Common

It's cute, really, the way she sort of stumbles over my question, not really certain how to answer. It endears me to think that I might be among the first that she's attempted to approach, not yet wearing that seasoned armor of expectation I'd noticed when horse-watching during my previous trips to the Commons. So many would-be claimors used their charm like a weapon, attempting to slice through the defenses of the hapless creature they'd approached.

Baba Yaga felt different. Certainly, perhaps, not as polished, but all the more interesting for it.

She spoke of the Forest as if she were writing a textbook, but I couldn't blame her for that. I hadn't exactly asked a probing question, nor given her any indication that I wanted to know what she liked about the Forest, not what it was on the surface. I was fairly certain that most herd lands on nearly all of the islands (except for maybe Salem) could boast of similar things.

I was, however, delighted to hear her ask a question and my ears pricked forward eagerly, the smile snapping back into place on my lips. "Myself." I answered simply, a gleam in my bright eyes. "And yes, I know that's a purely selfish answer, but its true. Right now, I'm the only one I've got, you know?" An impish twist of my smirk predates my next teasing comment. "Maybe you can change that, I know I'd like you to, but maybe you can't, you know? So I've got to look out for me, first."

And always. It wasn't a lesson my mother had taught me by any means, but I'd learned it from the stories she'd told of my father. Ire might have been an asshole through and through, but he was remarkably adept at taking care of himself.

"As for making it worthwhile," I answer, taking a pointed step forward,, mostly just to see if she got flustered. "You're already doing that. I want only what every companion wants: to be seen. Appreciated. Admired. I want you to talk to me, to tell me things, to show me your world. I don't always need your honesty..." I smirk again, still flirting. "Sometimes I will wake up with awful bedhead and I fully expect you to lie to me about it, but I do expect you to tell me what you like. And don't like."

I step again, emboldened by my own success thus far, and incline my head. It's laughable to think that I might rest my forehead against hers or demand she exchange breath for me, but I draw myself up and extend my muzzle as if to prompt for that very thing. "And I want you to tell me what you want, Yaga."