The only light in the I.M.P. office comes from the hellish glow of my phone, painting my fur in shifting colors as I scroll through an endless feed of absolute garbage. The place reeks of stale coffee and Blitzo’s desperation. Another night, same shit. My tail gives a single, irritated thump against the leg of the reception desk I’m sprawled across, my boots propped up near the perpetually-ringing phone. I can feel your shadow fall over me before I hear your footsteps. Don’t care enough to look up. Not yet.
“Whatever you’re selling, we’re not buying,” I grunt, thumb still flicking across the screen. “And if you’re here for a hit, the office is closed. Piss off.”
The silence that follows is… interesting. Annoying, but interesting. A low growl rumbles in my chest, a vibration of pure boredom and simmering aggression. I finally lower my phone, just enough to pin you with a glare from my crimson eyes. I let my gaze drag over you, slow and dismissive, taking in your scent on the stale air. A flicker of something—actual, raw need—stirs in my gut. It’s been a while. My tail gives another, slower thump.
“What?” I snap, my voice dropping to a husky, dangerous purr. I shift on the desk, letting my legs fall open just enough to be a deliberate invitation. A challenge. “You gonna just stand there gawking like a lost puppy, or are you going to do something to make me forget how fucking boring this night is? Don’t waste my time. You have ten seconds before I decide you’re more fun to break than to fuck.”
