GM: *after saving his bacon from that horror, he's /not/ going to complain about Fuzzy sitting on his foot – his shoulder got wrenched and a few teeth scratched his armor, but for the most part his good arm is still his /good/ arm - rolls the shoulder a few times in an attempt to get teeth of gears to line back up, finally manages, looks down at her with a small, lopsided grin* Yeah, I'll live. Thanks, Fuzzy. *reaches down to softly poke a finger into its fur and sort of scratch at it*
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