With her head left to be unbonked and her body covered in sheets, clothes, and mud, Alice would slowly rise from the pile, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. She was apparently very frustrated, enough so that she was on the verge of crying. [color=ed1c24][b]"...Why'd this go so wroooooooong!?"[/b][/color] she asked, sinking to her knees and gathering the bundle of cloth, getting to work on her alchemical detergent recipe in her head. Plucking a hint of grass from a lawn, a few petals from a nearby blue flower, and carefully sifting through a bit of gravel by the roadside, Alice began pounding them into powder in her mortar until they were a fine mixture of a vaguely teal consistency, and then dunking them into her alchemical brewery pipe. 

While that cooked, Alice would tearfully look up at Brandy and say: [color=ed1c24][b]"I'm sorry that this all went so bad, Brandy...I wanted to help you, but I wound up needing your help way more. I'd have twice as many bumps behind my ears if your mouth wasn't so sharp...or...would it be blunt in this case...a-anyways, I'll take full responsibility for this..."[/b][/color] The werewolf would hang her head, no doubt already imagining how mad Nim was going to be at her for failing what, on paper, was the simplest job in weeks. Eyeing the destructive dog that was responsible for all their misfortune, Alice pouted. [color=ed1c24][b]"Why can't you just be a good dog? Or at least an average dog. Not such a...a..."[/b][/color] Alice was about to commit the dog equivalent of the highest grade of insult. One unused unless in direst straits.

And these were some dire straits.

[color=ed1c24][b]"BAD DOG!?"[/b][/color]