unaccompanied minor. // harley, day 1.

Rita's keeping herself busy, so I do what any good watchdog does: scope the perimeter.

Maxen told me I was a German Shephard once. (Yeah, he was high.) But like, a near rabid one. One that's fiercly loyal to its owner and nobody else. Said I could rip apart someone's throat and turn over for a belly rub in the same movement. "Woof, woof, little brother," I mutter, plodding along through the snow and shivering from the cold as the memory warms what little bit of heart I have left.

Perimeter: checked. Checked a little too well, because before I know it I can see the cabin up ahead and curse myself for not picking up a compass from that pile of junk at the tower. Swearing under my breath, I turn in a huff to leave and feel eyes staring at the back of my head.

Instinctively I freeze. Short, shallow breaths let out only the faintest billows of warm air. Curse this lime green getup and curse my curled fists, no handle of a weapon between my fingers. It's fine. This is fine. I've been in worse situations before. Juvi makes the games feel like a cakewalk; except Maxen's not here. And neither is Rita.

No footsteps, huh. I turn, slowly, fists up so they know I mean business - and then a swivel left, right, pirouette, plant my feet and snarl. But all I see is the snow and the trees, bark peeling off of wooden trunks and the howl of a bitter wind.

"Come out ya pussy!" I holler into the open air, flexing my fingers and darting my tongue out in anticipation for a fight. Dried lips already cracking in the cold, I lick at the trickle of warm blood. "I could use a warm-up round."

A shuffle in the leaf piles, a fumble in the snow - too small a creature to be human, even for that little one from Ten.

My forehead relaxes, then twists into one raised eyebrow. They ain't gonna set the mutts on me this early, right?

Right?!

[ coding by griffin ]

who is following harley?
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