Don't throw things at the automatons, they can be dangerous. Your wiggly tail might come right off if they get angry and we don't want that.

[ He starts removing the garish horn jewellery and leaning past Molly to set it on the nightstand. Knowing what Molly likes, and since they are squashed together with no hope of escape anyway, he runs his fingers down a horn to knead at the base into the roots of nearby hair, hoping it will stop Molly from getting queasy and the touch will be an anchor.

It's also a weak excuse to touch him again; Molly won't remember much in the morning. Deep-voiced with a private affection that never leaves their bedroom, he tries to soothe that feckless energy. ]

Do you know you're in the wrong bed, sweetheart?