[center][h3][color=crimson]Kric the Imp[/color][/h3]
[i]Interactions: Art [@Arya10108909][/i][/center]

Before even getting a chance to finish buttoning up the vest, his white collar was snatched from behind his neck, making the imp jolt. Kric was dragged away, heels scraping along the old wooden floors as he struggled to get out of the tavern owner’s grip of death. [color=crimson]”I- How many times must I tell you I can walk by myself?!”[/color] Kric mentally cursed his body, with the inability to fight, and wondered sadly just how Ms. Killigrew was as strong as the average forest troll.

Finally back to being able to stand on his own two feet, Kric muttered in distaste as he fixed his clothing and patted down the pieces that had been yanked up by the rough woman. [i][color=crimson]I thought I was the demon...[/color][/i] His red eyes darted to the pile of carcasses on the table, the small waiter wincing at the bloody mess.

[color=crimson]”H-huh? Why am I on cooking duty? Isn’t it Lulu’s turn?”[/color] He whimpered in pure agony. Squirrel skinning was probably one of his most hated duty to be put on. The fur of the tail always became matted and crackly, and the limbs were so stiff actually trying to get the skin off was a task within itself. Not to mention you also had to take out the teeth and claws, what if it was rabid before death? Kric was almost holding back tears, completely crushed of the horrible burden he believed had been placed on him. He was hired as a waiter, not a beast! And now squirrel fur was going to be stuck under his pristine claws for at least a week...

The redhead sat down on the grubby floor, much to his disgust, and started to get to work with a huff. Sometimes Kric wondered if Art had it out for him, especially now as nausea built up in his throat with each slice of the knife.