sui domina et libera
Kimber is not much for these speeches of grandeur, this isn't a press conference on 'how to stop codepency in children' but he sure used that opportunity, didn't he? "You know for preaching to me previously about manners, you sure have misplaced yours," she says in a matter-of-fact tone, followed by a haughty laugh, "I didn't know the poor bastard but I can assure you that you couldn't be my daddy even if you wanted to," although she is still as mouthy, she has reigned her mouth in somewhat to become more sarcastic than grossly obnoxious. It isn't long before their tiff has an audience, a Michael Jackson with the popcorn type of spectator. He's all too happy, charming even - perhaps Warship is right she's destined to be a sullen girl.
"Well Jesus H-Christ, man, are you a glutton for punishment or is that your cross to bare?" she says, looking to the soot and ash that crumbles off of him and indirectly, into her nostrils. Burnt hair is the worst smell, next to burning flesh. Check and check. Well, maybe she hadn't changed as much as we could have hoped for. "I'm Kimber, he's not completely correct with his information. I'm not a sullen girl, I do smile...occasionally, but he is correct in the fact I have claws. I'm usually smiling when I'm using them," she says, that very smile curling on her black lips - her blue tail flicking across her hindquarters and tickling Warships.
"Say old man, if you're so worried about my claws...why don't you attempt to remove them?" she says challenging, "Or should I ask this gentleman to rise to the occasion?" She's not sure, perhaps her mock with a Valley man was not enough ass kicking for one week but maybe she just liked to rustle the old birds feathers. What could be possibly be doing anyway spare entertaining these two? "So are you going to tell me your name or would you like me to give you a nickname based on my unfiltered thoughts?"
immortal little shit of the chamber