Soggy, sodden and whimsical-- Acid could be all those things at once. Muscles flexing as he fights against the muck and mud, there's nothing that can truly hold him back. A sticky situation on the horizon, but is it truly? Is he obligated to care? No, certainly not. Acid doesn't give a fuuuck, boye. Hunting? He should be hunting, right. This is the season for that, and Acid would make the best of it. Thriving. In the worst way, he's thriving.
Feeding on the energy of the season, the cool air, the rawness of it all. Raw energy. Raw emotion. As Acid neared the mud pit at the center of the Meadow, he can taste something else too. Raw desperation. Head high, gaze burning. Oh how delicious this would be. Another situation to stick his nose into, something else to make worse. A snort as he moved forward, trot floating-- all luxury. All showoff. This is a dangerous space for him, and he's thriving.
The muck tugs at his hooves. An aching in his back as he moves deeper into the chilly mud, letting it suck and soak and force him to feel. Acid isn't the only one, though. He fixates on the women, gaze burning. "What're nice girls like you doing in a pit like this?" A sing-song to his voice, though it's more ominous than anything else. Acid is hunting. Unhinged. Oops.
3 years. mutt. dunalino overo. 15.0
psychedelic x bane
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