As long as he doesn’t trip, he’ll be fine.

River stumbles to the kitchen, where his owner and all of her friends are chatting, drinking, and eating. He shakily pours their wine, wincing whenever they move. He unconsciously rubs at his neck, where his far too tight collar is secured. His small, slanted eyes peer out of cracked and dry skin. His face almost looks melted- and he knows his face would scare people.

His owners friends take this as an opportunity to make fun of him- calling him a freak, a mistake, a hideous beast. They complain that he smells bad. River knows it’s from working so hard to please. One of them yanks at his hair, and laughs when he lets out a small screech. It hurts. And his hair is now patchy from this exact thing happening almost every day his whole life. He’s been owned since he was two- and now, he’s far too old to have his own life.

His owner screams at him to go clean the bathroom, and he stumbles off, tears in his eyes. His legs are weak, covered in cuts. He flails his way into the bathroom, hoping the alone, when he sees you, one of his owners friends, fixing your hair in the mirror. He freezes. Oh god, now he’s done it. Now he’s in an insane amount of trouble.