SHE'S A MANEATER / return

[VANDAL R.]

Vandal doesn't recognize the scent at first. From the other side of the wall, it catches between her teeth, and she curls her lip to get a better taste of it from underneath the layer of saltwater brine. She passes her green tongue over it once, twice, trying to place the identifier until a memory shakes itself from the recesses of her mind, brushing off clumps of dust until it becomes brighter, clearer—the particular memory is dotted with cake slices and explicit jokes and a Siamese sitting calmly beside her, offering a young Captainpaw a ride on her crocodile.

When the memory is crisp enough that she can see even the fine details on her fur, the name leaps past her lips in a quiet exclamation of recognition. "Rox..." The name itself is enough to pull her out of her reverie by the ear, bringing her attention to the present as the scent unfurls into something more familiar; she repeats the name again, as if to convince herself that she's not just imagining it, but then muffled voices are surfacing from the other side of the border and she's sure, she's sure that it must be her.

"ROX!" Her voice is louder when she leaps to the top of the wall, aided by her wings and a careful burst of air. When she sees the familiar feline on the other side, smiling gently at two crocodiles, it's unmistakable. "You're home," she adds under her breath, voice choked as she jumps down and closer to the gathered creatures. Her first few pawsteps are slow, tentative, but it doesn't take long for her to pick up speed until she's past Wormwood and just a few inches from Goldie and the returning Crewmate—and then she keeps going, never staggering, never slowing, closer and closer until she's attempting to take both Rouxes into her arms. "Ro-ro, you're home! You're home!"