[se] scruff of the neck

The Honeybee

I believe in holding grudges
I'll heal in hell

“Mother fuckers sure are messy. Just look at all this shit!” was an anthem and retort towards companions as they shuffled down the long and familiar stretch of tiki torches and sand. Melita probably would’ve liked to pretend she hadn’t contributed to the multitudes of debris and refuse around – but shit, LongNight was a time of drunken buffoonery and half the time she forgot.

Regardless, the higher tides had seemingly swept up more of the glasses, paper, driftwood, bottles, and left them all behind on the dunes. Shaking her head, the smuggler snagged at a few near her feet, hissing and complaining to Fangorn and Sila the entire time. The former, for his part, managed to grab some paper with his vines, while the dragon escorted them all with a few high tunes above, puffs of smoke unfurling from her nose.

“And you’re gonna set fire to all of it,” Melita warned the bronze lizard, as if this would bother anyone in the vicinity. One by one, she started piling portions to be torched and notched ablaze, while others would probably fair better being recycled.

Pay a little more attention to the healing power
of incandescent rage

Melita