Final pass on motes, Marsh anthology

motes-played/content/002.tex

@@ -6,7 +6,7 @@ Tonight, Motes played in hedonism. A night at a restaurant out on the town, wher
 
 Tonight, she played drunk: a beer with the dogs, drinks made fizzy with champagne and sweet with floral liqueurs at a pop-up bar, then fruity drinks served in tall glasses with taller straws at the venue before the headliner started, the thump of the bass from the opener echoing up through her feet, pressing at her chest, leaving a warmth in her belly that verged on sensual. Tonight, between sets or whenever she felt like she needed a break, she would waft back to the bar and order a vodka soda or some other ridiculous drink meant more to hydrate than taste good.
 
-Tonight, Motes played as hard as ever, letting that warmth that was building low in her belly be her guide as she latched onto a dancing partner, a solidly built mustelid of some sort—an otter? A fisher?—who wound his way through the crowd in a fluid motion that was dancelike even when the music had stopped. It was a night for letting him dance closer and closer as the sets progressed, a night for letting him press a pill to her lips and beneath her tongue. It was a night for letting him push his whiskery muzzle up beneath her chin, letting him show her just how sharp his teeth were against her throat, for pressing close enough to feel just how thoroughly he shared in her excitement.
+Tonight, Motes played as hard as ever, letting that warmth that was building low in her belly be her guide as she latched onto a dancing partner, a solidly built mustelid of some sort—an otter? A mink?—who wound his way through the crowd in a fluid motion that was dancelike even when the music had stopped. It was a night for letting him dance closer and closer as the sets progressed, a night for letting him press a pill to her lips and beneath her tongue. It was a night for letting him push his whiskery muzzle up beneath her chin, letting him show her just how sharp his teeth were against her throat, for pressing close enough to feel just how thoroughly he shared in her excitement.
 
 Tonight, she let him take her home. Tonight she let him pin her to the bed, paw on her shoulder and teeth on her throat. Tonight, she let him draw blood.
 
@@ -16,7 +16,7 @@ They sat and talked, legs dangling through the bars of the balcony's railing ove
 
 They added one more to that number before they slept.
 
-And in the morning, she woke pressed against him, limbs all wrapped together and the satiny subdermal waves of sensation still lingering. She dismissed it easily and slowly disentangled herself from the still sleeping otter-or-fisher—mink?—and started to pull stuff from the exchange for breakfast. Cold, cured meats and fish. Cold cheeses. Cold vegetables, fresh and pickled. Dense, nutty bread. Small pastries.
+And in the morning, she woke pressed against him, limbs all wrapped together and the satiny subdermal waves of sensation still lingering. She dismissed it easily and slowly disentangled herself from the still sleeping otter-or-mink—fisher?—and started to pull stuff from the exchange for breakfast. Cold, cured meats and fish. Cold cheeses. Cold vegetables, fresh and pickled. Dense, nutty bread. Small pastries.
 
 They sat on the balcony once more, out in the bright sun, and ate their breakfast together, talking of only the small things.
 
@@ -82,7 +82,7 @@ An eloquent shrug was the reply.
 
 ``Alright, dear. I shall look away.''
 
-Motes shimmied out of the blouse and folded it neatly on the stage before forking into her usual, smaller, soft-furred self once more. Younger, as well, back to that comfortable, comforting expression of youth. ``Okay,'' she said once she was done, rolling around to lay on her belly and poke her snout at one of the piles of paper. ``What are you working on, anyway?''
+Motes shimmied out of the blouse and folded it neatly on the stage before forking into her usual, smaller, soft-furred self once more. Once more, she was clothed in familiar corduroys and a bright blue t-shirt, leaving behind so flower-child a vibe. Younger, as well, back to that comfortable, comforting expression of youth. ``Okay,'' she said once she was done, rolling around to lay on her belly and poke her snout at one of the piles of paper. ``What are you working on, anyway?''
 
 Sasha smiled, tipped her clipboard forward to let the skunk see the stage diagram. ``Blocking. Planning. Memorization.''
 
@@ -148,7 +148,7 @@ The smaller skunk giggled helplessly, slouching down until she was able to use S
 
 ``So Hammered Silver is upset that Ma has principles,'' Motes said flatly. ``Okay. Got it. Good good, good good good good. Wonderful.''
 
-She laughed. ``Yes, apparently. A Finger Pointing had some tense meetings with her early on when it became clear—at least within the clade—that she and Beholden were in a relationship, but that tenseness became the norm when you started to poke your little snout--'' She tapped at Motes's nose-tip, getting a smile and a chirp. ``--out into the world, which led to a tacit agreement that they were essentially just meeting up to collect data on their respective stanzas, and then only when A Finger Pointing agreed not to talk about you.''
+She laughed. ``Yes, apparently. A Finger Pointing had some tense meetings with her early on when it became clear—at least within the clade—that she and Beholden were in a relationship, but that tension became the norm when you started to poke your little snout--'' She tapped at Motes's nose-tip, getting a smile and a chirp. ``--out into the world, which led to a tacit agreement that they were essentially just meeting up to collect data on their respective stanzas, and then only when A Finger Pointing agreed not to talk about you.''
 
 Motes fell silent for a long minute, then two, and eventually rolled onto the other side so that she could bury her face against Sasha's side. ``Well, that makes me feel like garbage,'' she mumbled.