he's my rotten soldier, my sweet cheese, my good-time boy

Darcella's eyes were keyed in on the flow of the waters, learning what was natural and what wasn't, snapping at then slipping into the water enough times that she was soaked from the forelegs up but, fuck, she was fucking hungry and no legless sacks of shit were going to one-up for the umpteenth time this entire stay in this rotting place. One-up they wouldn't. For Darcella caught the distinctive sign of an incoming fish, eagerly making her way, she hurried to the edge of the river bank, paws in the water, and waited, shoulders hunched and head low. She'd get the fucking thing. This time for sure.

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Jesus fuck.

It was her, again.

He made a face not unlike someone who just watched a bird shit in their freshly caught kill—

And turned to leave.

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Darcella wiggled her hips, unsheathed her teeth, rumbled with the hunger centering in her gut and—

—slipped, slid, crashed into the water as the fish she targeted flopped up in the splash and smacked hard back on its re-entry to the river. That fuck!

That fuck, of course, was the male whose reflection in the water threw her so miserably she now sat soggily fighting the flow of the river's shove. "You freak!" she hollered it, frazzled and stumbling to stand when the rocks were trying to trip her with help of the waters. "That was my dinner! You fuck," she shook her head and, with the fury of many, many suns, trekked toward the bank he tried to exit from. "Get back here and you find me another little bastard."

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"Fuck you!" He barked. His head over his shoulder. His voice cracked.

He scuttled faster.

"You're a fucking crazy bitch!"

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Darcella growled, low and grinding in her chest as she pulled herself stubbornly from the river, not even wasting a moment to shake herself free of the water saturating her coat. "And you're a fucking prick," she snapped and, at once, rushed for him—though not to bite, no, no, she simply trailed after him... sopping and smelling and making as many obnoxious noises as she could. If he wanted to play like a pathetic little bitch boy whelp then by fuck, she'd deliver!

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He braced.

For nothing.

She shuffled after him like a drowned, wet, waterlogged rat. Huffing and snorting and snuffling like the world’s shittiest fucking pig.

And—

“What the fuck is your fucking problem.”

His ears flattened back against his head.

“Get the fuck away from me.”

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She cocked a shit-eating grin at his clear distaste for her presence—good! Fucking hate it! Maybe he’d heed her threat next time.

Darcella stayed close but not immensely, she didn’t want to touch, as though it wasn’t long ago she tried to maul him. ”Maybe you should get the fuck away from me,” she said, snapping her teeth together once. ”Maybe you shouldn’t think everything revolves around your freak-ass.”

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He walked.

His hackles raised and bristled.

His shoulders tugged towards his ears.

“You’re the one fucking following me and fucking struggling to fucking breathe just fucking walking.”

Seriously, what the fuck was her fucking problem?

Maybe she hit her fucking head when he pushed her and held her under the fucking water.

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"You have long ass fucking legs," she snapped at him. "Prancing around like you're one of those deformed spiders, slow down and I might shut the fuck up!"

That would not happen, of course, Darcella had some point to prove that she abandoned behind them both with any hope of dinner; fuck, she was going to die starving because of this freak.

After a moment of silence or, well, silence gradually broken up by her heaving and panting and spitting. Darcella finally shook her fur out, balancing with one forelimb and one hind limb, the other two left to shake with the force that surely sent water spattering over the other; mhm, good! Get! Fucking! Drenched!

"Riddle me this, why do you keep popping up wherever I go? Got a hard-on for me or something? Well, news for you, I hope you choke on it."

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His muzzle furrowed and wrinkled.

Folded dough.

Flehmen response.

His ears rolled back.

“Why the fuck would I get a fucking hard-on for you.”

She was fucking gross.

And fucking nasty.

And fucking ugly.

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"Why the fuck not?" Darcella said, sounding aghast at the idea even though the idea of him taking any sort of liking to her sounded just as awful as being torn apart like a rabbit between teething pups. "I'm all pedigree, you fucking freak, it's fucking weird not to."

Still keeping up like a fly in his face, she snapped, "But you better fucking not, beat your ass once, for your pride's sake you better hope I don't ever again."

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What the fuck was fucking pedigree?

How was he supposed to fucking know she was fucking pedigree? How the fuck did she fucking know she was fucking pedigree?

All he knew was that she was a short, ugly, stupid fucking bitch.

“Fucking, whatever.” He snapped. His ears pinned back. His upper lip raised.

He continued on around her, fucking stepping into her and past her to do so.

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Whether or not he moved forth with force in mind didn't matter when their size difference made it feel as though he had every intention of bull-charging through her. Darcella rolled a growl, falling into step behind him again incessantly—a tick by nature. "Fuck your whatever! Fuck you!" She hollered. "You behave like your dam dropped you repeatedly on your head for the laughs!"

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”Fuck you!” He snapped.

The familiar twisting, gnarled, stooped trees of Labyrinthian just ahead and the crooked, broken, dilapidated buildings reclaimed by nature.

“Pack territory, fuck off.” He snarled.

Stood, just on the boundary line.

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