<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><strong>Name:</strong> Cheshire<br/><strong>Location:</strong> Side Street<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong> Dormouse, Hare, Anybody else who feels like eavesdropping in the vicinity.<br/><br/>Speaking meant that she had to let go of his fingers and there was something about the way that her affection had changed to suggest more than simply pleasing him had crossed her mind.  Or maybe it was just the way she'd slid her head so far down that she could get a better feel of the meatier part of his knuckles, which she was even now caressing quite suggestively with her teeth.<br/><br/>The only thing the Cat could remember on her own...was what she liked.  No one forgets what they like. That's not true. She does. She forgets everything but candy and the way her skin changes and her name.  And no one really cares about the cat enough to tell her to eat like a proper person ought and the things she does eat....when she's hungry, and she's <em>always</em> hungry, squish, just like the meat against his knuckles do and she can make a bone last a week.  The Knave's eye really hadn't been good for more than anything but a decent crunch but there was just a certain flavor to it as it rolled around against her tongue...<br/><br/>She just...had to let him go first.<br/><br/>And she didn't want too, because the Mouse was full of curves and tenderness and soft bits that'd go squish in her mouth and it was trembling...it was trembling but it was also trying to take her away.<br/><br/>Reluctantly, with her stomach growling in complaint...the cat let the Hare go and those dark eyes turned in sharp accusation on the Mouse. "You're being mean to Daddy," she accused; even as those thick lashes fluttered down against her bruised cheek and she all but arched beneath the mouse to better off her breast up to the Hare's hand.<br/><br/>Oh that's right, she was mad about something.<br/><br/>"You can't be mean to Daddy, Dori.  I'll take you to the Hatter if you're mean.  I'll take you to the Hatter and he'll make you cry and then the Hare will have your tears and I'll be forgiven for losing the biscuit.  No shoes on the carpet. No pet's on the chairs.  Are you going to be <em>mean</em> little mouse?"<br/><br/>No more fingers, no toes.  But she had candy, she had candy when she didn't have sense and the mouse was being mean to Daddy, so she wasn't going to share either.  Oh no.  Instead the little tea bags disappeared into her mouth; one packed into each cheek and she shivered, oh how she shivered to his hand and those dark eyes they were turned on the mouse and they were not happy, no.  Not happy at all.<br/><br/>"Phae 'ur 'aaaarree," the cat commanded in poor attempt, her now free hand wrenching a pinch against the mouse's thick tender thigh. "Ore its eee 'atter 'ur eww."  But the words were jumbled against the candy, broken and bent; broken like she was. The Hare mustn't upset the Mouse, either.  No, if the Hare upset the Mouse then he would be in trouble too.  Funny there's no rules for herself in her logic.</span>