Maradona was the wicked Queen of the West. Hellbent on getting those shoes before anyone else does. Those shoes that could always bring you home. She was playing amid the rocks, knowing that her mother's watchful bicolored eyes were occasionally trained on her as she sat on the ledge and was like an eagle overhead. Always on the watch for predators or so Maradona thought. Mother was always so silent and Father always so vocal...and she was somewhere in the middle. She was not nearly as vain as Cersei was but then again, there were very few that were as vain as Cersei. The thought of her sister makes her look around for any sign of her tricolored sister or any of her siblings really.

Her attention was then stolen by a voice that called out to know if anyone was around. She slunk around the rocks and ledges that filled the western crater--that Maradona had navigated since her birth. She sneaks up on the pair, careful not to let a single pebble cascade down upon them, and then when she was close enough she pounces, hoping to land on the skinny white boy. As her feet land upon the ground. "I am here!" A gleeful exclimation of her life, of her presence, and her hearing their little bit of conversation. She glanced towards the skinny white boy. "Doesn't your mother feed you?" It was probably a rude question and if Caligula was closer she was sure she'd probably be harshly reprimanded. Mother never did have patient for insolence.

She sits down, a black hind leg coming up and itching behind her ears before she shakes her head and watches them with her dark blue eyes. She looked almost like a demon, yet the silver ticking of her red mohawk said that she was decisively not Demon. She tilted her head just slightly. "Welcome to my home...did you bring me a present?" She was seemingly honest. Seemingly straight forward. But her nimble mind was turning, planning and executing something a little more devious. She had heard Father talking with Mother about collecting members for a pack. Surely, two more puppies would be acceptable tribute to her parents. "I am Maradona. Who are you?" Her tail wiggles near uncontrollably but the light doesn't quite make it to her puppy eyes. Instead those remain darker, a little more calculating and conneiving.

My tongue
will taste of gin and malicious intent