"Um..." a Plainsfolk Lalafell quietly piped up, nervously adjusting her glasses. "A-actually, salamanders are not actually lizards. They're technically amphibi-ow!"
The quick bop to the head from what one would assume was the Lalafell's friend cut her correction short. The little popoto rubbed tenderly at the spot she was hit as her companion - a female Highlander with a flaming orange mane - straightened and gently rubbed the underside of her palm. Perhaps the little Plainsfolk's skull had grown tough from the rather slapstick nature of their relationship.
"Nobody cares, Oriri."
"B-but, it's true..." the Lalafell urged softly, earning herself a nudge with a muddy boot that sent her tumbling sideways a couple steps before righting herself. This was still enough to send her knee-deep into the muck, however, and the Plainsfolk made the saddest of faces as she schlepped and schlorped her way back onto relatively drier ground. The Hyur merely grinned at the spectacle, enjoying tormenting her much smaller comrade far too much.
The bloated hulk of a salamander, however, seemed much more content with its muck-filled situation. It even shivered a bit in delight as the rain continued to caress its massive bulk. The quivering of its slimy flesh made it seem almost gelatinous instead of a beast of rubbery flesh. To those of a more sensitive stomach, the very act was quite nauseating. The salamander itself didn't seem to mind; it was fat and happy.
At least, it was happy until it started getting noisy during its nap. The initial, fairly quiet mutterings of the amassing crowd were easy enough to ignore, since it faded seamlessly into the pitter-patter of the rain. It was only as the chatter grew noisier - along with the the splashing antics of a particular Plainsfolk - and more irate that the salamander began to shift about some to show its displeasure. In the end, it was a particularly loud one shouting something in its direction that finally got it to lazily open one glistening black eye to see the cause of the racket.
That dull black orb settled quickly enough on the Elezen in front of him, drawing most of its attention. It rolled its arrow-shaped head to one side, as if the change in view would make the obnoxious thing disappear. When it did not, it simply let out a muted whine that engulfed poor Cliaux in a wall of hot breath that stank of swamp water and mud. With its displeasure thusly aired, it settled back down with a snort.
The snort, however, brought new information to the flabby brute. In particular, it brought a particular scent. Â The salamander sniffed once, then twice more in quick succession, to ensure it was smelling what it thought it smelled. Its eyes snapped open. Eggs.
Eggseggseggseggs.
Already suffering from salamander breath, Cliaux was quickly put into another predicament as the slimy-skinned behemoth trundled eagerly forward in search of those dodo eggs.
The quick bop to the head from what one would assume was the Lalafell's friend cut her correction short. The little popoto rubbed tenderly at the spot she was hit as her companion - a female Highlander with a flaming orange mane - straightened and gently rubbed the underside of her palm. Perhaps the little Plainsfolk's skull had grown tough from the rather slapstick nature of their relationship.
"Nobody cares, Oriri."
"B-but, it's true..." the Lalafell urged softly, earning herself a nudge with a muddy boot that sent her tumbling sideways a couple steps before righting herself. This was still enough to send her knee-deep into the muck, however, and the Plainsfolk made the saddest of faces as she schlepped and schlorped her way back onto relatively drier ground. The Hyur merely grinned at the spectacle, enjoying tormenting her much smaller comrade far too much.
The bloated hulk of a salamander, however, seemed much more content with its muck-filled situation. It even shivered a bit in delight as the rain continued to caress its massive bulk. The quivering of its slimy flesh made it seem almost gelatinous instead of a beast of rubbery flesh. To those of a more sensitive stomach, the very act was quite nauseating. The salamander itself didn't seem to mind; it was fat and happy.
At least, it was happy until it started getting noisy during its nap. The initial, fairly quiet mutterings of the amassing crowd were easy enough to ignore, since it faded seamlessly into the pitter-patter of the rain. It was only as the chatter grew noisier - along with the the splashing antics of a particular Plainsfolk - and more irate that the salamander began to shift about some to show its displeasure. In the end, it was a particularly loud one shouting something in its direction that finally got it to lazily open one glistening black eye to see the cause of the racket.
That dull black orb settled quickly enough on the Elezen in front of him, drawing most of its attention. It rolled its arrow-shaped head to one side, as if the change in view would make the obnoxious thing disappear. When it did not, it simply let out a muted whine that engulfed poor Cliaux in a wall of hot breath that stank of swamp water and mud. With its displeasure thusly aired, it settled back down with a snort.
The snort, however, brought new information to the flabby brute. In particular, it brought a particular scent. Â The salamander sniffed once, then twice more in quick succession, to ensure it was smelling what it thought it smelled. Its eyes snapped open. Eggs.
Eggseggseggseggs.
Already suffering from salamander breath, Cliaux was quickly put into another predicament as the slimy-skinned behemoth trundled eagerly forward in search of those dodo eggs.
~