# Where It Watches The *Slow Hours* Progress of the Ode clade
Where It Watches The Slow Hours Progress of the Ode clade (or, to avoid the mouthful of a name, just Slow Hours) is a skunk, plain and simple. She stands at about five feet high and has the requisite black fur and aposematic white stripes: a single one starting just beyond her nosepad that runs the length of her snout up to her head, where it ends in a shock of white headfur, longer than the surrounding fur and brushed into something of a swoop to keep it out of her eyes. From the nape of her neck, it splits into two stripes that head down her back to her flanks, leaving her arms, pawpads, and those digger claws all black and the backs of her thighs ghosted with wispy white feathers of fur.
That fur that covers her body is long and soft, settling somewhere between thick and silky. Thick enough, it seems, that she has chosen a loose-fitting blouse and skirt - white and navy, respectively - to keep from tamping it down too much. Her tail bears the longest fur of all, sticking nearly straight out, bristle-like yet still as soft as can be.
As befitting her mephit status, her face is more plain of features rather than something bound by a well-defined snout and pronounced supraorbital ridge, fronted by a soft, black nosepad and a whole passel of whiskers. Black eyes shine amidst black features, and cookie-shaped ears struggle to poke out from the fur atop her head. There is a slight roundness to the cheeks, the chest, the hips, the belly - enough to suggest an affection for the finer foods in life.
Her countenance and stance land somewhere just shy of bubbly, upright without being prim, and with a sharp wit that only just manages to veer around goofy or rude. Kind, but not overly friendly; dancelike, but not too bouncy; preferring the sly grins and open smiles and dramatic gestures one might expect from, say, a theatre teacher.
Where It Watches The Slow Hours Progress of the Ode clade (or, to avoid the mouthful of a name, just Slow Hours) is a skunk, plain and simple, though it seems as though she has gotten into the Halloween spirit. She has ditched the usual loose blouse and skirt in favor of a tunic of dark green linen, a jerkin of dark brown oilcloth, and a pair of sturdy canvas trousers. These last are loose and baggy, though a set of laces running up the front toward the inseam suggest that they could be tightened against the leg to get caught on less. Above all of this lies a woolen cape. It is deep, forest green and trimmed with a filigree of silver, though the fabric shows the wear of use and the silver the tarnish of time. The whole ensemble is completed with a well-worn pack - bedroll, canteen, rope, the works - and a bow and quiver of arrows.
All her theater roots will be betrayed should one look close enough. The cloak is artificially aged, the silver filigree tarnished with liver of sulphur. The oilcloth jerkin is far too clean. The tunic is definitely a home-dyed poet's shirt. The canvas trousers have a label sewn into the hem near the hip she could not figure out how to remove. And, of course, should she be asked to draw one of those arrows: they are clearly tipped in foam.
She stands at about five feet high and has the requisite black fur and aposematic white stripes: a single one starting just beyond her nosepad that runs the length of her snout up to her head, where it ends in a shock of white headfur, longer than the surrounding fur and brushed into something of a swoop to keep it out of her eyes. From the nape of her neck, it splits into two stripes that head down her back to her flanks, leaving her arms, pawpads, and those digger claws all black and the backs of her thighs ghosted with wispy white feathers of fur.
That fur that covers her body is long and soft, settling somewhere between thick and silky. Her tail bears the longest fur of all, sticking nearly straight out, bristle-like yet still as soft as can be.
As befitting her mephit status, her face is more plain of features rather than something bound by a well-defined snout and pronounced supraorbital ridge, fronted by a soft, black nosepad and a whole passel of whiskers. Black eyes shine amidst black features, and cookie-shaped ears struggle to poke out from the fur atop her head. There is a slight roundness to the cheeks, the chest, the hips, the belly - enough to suggest an affection for the finer foods in life.
Her countenance and stance land somewhere just shy of bubbly, upright without being prim, and with a sharp wit that only just manages to veer around goofy or rude. Kind, but not overly friendly; dancelike, but not too bouncy; preferring the sly grins and open smiles and dramatic gestures one might expect from, say, a theatre teacher.
Something horrible must have happened to this skunk at some point. Nothing traumatic, really, but she sure is a ghost now, so, like...there is clearly a limited subset of conclusions one could come to. Where It Watches The Slow Hours Progress of the Ode clade (or, to avoid the mouthful of a name, just Slow Hours) is a skunk, plain and simple, except dead. She has ditched the usual corporeal form for the expected translucent, insubstantial form common to so many ghosts within the media. Whether she has legs or a wispy trail that keeps her floating at the expected height seems to be a matter of mood, as is whether or not anything can pass through her.
Other than the whole 'dead' thing, she is actually a pretty standard skunk. She stands at about five feet high and has the requisite black fur and aposematic white stripes: a single one starting just beyond her nosepad that runs the length of her snout up to her head, where it ends in a shock of white headfur, longer than the surrounding fur and brushed into something of a swoop to keep it out of her eyes. From the nape of her neck, it splits into two stripes that head down her back to her flanks, leaving her arms, pawpads, and those digger claws all black and the backs of her thighs ghosted with wispy white feathers of fur.
That fur that covers her body is long and soft, settling somewhere between thick and silky. Her tail bears the longest fur of all, sticking nearly straight out when it's hiked, bristle-like yet still as soft as can be.
As befitting her mephit status, her face is more plain of features rather than something bound by a well-defined snout and pronounced supraorbital ridge, fronted by a soft, black nosepad and a whole passel of whiskers. Black eyes shine amidst black features, and cookie-shaped ears struggle to poke out from the fur atop her head. There is a slight roundness to the cheeks, the chest, the hips, the belly - enough to suggest an affection for the finer foods in life.
Her countenance and stance land somewhere just shy of bubbly, upright without being prim, and with a sharp wit that only just manages to veer around goofy or rude. Kind, but not overly friendly; dancelike, but not too bouncy; preferring the sly grins and open smiles and dramatic gestures one might expect from, say, a theatre teacher. Even the dead know how to act, yes?
