Brown circled the wolfdog menacingly. Sure, one could've easily made the typical joke of canine solidarity, but... No, that just didn't sit right with her. Not with Brown, the literal living urban legend. The woman gave her a toothy grin before juxtaposing the menacing smile with a sweet flutter of her eyes and wave of her hand. Typical.
The other did say she was... "A big deal," wasn't she?
"Look at you," the aristocrat started while clicking her boots against the concrete, "What happened to that stupidly fucking bright pelt of yours? I liked seeing that on you, you know, even if it was indeed gaudy as fuck. Yellow on yellow is never a good match. It looks like shit, you know. No contrast... At least the blues of your eyes give you something to stare into..." And following her words, Brown stepped forward and craned her neck in the canine's direction - a soft pop being audible from her vertebrae while she did so.
At least the middle-aged virago wasn't smoking anything, as she added through clenched teeth, "Besides, kid..." Droplets of saliva flew out of her mouth while she gazed into the other's eyes and placed particular emphasis on "kid" - like she was speaking to a mere child. "I know my friend told you this before, but that disguise... It means nothing," growled Brown, "Not when you still act like a little bitch. Pun intended."
"You still look like a technicolor canine too," hummed Brown while casually drawing her dagger - with its ivory handle and iron blade - out of her pocket, "Yellow on yellow, yellow on yellow. It's so disappointing. Like I would expect more, but I just... Cannot. Not with your status as a mere celebrity. You're a fool to think you are 'all that' when most of those fuckers go obsolete within a decade. Myself, on the other hand..."
Her speech was slow and drawn out compared to the blade she now flashed in the other's face, before she cooed with a flutter with her eyes, "I will live forever. You do not live forever by being yellow on yellow, or participating in futile endeavors. You gain that shit by doing real important things, like-" For a moment, Brown skimmed the blade across the other's throat - not enough to leave a scar or cause any real damage, but enough to trim a few strands of fur. The delicate motion out of the way, she disposed of the knife and now jabbed at the other party's nose with her finger.
"That," advised Brown coolly, as if she didn't just commit an act of violence, "You do it like that. You can reverse a celebrity, but not a murderer. Remember that the next time we meet, mm? Death is permanent. Nothing escapes it. The only difference is whether you die sooner or later, or whether you have any control over it or not. It's just a real shame that celebrities tend to die soon with no real control over it... Hm?"
Brown finally gets the Victorian version of a fursuit, and oh god. oh fuck. fizz why did you give her this much power.
LONG FOLLOW-UP TIME. Xander is a literal fucking saint for dealing with her and her bullshit I'm tehcjebjched- :")))
Brown’s boots clicked against the marble tiling with little to no effort in her steps, if only because she was so used to navigating through rougher terrain (from the cobblestones of Drakenburg’s streets to the erratically placed ledges of the cliffs) that the smooth, paved ground of a proper fellow’s house was nothing in comparison. She was, of course, an asshole - however - so she did imagine chipping at some of the tiles with her heels just to cause a ruckus. The hostess was rich. She could afford to spend some money on remodeling the floor after a social pariah ruined it.
The aristocrat clutched a lit cigarette in between her fingertips, though it wasn’t like she could get it past the maw of her wolf’s mask and to her mouth. It was, at least this time, a prop. Kind of like the escargot being twirled in the singer’s hand, pondered Brown with a pleasant little smirk as she approached him from behind.
A wolf and a pheasant, a wolf and a pheasant… What crimes will the wolf commit?
She could’ve tapped his shoulder and watched him squirm, but with his concentration on the snail’s shell, she realized that anything could’ve worked. Thus, the middle-aged aristocrat settled herself next to him on the pavilion overlooking much of the scene, as she twirled the cigarette in her hand and broke the silence:
“You liking the party, old man? I can get how such a prissy bitch’s setting can make you agitated. Don’t worry about it. You’re not alone in that department.”
And Brown said it so loudly too, not only grinning at the utter shock on his face but the idea of being eavesdropped (for once!) and being chased out as a result. Maybe she’d throw him under the bus too, just to amp up the chaos a bit.
But you know… For someone who was purportedly the essence of chaos and death, Brown was oblivious to the cake being torn apart by the bachelorettes in the background… Not that she gave a shit. There were strawberries in the filling. She fucking hated strawberries, and all fruit by extension. With a grunt, Brown twirled her cigarette before haphazardly waving her hand at the other party.
“I can tell,” prodded the aristocrat with a harsh laugh, “You’re not gaining anything by trying to hide it from me. If anything, it will make me convinced that you are nothing but a fucking coward, and that would be the greatest disappointment of all. Other than your singing, of course.” What the fuck? Shrill laughter escaped from the wolf’s maw while she adjusted the little cape she had, made of real wolf’s fur and with the paws dangling over her shoulders. She looked more like a ruffian than an aristocrat, albeit… A tiny bit more refined? Brown was weird as fuck. Her jaw tightened while she gripped at the railing, perhaps so she could consider climbing onto it like some cat… Cause a ruckus that way, with the scandalous .
Some things never change.
She raised a brow when he spoke again, sniffing with the slightest shrug, “I mean… It is always easy to feel old in these types of situations, mm? I… I used to think I would be one of those girls, but you know.” Brown’s voice dropped slightly. “I guess that did not work out.” Yea, and it wasn’t going to work out anytime in the near future. Or at all, as she fidgeted with the crow’s-feather pin on her chest with a frown. Her wolf’s head mask dipped down slightly, and she did nothing to correct it.
“Of course I know, though,” grunted Brown with crossed arms, “And… Honestly, he can have it. There are way too many fruits in the filling anyway. That is how you know the cake is either imported, or the people involved are rich as fuck. Probably both! I rarely see any fruit up here in Krettwick; I suppose that is because there’s so much fucking peat, but you know.” Gee. Imagine not remembering (one of) your not-son(s) like that. Asshole. (Actually, she did, but she didn’t seem to acknowledge the subtle allusion… So she was still a dick.)
Finally, the younger woman lifted up the wolf’s muzzle so that she could stick the cigarette in her mouth, if only because it was starting to fizzle out, and she needed that rush of tobacco before it became nothing more than a nub. Unfortunate.
Raising her brows again when her acquaintance resumed speaking, Brown shrugged before replying, “I guess. Not that I am one to be the pinnacle or representative of Drakenburg fashion. I prefer to do whatever the hell I want.” Okay, fucking edgelord. “I prefer looking decent. I actually like it when I dress plain, funnily enough. Like when I go out for a fossil hunt… This is just more party wear than anything else.” She shook the wolf’s pelage draping itself over her shoulders as if to prove her point. “I suppose this can turn eyes, but… At the same time, I do prefer not having to fall to my death when climbing, if only because of some ornamental wolf’s leg getting in the way, huh?” And as if that was the funniest shit in the world, Brown started to cackle with laughter.
“It sounds like a pretty fucking terrible way to die, honestly,” she admitted pointedly, “even if I do not care. I just hope that when I do, I manage to impress someone in one way or another, mm? Though I would rather base that off my actions than my looks…”