounding  him  treated  him  like  the  divine  creature  he  was.

A  frenzied,  breathless  giggle  bubbles  up  Puck's  throat  as  he  prowls  on  all  fours,  glassy  eyes  trained  on  Iago's.  Though  no  longer  blinded  by  light,  his  vision  remains  clouded  by  a  red  haze  that  parts  only  for  the  groveling  lamb  before  him.  A  grin  splits  across  his  face  at  how  they  struggle  against  their  natural  state  of  being.

Finally,  his  shoulders  hunch  &  his  head  tilts  with  one  last  twitch,  the  sting  of  electricity  rolling  out  of  his  body.  Puck  does  not  rise  so  much  as  feel  a  tug  at  the  back  of  his  neck  that  lifts  him  to  a  stand.  He  does  not  know  when  it  happened,  but  a  knife  previously  tucked  in  his  boot  has  found  its  way  into  his  fist.

The  location  of  an  execution  does  not  matter.  He  has  committed  a  thousand  executions  --  in  taverns,  bedrooms,  gutters,  all  of  which  pleased  his  Father  as  much  as  they  pleased  him.  A  sacrifice  as  stubborn  as  this  one  should  not  be  constrained  to  the  altar  simply  for  the  sake  of  ceremony.

Besides,  he  prefers  it  this  way.  Beyond  Iago's  bloodied  babbling,  there  is  tranquility  in  being  alone  with  his  prey.  How  often  does  he  get  the  chance  to  be  in  their  company  without  worry,  save  for  when  he  already  intends  to  harm  them  ?

Puck  slinks  behind  his  twin,  crouching  down  to  their  level  once  more.  A  familiar  mantra  spills  from  his  lips  in  a  tender  whisper.  ❝  I  await  thee.  ❞

His  claws  dig  into  Iago's  scalp  &  yank  it  back  so  that  it  may  lie  on  his  chest  --  just  above  the  lullaby  of  his  steadfast  heart.  The  way  he  pets  their  hair  is  both  delicate  &  stiff,  their  blood  caked  beneath  his  nails.

❝  I  embrace  thee.  ❞

The  blade  lines  up  with  their  throat.  ❝  None  escape  Me.  ❞

They clench their jaw when he rakes at their scalp and yanks them closer. Rapid, short breaths of prey being cornered come from Iago as they're stiff and still in Puck's hands. His heartbeat sounds strong and steady against their cheek, while their own is so frantic and fluttering that they choke.

"Puck-" The blade is cold against their neck and they feel electrified with fear. He starts his own version of Bhaal’s mantra and Iago tries not to hear it a word of it, trying to drown him out with the click of their grinding teeth. Strings of their own cut into their skin, granting them some freedom from the spell's hold only to lean into the embrace. Already pulled taunt, their head tilts back further to expose their neck even more, welcoming the first sweet slice against the flesh there, adding another soon-to-be scar on top of others identical.

Craning their neck like so, they use this position they've been pulled into to meet Puck's eyes again, their own wide with fear. They've never considered themselves prideful; "Puck, please."

Bhaal granted the lamb movement to press closer to their killer, enough to even raise a shaky hand when tested, fingers brushing against his cheek feather-light, and so they play with his rules in mind. Puck is faster than anyone has any right to be, but their own jerky, frightened reactions are far from slow. One hand flies up to grip the blade, shoving their fingers to make space between the knife and their throat, and the other follows their gaze, thrusting their palm into that empty, dead eye, and shooting it full of hot sparks and stinging bolts. Ever-closer, they mean to shove their hand deeper into the socket until they smell him burning again.

Woman with a Cat

The  wide-eyed,  childlike  gaze  falters.  His  eyes  darken,  corner  of  his  mouth  twitching  upwards  as  Iago's  resolve  dies.  ❝  I  am  only  being  myself  --  just  as  you  are  being  yours.  ❞

Now  bow  your  head  for  the  axe.

But  Lavinia's  meddling,  decrepit  hand  seizes  his  twin,  &  Puck's  eyes  dart  sharply  to  the  sudden  movement  as  they  flash  with  hatred.  A  possessive  rage  boils  beneath  his  skin.

Too  old  to  live.

            Too  close  to  live.

Instinct  takes  over,  &  his  target  shifts.  His  foot  stomps  against  the  floor,  the  force  a  crack  of  thunder  that  forms  a  crater  in  the  wood,  tendrils  latching  onto  his  legs  useless  against  the  surge  of  what  he  believed  to  be  righteous  retribution.

