🐾 Episode 10: The Poodle’s Return (Revised)

Hollywood pulsed with neon lights and restless dreams. I, Sir Woofington, still reeling from the studio’s lukewarm reception, padded quietly beside Percival through the lobby of our hotel. My red bow tie sagged ever so slightly, and my spectacles slipped a touch too low on my nose.

I was, dear reader, a noble figure adrift.

And then… she appeared.

A shimmering figure in the archway:
A poodle with fur dyed a delicate Champagne blush, her coat catching the light like silk. Glittering sunglasses perched atop her elegant snout, rhinestones winking mischievously. She sauntered forward, her scent — lilac with a teasing hint of something richer — curling through the air.

🐾 The Seduction

“Oh, Sir Woofington, I had to find you,” she cooed, brushing against me, her silky cheek rubbing gently along mine. “I’ve followed your journey with such admiration. And when I heard you were making a show… oh, my dear, wouldn’t I be just perfect in it?”

I swallowed hard. My heart thudded like a timpani.
I, Sir Woofington, scribe and thinker, noble of breed — was entirely, hopelessly under her spell.

“Perhaps,” I murmured, “we should continue this discussion… at the hotel bar?”

She gave a sly smile, her voice a sultry whisper.
“Oh, darling, I know a better place for a nightcap.”

We slipped into the elevator, her slender form curling against mine, her perfume wrapping around me like a cloud. As the doors slid shut, she nuzzled closer, her rhinestones winking in the dim light.

🎬 Percival’s Clever Gambit

Meanwhile, Percival paced furiously in the lobby, gnawing his paw. This was bad — very bad.

But then: inspiration.
He sidled up to an old producer friend at the bar, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

“Listen,” Percival murmured, “you ever hear of that Champagne blush poodle? The one cozying up to Sir Woofington?”

The producer frowned. “Why aren’t you signing her, then? Sounds like she belongs in your project.”

Percival smirked, his half-spectacles glinting.
“Oh, we don’t have a role for her at the moment. But you know she’ll be in my next project. Take her now, my friend. Or someone else will. That is, if they can meet my price.”

The producer’s eyes lit up. “How much?”

Percival grinned, the wheels turning in his sharp little mind.
Time to recoup some travel expenses.

🐾 Closing Reflection

Upstairs, I nestled beside the Champagne-hued enchantress, lost in a haze of unfamiliar feelings.

Was this destiny? Love? Or was I, Sir Woofington, about to tumble nose-first into a trap of my own making?

Little did I know, dear reader, that while my heart floated among the stars, Percival’s sharp little Beagle brain was busy setting the stage below.