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Weekly Contest #224
CW: Blood, cussing, death Glancing over I see my black shadow, Destiny. She’s perched on the bar like the queen she is, lapping at the dish of blood I gave her when we arrived. Sven, the werewolf owner of the Dirty Dog Pub, casts her a nasty look, even flashing a hint of fang They haven’t gotten on since the first day they met. I figure it must be a cat and dog thing, or perhaps it was the way Destiny had clawed his hand to shit when he tried to pet her. Then she’d licked her paw clean, all while staring him down with a look that said she...
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