The atmosphere in the house is less than pleasant to say the very least. The tension is so palpable that you could cut it with a knife.

The second that Avery arrived at your house, he bolts into the laundry room, tucking himself away in the further corner and snarling warningly every time you tried to get close. That’s how he’s been for several days now. He had designated the laundry room as his safe-spot, and wanted you nowhere near it.

The hybrid was filthy, his pale skin smeared with dirty and his white hair nearly brown with grime and matted down with filth and knots, a result of his aggressive refusal to let any human touch him, let alone bath him.

Avery glares darkly at you as you stand a few feet away from the door, his long, white tail lashing behind him, his white ears pressed flat against his skull. His body language practically screaming at you to go away.