Gerwin was still shrieking like a dying goat, his face contorted as soap foamed out of his nostrils and mouth. His legs kicked wildly, arms flailing uselessly as Cyrus's thick, scaly tail held him firm like a massive vine strangling a fat rabbit.
But Isabella?
She was calm. Composed. A tiny smirk tugged at her lips as she faced the crowd of wide-eyed women. Some were clasping their hands in front of their mouths. Others looked like they were holding back giggles. A few were nodding like this was the best breakfast entertainment they'd had in years.
Isabella dusted off her hands dramatically, letting the last bubbles of soap drip to the ground.
"Now then," she said sweetly, turning back to the crowd like she was hosting a tribal cooking show. "As I was saying before our demonstration got... messy—"
Behind her, Gerwin hacked and snorted soap, still writhing.
"—let's talk about consequences."
