BEGET YOUNG SAVAGE

“Oh?” You hummed. “I look diabolical; is that to say all of Mexican wear appear as you say? Then by your logic: we should seem a significant threat in the eyes of the world. Would that not sound racist, then?”

Initially hesitant, though quick to recover, your approach complied with her command to be petted (SHE IS TOO COMPASSIONATE, TOO ADORING OF YOUR TRUE FORME; SUSCEPTIBLE WEAKLING, LIKE THE REST WHO HAVE PERISHED BEFORE YOU).

“My, you are quite rude to say such things; I do originate from the southern part of Mexico, Centrosur de México. Our attires diverse completely from here.”

Engrossed in the meal had faltered perceptive eyes and ears of footsteps approaching; registry of how close the stranger is now guide beams of crimson glow rising from canted head upward. Fastidious inspection deduces the stranger ominous, enigmatic--an anomaly, the towering man donning red had his aura speak on his behalf, as if nonchalant to whomever that recognizes him. Caution procured an idea of playing faux obliviousness to shield his wariness (and mindfully readying an ambush, if necessary). THIS BEAST NEVER FULL, ALWAYS FAMISHED, DELIGHTING IN THE MOST DELECTABLE OF CUISINES, however repetitive the taste or simple the texture they are. Your dark figure ascends, remaining trails of crimson drips from the closed vicious maw, observing with expectancy to his response.