Wanda sticks her head into the living room to investigate a thunderous, tragic sigh. She finds Gemma stretched out on the floor in a straight line, snout on forepaws, nose almost touching the couch, a living Thing Here arrow made of dejected werewolf.
"What have you lost?" she says, and Gemma rolls her eyes far enough to give her a mournful look, even as her tail thumps on the carpet twice, just a little. "You know, you could just move the couch, sweetheart."
Gemma makes a tragic flat-on-the-carpet wolf-noise.
"You baby," Wanda says. "Move over, then," and gets on the floor to peer under the couch. "Are you sure? Because I don't see whatever you've lost under there. Hang on." She fishes her phone out, fumbles to shine a light. "Really, Gem, I can't see—" and then "oof!" as her girlfriend climbs on top of her and lies down. "Oh, you — No, you're heavy! I need to cook dinner. Gemma. Gemma!"
Gemma smugly licks her in the ear.
