Plays rested his head on his paws, ears flicking back and forth. If anything tried to sneak up on him, he wanted to hear it (or smell it) first. He gave the best wolfish form of a shrug and shuddered, "It's a fate worse then death. At least when you die, your spirit goes to Gaia. If they turn you, you're done. You're insane, crazy, you know? And you're fighting against everything you stood for..."

With one more shudder he settled down, "Plays-in-Traffic, Philodox of the Bone Gnawer Tribe. And this is Los Angeles. Thanks for the help."