cunning edge, but classic ._. mud wallowing

To put it briefly, Angel hated mud. He hated dirt, he hated slime, he hated germs. Nothing that wasn’t clean was spared from his wrath, even in his own experiments he kept everything as tidy as one could when playing among the internals of a living creature. And he had done a good enough job at avoiding such things, even for a child, but ever so often there were times that he was in the line of fire for mid or grime.

He had no intent of crossing paths with the muddy lizard, only briefly seeing Aphra as she ran from the scene with mud on her usually pristine fur. He would have been amused by it, but that would have been hypocritical of him. Especially when some of the muddy slush that Anthem sent flying landed square on his nose. ”God! Anthem!” The cub shrieked, trying to scrape it off before it dried. The cold was insufferable when put with the texture of the mud.

your little hands of paradise, give them here and hang on tight

— Reggan