WHERE DO WE BEGIN — P. DOKTÈ

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"]Theo never got simple. Maybe when he was young, first due to his own... well. Youth. And then because he was protected. It was a long sort of limbo, a period of time that seemed to stretch on for a comfortable eternity. Tucked in his dad's hood or leaning over the top of his head, kneading on his back or swiping at his ears when he got sarcastic with people. He'd been a sweet kid, he really had been, but the older he got the more sarcastic he got, and so now — well maybe it's a good thing he's independent, huh? He's still good with acerbic people, intentionally sweet to compensate. He could probably blame Corsair for how he ended up, drawn to everyone who kept their thoughts quiet and voice rough. It's just who he understands best. Corsair, Letty, now this asshole. (He says it affectionately.) Maybe, like Doktè's quiet life in the middle of nowhere, this is what he needs.

He tries to put the aching out of his head (and his chest). It means keeping busy and staying annoying, unfortunately for Doktè. So far, the other lion was the only one he could bother like this. Warm eyes crinkle at the edges with his smile — he's easily amused, but not easily irritated — at his snort. "And what if I don't?" Theo's tail swishes behind him as he sits down, still mindful of what he'd set down behind him. "No, no second thoughts. Everyone's nice." Mostly. "You know we're supposed to have bracelets? For charms or whatever?"