Best In Show

"There we go.. All sitting pretty. That's a good boy. Just be patient for just, a little longer.. That's it."

Pulling out a rubber brush, Flauros kept his rapt attention to the baby furdin, poised still and eagerly waiting for the gluttony succubun to make his next move. The furdin, ironically named Tyrant considering the little thing's appearance and generally sweet disposition, had swiftly wormed its way into the bun's heart. He was never the type to consider himself a pet owner, not that he particularly Disliked imps or anything, moreso that his overall clumsiness due to impaired vision and generally boisterous demeanor made it a difficult landscape to navigate when it came to little things that could easily get underfoot. Generally, imps disliked Him, and that was a peace he had made long ago.

So, naturally it took him by surprise when such a delicate seeming critter only ever approached him with curiosity. And with that feeling reciprocated, he found himself swiftly bonded to the imp. Sure, the imp was a runt to begin with, and especially after getting into some milk mochi it had become much more soft and doughy and on the pastel side, not exactly vibing terribly well with the rougher vibe the courtesan generally associated himself with. Which if that were something he'd particularly Cared about maybe he'd rectify with some alternative treats, though the idea didn't sit right with him, and a part of his heart admittedly softened at those nubby horns and soft baby blue mewls. Besides, that's what accessories are for, isn't it?

Carding the brush through the almost velvety fur of the imp, he mused to himself idly about how the light tones were no doubt beginning to accumulate as shed on his predominantly dark attire. Surely he could get a handsome amount of mileage in a lint roller if he decided to invest in one, though generally out of mind it probably wouldn't happen unless brought to his attention in the moment. Pressing its cheek against the brush with a gently mmrp sound, Tyrant graciously nuzzled against the touch, lifting itself up on two legs for an instant to give leverage to the press. Chuckling softly, Flauros brought his free hand to the imp's hindquarters to brace for any potential slipping off the stool it had been planted on. Humming softly to himself, the motion of raking the brush gently along proved therapeutic, accompanied by the gentle rolling purr sound of the happy imp in his company.

It's unclear to Flauros exactly how long he stood there grooming the tiny bobbleheaded furdin, though it was at the very least long enough to make an ample pile of baby blue discarded fluff to the side of his workspace. Satisfied enough by his handiwork as he felt less and less shed collecting onto the brush, he pulled one last bunch out and set the imp brush aside. Almost as if on cue, Tyrant pressed its head against Flauros' forearm, as if to insist it wasn't time to stop. Refuting that touch with a little two fingered bump against the baby furdin's forehead, the succubun made a little tsk tsk sound with the wag of a finger.

"Patient! I'm not done with you yet, don't worry-"

Scooping the imp up, a motion that only really took one hand despite Flauros' also rather short stature, he transported them to the main living area, delicately placing them down on one of a handful of beanbag chairs that dotted the room. Straightening his posture, he held again one figure up as a 'stay' gesture, this time Tyrant obliging though their tail excitedly wisped back and forth.

"Hutch really knows how to pick em, you know? I didn't think they'd have anything in my style but, bun's got a whole collection of collars right now, must be because of that whole, imp competition thing they've got set up right now or something."

Rummaging for a moment, Flauros turns back on a heel to face Tyrant, the motion letting out a little jingle. In his hands, there sits a black studded leather collar, dwarfed between his fingers, a large silver bell centering the piece. Kneeling down to reach the furdin's level, he unclasps the collar and graciously loops it around the imp's neck. There's no reticence or hesitation to the approach, and he offers a lopsided smile as he fastens it, coasting a finger under gently to assure there was enough space to remain comfortable without falling off.

"About time, don't you think? Finally makes this official, I'd say." He punctuates with a delicate tap of the bell, the pronounced jingle music to his ears. Scooping Tyrant into his arms, he sinks himself into the beanbag, skritching along the baby furdin's chin before pressing a gentle kiss atop their head, breathing out a sigh of relief through his nose.

"Welcome home."