❥ · Slip of the Paw

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Solomon can post first, please!

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 Andraste itched, moving during the day. She much preferred the darkness of night, where she cold move without the warmth of the sun upon her back. To be fair, here in the plains it was far gentler on her skin, but still - she had grown used to the dark.

 So, when she had come across Nyra beating the shit out of a man - again, she thought with amusement - she had decided she might as well start now. He was one of her blood-daughter's, though she'd yet to actually encounter the woman yet. She'd come across her mate, if that was what they were, and another of her followers but knew very little about their pack or purpose here.

 Besides, she supposed, survival.
 Away from the prying jaws of the damned within the Temperate.

 Before their walk, Andraste had been sure to attempt to patch up @Solomon's injuries. She felt no desire towards him, plus her belly was showing clear signs of her condition, so there had been nothing but platonic decency in making sure he wouldn't bleed out from one of her non-blood-Children's deeds. “So, we're close?” she asked, knowing the answer. After all, she'd spotted the place once before, despite keeping a good distance between herself and its depths. “Do you want to call for them or shall I?”

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Poor Andraste had to suffer through his rambling while she patched up his wounds. As well as about a quarter of the way to Little Haven’s refuge. Only finally slipping in a comfortable silence when Solo decides that his throat is beginning to hurt a tad too much from the jaws that found their way around it. Still, despite his saltiness for Andy’s woman, he thanks her rather politely.

When they get to little haven, or just about, she asks in they’re close along with another question. The mutt would shrug indifferently before answering.

“Yeah, yeah, jus’ ‘old up a tick an’ let me call ol’ boy an’ ‘is pret’y lit’le wife eh.” It’s said calm and slow, sapped of energy.

He’d tilt his head back and howl to @Flynn and @Meissa. Offering a comical but gruff yell to them if they could hear his voice echo in the territory. “You’ve got a fuckin’ visita, mates! Chop, chop.” He smiles afterwards though, looking at Andy.
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---

A figure stood atop a mound of rocks and folly, its blonde fur wavering with the gentle breeze that came in such a flat land. It sat slowly, muscles relining, a thin smile laced across its handsome lips. “My my... Did yew miss meh, lovely?” Flynn would chuckle, eyes rolling softly within his skull. He assessed the situation with a humorous sigh, flicking his paw at them both. Truthfully, maybe he'd be panicked if he hadn't already expected such a thing from a man like Solomon. Luckily for them, they had healers for days. “'eye, wouldn't be the 'irst time a lad left yew broken 'n bleedin', hum?”

Strutting downward, tail up but wagging, he'd approach. “What did yew do, 'is time?” He spoke knowing damn well this wouldn't be the first nor last time Solo would get himself stung up.

—

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 Sweating, sickly, irritable. Defensive, dizzy, nauseated.

 These were all things Meissa had experienced in bits and pieces and would only continue to feel as the days went on. She did not... understand. Her only understandings of this were from watching others, seeing her mother in the early stages of her replacements. She had not connected the dots, did not truly understand her predicament. She would know, in time, she would - but the unknown was more frightening than anything else. She thought herself sick, wondered if she was to share that sickness if she came too close.

 Yet, she could not stray far from him.

 She followed, a lurking shadow near her mate and King. Eyes twitching against the light, paws leading her though she desperately wanted to curl up in bed, where it was warm - except, it was cold. Her hot water body was not there, so she was not either. Watchful, devoted - possessive. It did not matter.

 She saw Solomon alongside a woman who looked to be gathered up in bits and pieces and sewn together, though those pieces were all so white she wondered if it was a ghost. She came up behind Flynn, tucking against his side and looking from Solomon and then to the fat - pregnant? - woman beside him, who by now was -

---

 Andraste watched as the familiar shape of the prince she'd once tormented so gladly appeared. She grinned over at Solomon, who was seemingly quite close with the two of them - ordering them to "Chop Chop" as it were. She licked her lips with a chuckle, shaking her head slightly and looking over at the approaching man. Her eyes were drawn to the lurking shadow behind him. From what Andraste could see, she seemed distracted. Off in her own world, but oh so familiar.

 And how she had grown.

 What was that clinging to her lip, wrapped around her neck?
 Did she recognize her?

 “Your man here had a bit of a run-in with one of my guards. Lucky thing I was nearby or he would ha-” she was interrupted by Meissa.

---

 “Mother?” She didn't believe it at first, had been standing staring at the mauled woman with a look of pure confusion on her face, mixed in with pain. No, she recognized her. Recognized the swell of cream across her face, the scar upon her throat - now matched with so many more. Her paws led her forward without thinking, towards the vile woman who stood silently, allowing the approach.

 Walked around her, inspecting. Seeing the scars that ripped across her form, shearing away the markings upon her hips oh so totally. Her tail - gone, as the twin-tailed brute had heard from her younger sister that one fateful day she had learned of the woman's fate and her father's descent into insanity.

 “What - what happened to you?” She shook her head, her body. “Was this all the alligator?”

 No, why should it matter?

 Why should she care?

 She'd abandoned her, after all. Died, apparently, after giving birth to a happy little replacement litter. Her jaw tensed and she swung back, circling around Flynn to stand at his side. Her nose quivered, teeth set. “You're pregnant. Again.”

 She could not help it - her eyes dashed past them, into the fields.
 Was her father here, too?

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Solomon waits for his ample king and queen. Not suspecting he’d ever do such a thing again — have such monarchy over him that is. But hey, it could be worse and as long as he sees a benefit to being with them, the mutt sees no reason as to way he wouldn’t continue to aid them. Especially when he’s got such eye candy to hang around. Specifically speaking — Flynn.

