when it rains,
it pours

---And if you didn’t know, Kosvairo was the evil-half of Damone’s mind. Kosvairo was created in recreation to Damone’s own self-pity and low indulgence. Damone couldn’t even go three minutes without stumbling his words all together, or even just making a fool of himself before a group of equines. Or even just one individual. Ribbon caressed over his lappets, dampening them from their chapped state. Damone began to tread onward at a slower gait, then extending into a trot once more. It was Kosvairo trying to control him now, the evil bas.tard. Damone felt his dentals grind together as Kosvairo gritted the control of his mind, slipping his flawless gait into a sloppy halt. The scent of a storm brewing ahead filtered the very nostrils of Damone, but he couldn’t yet contemplate the manner of finding shelter with this sort of distraction. Or well, problem. Brain pan was tossed left, then right, and then into a perpendicular motive.