To  the  naked  eye,  he  is  a  blur,  a  specter  that  exists  at  one  end  of  the  hall  only  to  flicker  &  blip  across  the  room  in  less  than  a  second.  To  Iago's  eyes,  he  is  their  brother,  possessed  but  solid.  They  won't  lose  sight  of  him  even  if  they  blink.  The  moment  Puck  pounces,  Iago  aims,  &  lightning  strikes  him  dead  in  the  chest  several  feet  ahead  of  where  he'd  been  only  a  second  prior.

Puck  convulses  as  he  hits  the  floor  once  more,  blinded  &  screaming  as  the  electric  shock  wrecks  his  body,  twice  as  torturous  as  any  other  pain.  His  hands  twitch  &  claw  at  his  own  face  to  distract  from  the  unrelenting  wave  that  fries  him  from  the  inside  out.  His  heart  hammers  incessantly  in  his  throat,  even  as  it  makes  a  show  of  threatening  to  give  out  ;  his  nostrils  flood  with  the  stench  of  his  own  singed  flesh.

He  wishes  to  curl  in  on  himself  &  ride  out  the  pain  until  his  body  is  nothing  more  than  an  empty  husk.  There  is  a  sharp  tug  of  the  invisible  strings  attached  to  his  back.

❝  UNGRATEFUL  CHILD  !   ❞     His  voice  is  a  roar  that  rattles  the  walls.  His  arms  wobble  as  they  force  him  up  from  the  ground,  body  continuing  to  spasm.

The  blinding  light  still  obscures  his  vision,  but  he  knows  exactly  where  Iago  stands.  His  head  snaps  in  their  direction,  sightless  eyes  locking  onto  their  face.  Blood  streaks  down  his  cheeks,  dripping  off  his  chin.

His  mouth  opens,  &  he  seems  to  speak  to  an  audience  rather  than  kin  --  the  voice  he  often  projects  in  front  of  the  congregation,  ❝  I  give  you  purpose  ;  you  are  nothing  without  Me  !   You only  draw  breath  so  that  I  may  take  it.  Now, both of you,  grovel.  ❞

He  lifts  a  hand  towards  Iago  &  Lavinia,  casting  Command  as  his  index  finger  flicks  down  in  a  gesture  to  send  them  both  on  their  knees.  If  he  must  be  forced  to  crawl  on  his  belly  like  a  dog  begging  for  scraps,  he  will  bring  them  down  to  his  level.

He writhes on the ground, his screams little more than a murmur again, while Iago turns to Lavinia, hissing, "Get out of our way-"

His voice makes their heart stop, really, truly stop. There's something so telling about when it is Puck's voice being directed and when not even that is left of their brother.

They've never thought to ask if anyone else notices, considering no one else ever hears that and lives to tell the tale. Lavinia gives them an answer now, though, as old and weak and slow and unwelcome as she is, looking at Puck with more interest than she has ever spared him. Looking at the thing that stole their brother with something like the awe of the congregation they're running from. Reverence. Puck's tone demands it, expects it, and Lavinia responds with more veneration in two words than Iago has mustered in the past year, "That's Him?"

Iago's vision washes with red, a rage so sudden that it kicks their heart back thundering in their chest like a battering ram. They'll kill her. They'll kill her here and now. They'll take her needles and thread them through her eyes and rip her stringy hair from her scalp and break her cold fingers and shatter her sneering teeth and tear into her throat until blood fills her wheezing lungs. They're not a sniveling fool, they still keep Puck in their sight, watching every twitch and jerk of his vessel while he sermonizes, but surely he wouldn't oppose to sharing a bit of bloodshed alongside his sibling dearest before he gets to the main course-

His command comes a moment too soon and Iago chokes on the guttural scream near to bubbling out of them. Violently thrown into supplication, their knees hit the floor with a crack that jolts pain up their legs and snaps their jaw shut on their tongue. Their attention fixes on Puck entirely again, shoving Lavinia out of their mind when they see her collapse beside them, forced to yield so far as to press her head to the floor with a solid thump. They hope it hurts. If they've broken a knee, they hope she's shattered both of hers.

Blood dribbles down their chin onto the floor between sparking hands held flush to the wood. Fighting against the command feels like being crushed, but their fingernails scratch beneath them in an attempt to break out of the position. Their neck feels like it'll snap from still keeping upright, eyes still boring into Puck, looking to meet his even if there's nothing of him in them.

