Shit fire and save the matches

He fell for the distraction because, well, of course he did. Cicero was off like a shot and Hyperion, a step behind her, chased her around in a circle. They ended up almost back exactly where they'd started this time just on the opposite side of Lorikeet with Art. He would have happily continued the pursuit had not Art's words caught his attention. Immediately he was up like a shot. Consider it done. He was going to wax his brother bare. Hyperion waved a paw at Hyacinth, fixating on the wax part and not the pity act since it hadn't been his idea to bar the boy from the party. "You have no ambition, little brother! Why just one little stripe? If I find the thief I'm going to wax his ass bare like a baboon." To Art, he said, "You can count on me, bub. I got your back." If only to wax his ass, but details.

Hyperion leaned in for the details. He was committed now. If he had to fight off all these fuckers for the chance at waxing Art then by god, he would. Consider them tossed - lovingly or something - into the sea. That wax was his. He propped his head up on his paws and blinked innocently up at Art. "Okay so aside from being average or runty with a hat, what does he look like? Colors, man, give me colors. And don't say brown either - half the wolves in this place are brown." The palette was distinctly natural in this parts, he'd observed. Nothing wrong with that at all; in fact it made him feel a bit special. Which was nice.