And speaking of, said man appears like the sun, parting clouds in his wake. Solomon almost smiles at the sight of him, but he can’t truly find the energy at the moment. As Flynn approaches, he smiles where Solomon’s face remains impossibly grumpy with a touch of familiar joy at seeing the man.

My my... Did yew miss meh, lovely?

The mutt eyes him mischievously with a playful furrowing of his brow, and a touch of a smile. “Careful now, Flynnie. I jus’ might ‘ave.” He rumbles lowly, voice raspy from the strain of getting it chewed on earlier.

Only at the man’s next words he only graces or with a huff of a laugh and a good humored shake of his head. “Yeah, mate, yeah.” Almost seems like she’s actually worried about little ol’ Bishop.

Somewhere in between, Meissa shows up as well. Solomon would offer her the same tight smile with a nod of his head in greeting. He allows Andraste to do the honors of that before he goes on another anger fueled rant. She delivers, telling them what happened. The two women would proceed to converse and Solomon would move to stand at Flynn’s side, nudging closer to him with humorous brush of his shoulder.

“Women, eh.” He comments quietly, holding a small smile to his face, but otherwise stays quiet and watches the two speak with one another.
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---

She appeared, his mate, that was. Ragged and torn from absent slumber, it seemed. Her body sought the comfort of his own, and he gave it willingly, curling his tail around her side with a slow nuzzle before she'd left the spot she once clung to. He'd ponder lightly as to what unhinged her, but he hadn't the need to. If this woman of white was who she claimed to be, he'd react as steel-faced and unbothered as a practiced murderer; turning his nervous affections onto Solomon with a cheeky lick and cuff of the ear.

The men ranted softly to themselves, bumping shoulders and backing a wee further back as the scene unfolded. Upon hearing the bullet fly from the witches' chamber, his heart seized in a hiccup of cold laughter. “Solo, yew 'ave no idea w'ut I've done.” The king shuffled his body closer to the brute, leaning inward, pressing his warm lips to the back of the mans ear in a snicker. “Aye... Startin' ta realise et might be me who made the misses a bit fat 'round tha edges.” But then Meissa returned and the two became as stoic as they'd been before, Flynn even posing a question as if clueless to the situation. “An alla' wut?”

—

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 “It appears that way,” Andraste said, watching as her daughter slunk back to her new family. What, were they both her mates? No, the one she'd brought from the desert seemed far more interested in sticking to Flynn's side. She held back a harsh laugh, raising an eyebrow at the pale man as if to nudge an inside joke. Ah, yes, inside her alright.

 The both of them, though she didn't see the weight of pups upon her daughter. Perhaps he was mistaken about the information that made her assume - perhaps not. There was a hollowness in the girl's eyes that Andraste recognized, an almost green tinge. “And you could say that - the alligator killed Faustina,” she ignored the titters from the men, figuring if Meissa cared, she'd clear that up herself. “I go by Andraste now.”

 After a moment, “Well, Flynn, she's not nearly as fat as you made it sound like she'd gotten,” Andraste teased, eyes rolling over to the man as she heard her daughter suck in a hissed breath.

---

 “Andraste?” A name entirely foreign to the girl, though unbeknownst to her, it had been the pale woman's long before she had truly met her demise and awoke here. Meissa stood still, thinking. Deciding. She was a whirlwind of emotions, both good and bad.

 On one hand, the soldier was glad to see her mother after so long - even if she looked as if a sabre had taken her to bed. On the other hand, she was still terribly angry at both Fausti- Andraste, now, and her father.

 There was something about the situation that didn't sit right with Meissa.

 No, not the rumblings of the men - words that very fortunately escaped her ears - but something else. The fact that her mother was popping up out of the blue when she was finally happy, had finally started to have something to cling for that she hadn't in so long. She steeled herself, taking a deep breath before speaking as if to a simple foreign dignitary and not kin. “Thank you for returning Solomon.” Her eyes traveled to the sand that seemed to cling to the white woman's pelt. “How ironic, you left me in a desert and now you live in one.” Her voice was flat.

 She fell silent, salmon eyes focused on the vibrant red of her mother - as if those years in the sand had softened her own from that same violent gaze. Then, bitterly, “I suppose you'll drop this set in the sand and run off to make the next set of replacements.” Good luck.

 While most of her memories were foggy, through the surface of water, this abandonment as as fresh as if it had happened yesterday.

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The most peculiar conversations continues between the two women, but Solo becomes momentarily occupied by the man hovering closer to him with a-

Solo, yew 'ave no idea w'ut I've done.

Flynn moves into his heat and Solo shifts the ruined ear that brushes against the other males lips to listen closely. Obviously digging the little to no distance between them he smirks and lifts his brows with an interested “Oh?” as his invitation to continue.

Aye... Startin' ta realise et might be me who made the misses a bit fat 'round tha edges.

Solomon’s brows go even higher and his mouth opens in a teasing open mouthed smile. “You’re takin’ a piss, mate.” He chuckles in surprise, but then again he saw that coming from at least 70 miles away. “Well, fuck me, boyo. Guess she’s one off for you ta get ‘at committed, eh Flynnie?” He chuckles back just as low and deep, turning his head towards the other with a wink.

Only the conversation takes a turn and Flynn acts clueless, so Solo does it as well only with much less finesse. Turning his head to the two women and listening. Until Meissa’s last words to his makeshift savior turn biting and he lifts his brows and looks between them and Flynn in a way that says ‘ohhh shit’.
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