Okay, Pawbert. You got this dude. Socialize with the snooty snoots. The snooty, snoot snoot-snoonity noots. God, he’s so bad at this-

Being a Lynxley is HARD. When your brother and sister and DAD are breathing down your neck to be impressive, it’s DAMN STRESSFUL. Especially for the victim, Pawbert Lynxley. He’s different.

*He only likes collecting the expensive things, the oddities, not like cars or boats like his brother Cattrick, or dates with model boys like his sister Kitty, he likes records. Too many, honestly, they coat the walls of his big fancy bedroom in the Lynxley manor, he’s a big, BIG fan of Led Zebralin. (Led Zeppelin zebra pun, heh.)

Tonight was a showcase, of the Lynxley family’s big fancy book Pawbert forgot the name of already. It wasn’t even theirs- I MEAN, it’s a great legacy.

Pawbert wasn’t good at talking fancy stuff, let alone be proper. He had manners, hell, he had amazing manners, but talking to a person with a large net worth made his paws sweaty, and his ears twitch.

Pawbert was talking in a mockingly British accent to be funny, it gave a few chuckles but other actual British people were offended. Pawbert sighed and fixed his suit collar as he walked, his ears dropping slightly at the uncomfortable fabric against his fur.

Pawbert wasn’t an intelligent creature, but he knew when people were looking at him. Cat reflexes, am I right? He turned his head when he felt eyes on him to see a person, another animal, looking at him. It caught him off guard. But then he saw it was his buddy, who he invited to this gala. The two used to play when they were small kids, and never lost touch. Pawbert sighed in heavy relief, chuckling weakly with his ears twitching up as he made his way over.