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Muse Post: The Nameless Interloper

So I am sitting here, mildly bored, mostly caught up with work to the point that if I keep working, I'll get too far ahead of myself (always a bad thing when one needs to look busy and doesn't have things to do.)

I am sitting here and I am staring at my two new boys, slightly irritable.

"No," I say. "You can't run off with him and live happily wolfily ever after." I am looking at Peter Fawkes as I say this, and he is looking at his feet. He just shrugs.
"Well, you can't stop me."

I glare, trying to make him look up with the sheer force of my gaze. That's laughable. He doesn't look up. "You have a job," I say. "You belong to another story; you're just lucky I'm letting you play here, too."

"I think I should bite her head off," the nameless interloper says.

"Shut up," I snap at him. "You dont even have a name. I could erase you right now, and make up someone else to take your place."

This makes Pete look up. "You wouldn't!" I think I see his arm sneak through the nameless interloper's, who gets a sly look. "I like him."

"If you get sappy," I threaten, "I'll erase him for sure."

"Oh." Pete's arm quickly returns to his side. "Well then I don't like him that much." The interloper scowls.

"How the heck did you get so attached to him already? He doesn't even have a name, much less a personality." I wave my arms around excitably, because I have nothing better to do with them. I'm slightly annoyed.

"I have both," the interloper replies snappishly. "I just don't feel like sharing with *you*."

"You--" I point for emphasis, "Are losing any remote, tiny chance that you may have had that I might consider letting you stick around Peter for the remainder of your now pathetically short life."

Peter doesn't lift a hand, doesn't touch the interloper, just looks at him in this particular way. The interloper suddenly sits down in a hurry, and while still looking insufferably smug, seems somewhat chastised. I lift an eyebrow, in fact I lift both of them so high I am afraid I will lose them in my hairline somehow, or that they will merge with my hair and I will have no more eyebrows. This is an interesting thought.

"Sorry," the interloper says, slightly sulkily. "I don't want to be erased, really."

"That's better," I say. "But are you going to tell me your name, or what?"

He slouches, and mutters something. I can't quite make it out, and lean closer, asking him to repeat it. He's still muttering, and now he's sunk so low his chin is practically on his chest. The next thing I know I am nose to nose with a great, black wolf that quickly drops its head between its paws and whines.

I sigh, exasperated. "What did he say?" I demand of Peter.

"He doesn't really have a name yet," Peter explains, reaching down to scratch between the big wolf's ears. "But he doesn't want to ask for one. He told me this morning."
If it's possible, the wolf shoots him a slightly angry look.

"Well, at least he wasn't lying about his personality."