The quetzalcoatl’s eyes narrowed as he looked at me. “Mayhem?” he said, uncertainly.
I goggled at him for a second. “How old are you?” I asked. “Because seriously, if you’re mistaking me for Mayhem? You’re senile. What, were you swimming in the primordial soup in day care?”
“You are no mere draconequus,” he said, which was of course true. “The avatar of Chaos is no longer Mayhem? You look like him.”
“I do not! Everyone with brains says I take after my mother, but I suppose yours crystallized over the ages.”
Copic marker, mechanical pencil and white gel pen.