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“Blue fire, Hoffman, what’s wrong with your back?” Jenna shouted.
Hoffman threw the last of the man-eating fish constructs into the corner and felt along his back. His shirt had gotten pretty mangled earlier on in the fight (how was he supposed to know that fish would have teeth?), but he didn’t think anything had broken the skin.
“I don’t feel any blood,” Hoffman said, then paused. “Oh god, they don’t have acid saliva, do they?”
“Of course not!” Van Stron yelled from where he was tied up at Larana’s feet. “It’d eat right through their poor little jaws. She’s talking about the scratches all over your back.”
“The…. scratches?” Hoffman repeated weakly. Larana’s face started to turn red.
“Yes, the scratches. What happened? You look like the Library’s cat master drafted you as a scratching post.”
“Well, I…” Hoffman trailed off, his cheeks starting to burn. Larana covered her face. “There’s uh, we, um…”
“Oh, I see!” Jenna exclaimed, glancing between Larana and Hoffman with barely concealed glee. “Looks like you almost hit the mark, Van Stron! He has been used as a scratching post–just by a different kind of pussy!”
Larana groaned into her hands. Van Stron at least had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed as Hoffman sputtered.
“What did I do to deserve this,” Larana moaned, slightly muffled by her gloves.
“Well, for starters,” Jenna cackled, “you don’t cut your nails often enough!”