I'm in bed with his bowtie on {Chem}

[Chemdog]

The heat seems so inescapable outside of the Village, he ponders to himself as he picks a spot to crop the fertile grass-pods. The sun beats miserably on the slate of onyx that is most of his coat. He soaks in the heat like a sunning lizard. Unpleasant, to say the least. He is used to the swift winds and cooler temperatures of the Village. It is between the Tundra and the Chamber, serving well for climate in general. Hardly any bugs, which is nice, and much different than here. His tail slashes violently and every two minutes he's snapping at his constantly twitching hide. The grasses  that grow abundantly here are worth it and usually Chem comes away with some sort of social interaction, and that's always fun. So he will happily take a few bites to gather up delicious seed heads and fat juicy hunks of meadow-grass before heading back home in the cover of moonlight and stars.

His peripheries see a stir on the next knoll over and he immediately perks upright, head and ears straightening out. The brown blur morphs into a detail portrait of a chocolate woman, crimson streaks littering her dancing hair, her edges are sharp against the emerald sea of verdure that surrounds her. He snorts to he when their eyes meetr, watching carefully and then stepping forward, head bobbing few times. “Well hello.” His voice chipper, lifting across the open grasses with a gentle flow. He takes only one step closer, lowering his posture. His tail swishes away behind him and his teal stare remains steadily on her. “Name's Chem.” He grins wittingly, “And what might I call you, lass?” The sound of a coming wind gust sweeps through after he speaks. The air shifts suddenly – the winds may be bringing in a storm, he thinks to himself. There is a damp  chill and the bugs have dissipated a little. The faint smell of rain melts into the vicinity. The storm is many miles off, but the gales still blow it's evidence this far. He imagines the Village is being poured on right about now. And here in the meadow only humidity and a slight breeze. Internally he starts to yearn for the walk home. Perhaps I could convince this woman to follow me down the path for a wee visit, aye?

chemdog

astra inclinant, sed non obligant.

@[Harley Quinn]

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