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With more fucked up stuff, but not as much 'parents dying horribly oh god corpse pit jesus christ this is a nightmare.' So that's a plus. So that's... you know... fun! Lots and lots of fun. And even better, this raccoon girl is one bad bitch. She even calls herself 'hard boiled.' Gosh, what a scary chick.\n\nCredit to: Marty, for being best brother. Rose, for being the hottest little sister ever. Zilkas for being herself, which is basically saying, for being amazing.\n\nIf for some oh so silly reason you want to follow me on Twitter, you can do that: https://twitter.com/AliconCalsibar\n\nYou can even message me on there if for some reason you don't know you can PM on inkbunny! If I ever check my Twitter (Likelihood: low) I might even answer you! ", "description_bbcode_parsed": "I'm back! With more fucked up stuff, but not as much 'parents dying horribly oh god corpse pit jesus christ this is a nightmare.' So that's a plus. So that's... you know... fun! Lots and lots of fun. And even better, this raccoon girl is one bad bitch. She even calls herself 'hard boiled.' Gosh, what a scary chick.

Credit to: Marty, for being best brother. Rose, for being the hottest little sister ever. Zilkas for being herself, which is basically saying, for being amazing.

If for some oh so silly reason you want to follow me on Twitter, you can do that: https://twitter.com/AliconCalsibar

You can even message me on there if for some reason you don't know you can PM on inkbunny! If I ever check my Twitter (Likelihood: low) I might even answer you! ", "writing": "Two men in a battered jeep drive down a dusty road in the middle of the pitch black night. Their headlights flicker as they pass over bumps and ruts in the poorly cared for path, and then the lights fall on a small form. Someone is walking, a piece of metal dragging in the dust, held in the figure's small paw.\n\n\"Holy fuck, is that a little girl?\" one of them asks. His deep brown eyes flick over to the tiny figure and he lets off the gas to slow way, way down. \"Shit, man…\"\n\n\"So what if it is a little girl? Fuck her man, we have things to do,\" the other responds lazily, taking a drag on his cigarette. A coyote, a big angry looking one at that. The driver isn't particularly fond of him.\n\nThe driver glares at him, eyes narrowed. His fur is a dusty tannish yellow. His mother, may her soul be at rest, was a german shepherd. His father, a yellow lab. His soul can rot in the pits of Hell.\n\n\"Are you fucking kidding me? For fuck's sake man, it's dark. There's feral lions and shit out here, predator species, carrion fowl, absolute psychos. Plus the opposition has a bad habit of doing bad things to unattended kids. Fuck you, I'm stopping,\" he growls, pulling up close to the girl and braking. Before his companion can react he throws the door open and hops out of the car, boots hitting dirt and rocks. He marches over to her, flicking his own cigarette to the ground. \n\nBefore his paw can fall on her shoulder, she rounds, raising the piece of metal. He sees, from the shape of her body, and face, that she's definitely not a little girl. She's far too developed for that.\n\n\"I don't know who you are, but if you try to hurt me I will end you,\" she hisses. He recoils in shock. Her eyes and voice are cold and hard and they look like…\n\nHe's seen the monster staring out of her eyes before. The cold, broken thing. He's seen it in the mirror, years ago. Seen it after pulling his sister's broken body from the rubble after the terrorist attack on London. Saw it in his own dead, bitter eyes, the look like her soul has been flayed, skinned to raw nerves but left living. She's a damn nightmare wrapped in flesh and it makes a fist of ice close on his heart and cold shiver pass down his spine. He has no doubt, looking at her, that she will end his life without a second thought and feel no remorse.\n\nPart of him almost immediately wants to shoot her dead, end that terrific pain boiling in her mind, but he knows he can't do that because a much bigger part of him wants to take her up in his arms and tell her everything will be alright.\n\nBut he can't do that either. There are ways to do things, ways to handle people like her. He knows well enough a hug won't fix anything. It'll probably just piss her off.\n\nHis paws rise, palm pads out to face her. A nonthreatening gesture.