[ It's not a baby, as far as York's concerned, no matter how it looks. And sounds. Oh god. It's trying to get back up -- he tries not to think about it being a baby when he brings his boot down on its neck. There's a sickening crunch, and it goes still, but the other one is still going for North.
York jumps onto the table to be able to reach it and grabs the thing by its wings. It screeches bloody murder at him with a mouth full of long teeth, fat little arms reaching toward his friend. ]
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York jumps onto the table to be able to reach it and grabs the thing by its wings. It screeches bloody murder at him with a mouth full of long teeth, fat little arms reaching toward his friend. ]
This kind of thing happen often around here?