⠀ ⠀Limping, the Croc couldn’t make it very far. The effects were battling his regenerative abilities that had only enhanced during his time away. Still, he sat in a corner, high raspy squeals of pain. “Da-damn— ACK! Damn … agh!…”
⠀ ⠀In the past at such crude remarks she would have been reduced to tattered appendages. However, an uncharacteristic amount of restraint was displayed. Fist clenched albeit, his teeth were sheathed.
➲
the corpse squints her eyes shut as the man vocalizes his frustrations. she gives him the moment to vent—- even the time to put on his little display of anger—- before she wrinkles her nose and raises a hand to her nose.
“ Christ, did you even consider packing a toothbrush?
⠀ ⠀Underneath was tan skin, not reminiscent of a lizard, but a human. Though his scales grew back as fast as they left. With a long strong back hand, intuitively he jerked her back.
➲
Her knobby knee remains clashed with his much larger thigh. Within his holding cell, a small stream runs deep, their reflection shot back at them.
Although Waylon still reeks over his loss of freedom, there is a kinship he feels brewing.
“I suppose then that is mine.”
a pause.
beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and she has never beheld her appearance to be anything short of grotesque. how could she? death does not treat the body kindly, even if it is an unnaturally constructed one.
she has seen the way people run in terror from her.