\n\n\"I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. I just… are you bleeding?\" \n\nShe glares down at the arm that hangs limply at her side and then raises the piece of metal to rest it on her shoulder.\n\nDried blood shows up black in the headlights.\n\n\"No shit I'm bleeding, idiot. My arm is torn to shreds... fuckin' leg too. Had to put the arm in the way of a friggin' feral lion so I could stab him in the throat. Now, are we going to sit down for tea or is this useless conversation over with?\" she demands her last and turns her back, already starting to walk. \"I got fuckin' walking to do.\"\n\n[i]Fucking said… feral damn lions…[/i] he mutters in his head.\n\nHe dashes forward, paw falling towards her shoulder. It lands, but at the same time, a jagged metal tip presses to his throat. Turning his eyes slowly downwards, he sees her good arm has it thrust over her shoulder, pressed into the fluff of his neck.\n\n\"You're pushing your luck, mutt,\" she says, tone dripping with malice. \"I'll throat fuck you with this metal before you can so much as draw a knife and I will straight up do so happily. Service with a fuckin' smile.\"\n\n\"I said I don't intend to hurt you. Your Portuguese is good, your accent sounds... American? If you tell me what you're doing here, I'll take you back to base, clean you up, and give you food and shelter,\" he says quietly, not particularly being comfortable with the whole 'having something murdery pressed to his throat' part of this situation. He switches to Bantu, specifically the South Mbundu - he figures she might know that as well, since it's the most widely spoken language in Angola. \"Do you speak this as well?\"\n\n\"… of course, I do. Regardless of that, I can't trust you,\" she mutters in the same language, pressing the metal's tip in harder. \"Or anyone else.\"\n\nHe's shocked. Whoever this girl is, she's either got a gift for languages or she's a damn all around genius. He's not real familiar with compulsory education, or even college level stuff, but he's pretty sure the language isn't exactly something they teach in American grade school. He gets this feeling, this real strong feeling like he absolutely has to get this girl to trust him. She's important somehow. \n\n\"I'm going to reach for my gun, then I'm going to give it to you,\" he says quietly, paw dropping. The metal presses harder to his throat, piercing his skin just a little and drawing blood. He ignores it and slowly draws the weapon from its holster, raises it with the barrel in paw and holds it out in front of her. \"Go on, take it. Then you have all the power here. Then maybe we can chat some more. Sound good?\"\n\nShe grits her teeth.\n\n\"If I take the gun I drop my weapon and give my leverage, dog. Drop the pistol and back the fuck up.\"\n\nShe shocks him again with her tactical sharpness. It's true, what she says. Sighing, he drops it and steps back slowly, paws rising again. His companion throws open the door of the jeep, but the canine waves a paw and shakes his head, stopping him. The girl drops the metal, scoops up the gun and turns to face him. Blood dripping from her arm onto the ground. It's apparent the bleeding isn't going to stop without some kind of intervention. The way she turns too, avoiding putting too much weight on her injured leg... it's obviously hurting quite bad, or the muscle is damaged enough to make supporting her weight difficult.\n\nShe raises the gun, glaring, and thumbs the safety off.\n\n[i]Well fuck. That's not what I expected,[/i] he thinks, feeling a little panic form in his gut. He was hoping she wouldn't know how to handle a firearm - but she is American, he figures. Might have had some exposure to them.\n\n\"Now that messing around is out of the way. I'm here because…\"\n\nShe tells him the truth, the entire truth, because she has to tell someone. Even hardened and reconstructed, she's hurt real bad inside. She's got to say the words. Make them come out of her mouth so someone knows the nightmare in her head. She leaves out the part about the head voice, about losing her mind, about essentially killing herself. \n\nNo one can ever know that awful truth. She's visibly shattered enough. By her way of mind, making herself sound completely bonkers won't help things at all. She and the Knight that makes up her core, they both have a feeling about him as well. Just as she is important in some way, so is he.