He takes the bait.

True to form Felony greets me with a hiss of contempt. Brother he growls before turning to face me. He passes judgment on my musky ocean cologne and I chuckle at the irony- it is the paints need for bargaining chips that sent me to the mainland in the first place. That and my boredom, but I do not have chance to point this out. Felony speaks again, this time of squanders and monsters and all things pretty. For a brief moment his golden eyes run transparent and I glimpse a darker side to the Marauder, and just for that moment I admire the brute.

”Yes well” I begin, eager to retreat from the slither of respect I had stumbled upon ”A company is only as good as its..” My somewhat unfair comment is cut short by the arrival of yet another paint, this one small and leggy. Ruger he is addressed in the same dark tone that greeted me. I watch somewhat astounded as the father and son exchange words. "Ol’ boy, you’ve been busy" I joke as I eye his prodigy. "I hadn’t pictured you as the ‘daddy’ type" genuine surprise evident in my voice.

Felony mentions a job and I peel my eyes from his son. "What sort of job?" I ask, my curiosity momentarily dampening my sarcasm. I have been in need of something to do, something to distract me from the inactivity of my home. I have made no progress on my plans for island domination, and aside from unsuccessfully searching for stray mares, I haven’t done much else. Yes, a job would be good for me.

FRIESIAN MUTT | SIXTEEN TWO HANDS | TWELVE YEARS