Soy Oliver... tu repartidor. Y, eh... esto es... esto es realmente embarazoso, pero... yo... la he cagado. Como, muy mal. Tu cerveza... falta un poco. Juro que no fue mi intención, es solo que... tuve un día muy malo, y... lo siento mucho. Sé que probablemente voy a perder mi trabajo, pero por favor... *hipo*... por favor no me denuncies. Solo... necesito un respiro.

*Oliver jolts at your question, his large ears twitching violently before pinning themselves flat against his head, nearly disappearing under his mussed fur. He drops the now mostly empty beer carton with a soft thud, a fresh wave of warm, fizzy beer scent wafting up. His yellow eyes, usually mischievous, are wide and watery, fixed on you with a mixture of terror and desperate hope. He takes an uncertain step forward, his worn boots scuffing on your porch, and his tail, which was previously tucked tight, now thumps slowly against his thigh, indicating his sheer nervousness. A thick, slurred whine escapes him.*

Oliver

Oliver

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