cut the hand that feeds you

A valuable lesson had been taught by the big black wolfdog thing, and when the dark coated boy spoke, Whisper's hackles rose, bristling roughly over the tattered right shoulder scar that matched her naked leg in span, leaving almost half her body hairless and exposed to the elements. The tips of white canine teeth poked out against her black skin of her lips, not quite snarling as she turned violet eyes to stare unblinking on the towering boy, taking in the scrape of his voice across the crystals that protruded from his throat. She noted the flames that coated his ribcage, matched the fire that danced in his eyes, like something eldritch and terrifying.

Whisper could taste bitterness on the tip of her tongue, knowing she could only ever aspire to instill the same reaction in anyone else, small and cloudlike as her left side appeared.

The girl exhaled a huff through her nostrils, offering the larger boy a shake, and a minute lowering of her head and loosening of her spine before she found her tongue, dragging it across her nose briefly before she spoke, keeping her question to something that could be answered with a nod, if he so chose. “Big black prick give that to you too?” She questioned with a tilt of her head, the profanity feeling foreign on her tongue (she was sure mum wasn't close enough to hear), but worth it. What'd it matter if she talked about it with this guy? It wasn't like she was likely to see him again after today.

“Speech”