Vera likes to talk. A lot. Regardless of whether you care to listen.
Also I fucking love pinstripes. If I had my way I’d dress in 1940’s drag every fucking day. I’ve been meaning to draw this since human-greed put her killer writing skills to these two. Hervig belongs to her
"Jesus, you guys are boring. You all may be extinct, but the music doesn’t have to be."
"We are not extinct," the old wolf calmly and quite politely reminded his guest.
"Oh, well, fine. On the ‘endangered species list,’ but still." Vera was still a bit lit from that last gulp of vodka and was wondering just what the hell these wolves did to enlighten themselves. Did they just stare at each other all day, or what? "I mean, you got a nice-lookin’ boyfriend to be a hundred years old. What is he, like thirty-something? You must have something goin’ on besides the whole—"
"Stop! ..just stop." Hervig blatantly interrupted before she could give another example. It was probably a good idea, too, for her to quit while she was ahead. Knowing from experience, he had absolutely no idea what could come out of her mouth, especially about his "abilities." She kind of smirked though, and kept talking anyway.
"Got any more liquor? Where’s the ‘Alpha female?’ I mean, literally, where’re all the bitches around here? And let me think, what else could make me drop my shit and dance a jig…"
Hervig sighed with every fiber of his being, probably so much that the elders of his people even felt it in their graves. He rubbed his temples in reluctant defeat. “I’ll send for more vodka and a dozen goddamn accordions.”
"Ah!" Vera lit up in amusement. Entertainment for the guest as requested, she thought to herself, just as it should be. "Actually, I think just one would do."
Tiger: 1, Wolf: 0