after, there was mud in her mouth.
tangle spits it out onto the ground, but the taste lingers. whisper immediately rushes to her aid, offering her fallen sparring partner a paw.
normally, the lemur takes the gesture in stride. a smile would snag at her mouth, and she’d perk up with a flourish, bouncing giddily on her tail. she’d be drenched in fresh, wet mud but opt for another round, no punches pulled.
the option to either sink or swim was hardly ever a tough call. tangle had vowed to keep herself afloat rain or shine.
yet, this time, she sinks - all matted fur and matted dignity. violet eyes blink at the mud on her kneecaps before traveling upward to meet whisper’s. the pair stare unblinkingly at each other for some while.
whisper lowers her paw and then retracts it completely. a wordless knowing, a wordless affirmation. she turns a heel and makes for the opposite direction. tangle pretends she doesn’t see her flicking her head back in concern.
she eyes the mud - more of it, all of it. her kneecaps and her calves. and her chest. and her tail, her feet, the very reserve she occupied.
it’s easy to scrape out the soft insides of tangle’s insecurities. to bring them out in the open, turn them over, mock them in front of her. the lemur herself knew them intimately, despite never voicing them aloud.
she didn’t need to. her actions had been more telling than anything she could’ve said.
“why do you want to be a hero?”
“because i don’t wanna be stuck in one place forever.”
because her home hasn’t felt like home in years.
“because i could save so many people!”
because i couldn’t save them.
tangle tears her gaze away from her limbs. she instead takes stock of her tail. in these moments, she’d whine to whisper about its state - how the mud had stolen away its perfect, pearly sheen. after all, the tail is her pride and joy. it’s what made tangle tangle - what would one day make tangle a hero.
now, her gaze is blank. she takes a paw and halfheartedly smooths down the crusting fur, flicking at whatever debris settled in between strands. it wouldn’t be enough to lather, rinse, and repeat. it never was. that’s what the salon is for, tangle would always remind herself. a new, clean look for a new, clean me.
but no matter. salons are only there to mend one’s physical faults, whether they be knotted fur or an unkempt tail.
a new, clean look on the outside could not amend for what she is (or what she lacks) within. too loud. too hasty. too defiant.
far from perfect and pearly.
the lemur finally forces herself to her feet. as she walks, she lets her tail drag limply behind her, rather than allowing it to curl up high. whisper is thankfully not too far from sight. they reunite with one another cordially, and tangle cracks a poorly-worded joke. it’s as if the last few minutes hadn’t at all happened.
arms slung over each other’s shoulders, the pair begin their trek home - all giggles and grins. tangle looks back to where she’d fallen. there, a crude, crumbly crater has taken her place. her smile falters.
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