It was that moment, while stretching, that Crop Duster suffered something so terrible that it could only be described with science: it wasn’t an action so much as it was an event. Mid-stretch, a bilabial fricative exploded into existence. Which is to say that turbulent airflow forced its way through a narrow opening and produced a string of consonant sounds only understood by molluscoids, abominations spawned by eldritch beings, and the Great Old Ones themselves.

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“I feel suddenly sexy,” Crop Duster announced, and she swam away from Furious trailing a roiling stream of bubbles behind her. “Whew, that fanny frog that had a big ribbit!” Extending her wings, she began to wave them around and her attempt to wave away the outpouring of her o-ring oboe turned into an impromptu plumage display. When she realised what it was that she was doing, she went with it and kept going while throwing a coy look in Furious’ direction.

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Has been released. Do as you will, but do not panic.