They only have to wait it out until he's back. Stall. Redirect. Survive.

"I had to prance around in the woods for ages and I hardly threw such a fit about it." Which is not true at all, considering the constant murmur of grumbled complaints about pollen and trees and uncleanliness and uneven ground that followed them all the way to the city.

       ❝  WHY     ?    Because  last  time  I  checked,  you  will  wither  like  a  common  houseplant  if  one  breathes  in  your  general  direction     !  ❞      Without  a  stutter,  at  most  a  sniffle.  He  was  looking  ridiculous  now   :   shirt  pulled  up,  bridge  of  nose  holding  the  fabric  in  place   (  a  makeshift  mask  )     while  the  man  began  to  gesture  in  agitation.  Protecting  others  also  included  himself.  And  this  cat  was  a  monumental  factor  in  threatening  this  quest.

    ❝  We  all  applaud  you  for  having  a  heart,  Iago.  Amazing  achievement.  When  will  you  have  a  heart  for  me    ?  !  ❞

Now,  the  tiefling  took  one  dangerous     (  mostly  for  himself  )     step  closer  to  the  pair.  They  shared  the  uncanny  size  of  eyes,  and  a  thought  of  how  long  it  would  take  for  Iago  to  cause  the  same  allergic  reactions  to  him  as  the  kitten  does  crossed  his  mind.  Head  held  as  far  away  as  possible  while  two  bulky  arms  stretched  out  towards  the  bhaalspawn.

       ❝  I  do  it.  Quick.  I  can  only  hold  my  breath  for  so  long.  ❞

"Well, now you're asking for too much..." Iago mumbled when a request is made for them to use their cold, dead heart for something (someone) actually worthwhile.

Something like a frightened squeak of a mouse came out of the sorcerer when he started to reach for them. Shrinking and scampering backwards, Iago scowled, "Absolutely not. You'd probably crush it to death with those mitts."

There's a ridiculous dance the two devolve into, then, Iago dodging his outstretched hands and scuttling around to avoid him, occasionally swatting at him like a cat themselves. Perhaps it was all the movement, or maybe just a stray's fickle interests, but a blur of black fur and claws leapt from the makeshift shelter, using its savior as a springboard to hop down and sprint between Bernard's legs, skipping out of sight and back into the heart city from whence it came.

"My, my, Bernard, don't you know to at least buy me a drink first?"

A barely audible mewl punctuated their lame attempt at distraction and Bernard's stare is met by the kitten squirming its head out of Iago's collar.

       The  fucking  Netherstones     ?  ?  ?       For  a  kitten    ?     For  this  fur-covered,  flea-infested  two-grams-of-protein    ?

       ❝  Seriously    ?    I  killed  a  man  for  these    !  ❞       Quite  literally.  And  to  leave  the  population  of  the  whole  Gate  diminished  to  zero  just  because  Mx.  Iago  was  having  abandonment  issues  towards  a  cat.

He  hates  how  it's  eyes  bulged   &   how  the  kitten's  meowl  tickled  the  paladin's  pointed  ears.  It's  basic  biology.  Kittens  had  to  look  like  that  so  people  like  Iago  wouldn't  step  on  them   &   rather  adopt  them.  A  proud  thing  to  not  fall  complete  victim  to  the  feline's  charms.

       ❝  The  fur  will  get  everywhere,  whether  you  sleep  in  one  corner  of  the  room  or  not.  Worse  than  dust.  ❞        Pulling  his  collar  up  his  nose  in  an  attempt  to  shield  from  any  new  hair  entering  his  airways.  Ochre  tail  lashed  in  warning  behind  the  tiefling,  ironically  like  a  cat's  would  when  frustrated,  when  pissed  off.

       ❝  We  are  practically  wanted  in  this  city   &   you  have  the  bright  idea  to  jeopardize  the  paladin's  health.  It's  a  cat,  Iago.  There's  like  .  .  .  hundreds  of  these  around  the  streets.  They  will  find  a  mom  or  dad.  Just  leave  it,  for  helm's  sake.  ❞

"I had to prance around in the woods for ages and I hardly threw such a fit about it." Which is not true at all, considering the constant murmur of grumbled complaints about pollen and trees and uncleanliness and uneven ground that followed them all the way to the city.