\n\n\"… had to crawl. Crawl over all the corpses. So many fucking corpses. Might've crawled over my dad's, my… mother's… my brother's…\" she trails off. The new personality is a little unfamiliar with the idea of crying, but it figures it out pretty quickly. These emotions are uncontrollable. They must exist. They counter the logic, bring balance to the mind, prevent further insanity. To try and suppress and bottle them up would only weaken her mind, undo all the hard work put in to stitch it together.\n\nShe is still her, after all. Just… different at the core.\n\nShe lowers the pistol, sobbing. Her knees hit the ground and she lets out a little whimper of pain as her arm is roughly jostled. The older merc, he stares at her in confusion a moment, then approaches the outright tragedy and kneels, pulling her close. A hug won't fix anything, but it damn sure beats doing nothing.\n\n\"Jesus, the shit you saw really fucked up your headspace…\" he mutters, sighing. \"I'm a merc kid. I kill for cash. But… fuck all, you remind me of me way back. Let me take you in, clothe you, feed you, et cetera. You're already… damaged. Out here, less you get to the killing and get to it fast, you get dead,\" he says quietly, hating having to lay down reality on her. \"You got any problem killing, kid?\"\n\nShe pulls back, tapping his crotch with the gun and sniffling. He stiffens, looking down at the weapon pointed at his groin. He hadn't even realized that in her grief, she was still heavily on guard.\n\nIt breaks his damn heart.\n\nThe things she saw…\n\n[i]Poor thing… never function again in the world, ever. No way. No, she's like me now. All torn up inside and full of murder,[/i] he thinks. He stands, trying to ignore the gun that follows him up, and holds out a paw. She stares for several long moments then hands him the weapon. After flicking the safety and holstering the weapon, he holds out his paw again.\n\n\"Fuck off, my damn legs are cut up, not broken,\" she spits bitterly, forcing herself to her feet. He watches her sway and then steps forward, catching her before she falls. \n\n\"You were saying?\"\n\n\"Eat a dick, mutt.\"\n\nHe almost chuckles.\n\nShe's just as much of an asshole as he was when he was a kid. He carefully leads her to the car, and opens the front driver's side door. \n\n\"Take the wheel, Darrel. Drive slow. This little one needs some damn bandages.\"\n\n\"God whatever man, fucking… don't know when you became a pansy ass sympathetic bitch.\"\n\n\"I'll fucking shoot you,\" Z growls. Both men look at her in shock. She glares right back, swaying a little bit. \n\nProtective already.\n\nThe older merc isn't surprised.\n\nShe's latching on.\n\nHe's not entirely upset at that. It's to be expected. He's the first to show her a bit of kindness after she was dropped feet first into the ugliest Hell he can imagine for someone so young.\n\n\"Come on, feisty little raccoon lass, in the back,\" he says, leading her around. Her grabs under her arms carefully and lifts her up. \"There we go, now sit and scooch your tiny ass in so I have some damn room.\"\n\nShe settles down on the cold metal back, slouching and breathing shakily. \n\n\"Blood loss is a real bitch…\" she mutters.\n\n\"Ain't that the damn truth.\"\n\nThe jeep starts moving and he drags over an old, battered med kit and pops the dented metal top open. From inside, he produces a pouch of a strange powder. It's styptic, she realizes. He warns her it will hurt like hell as he cuts her sleeve free and sets to work pouring it on.\n\nShe just stares as the pain hits. He swears she even smiles a little and the cold glint in her eye makes him shudder internally. For a scavenger species, she has a downright predatory air to her that makes so little sense.\n\n[i]She's awful damn calm for someone whose been through what she's been through... must be good at hiding how shattered she is,[/i] he thinks. He is of course wrong - at least, about the shattered bit. There's only so much broken upstairs, but all in all, she's outstandingly stable. The strange Knight holds her together with a hungry core of rage.\n\n[i]Fucking god, her fur is soaked, her shirt, and she was walking, and timing the thrust of that metal, keeping track of gun placement… fuck it, she was conscious! This level of blood loss… Christ. This girl is something else, [/i]he mutters to himself in his head as he cleans up her wounds and bandages them as best as he can in a jeep on a dirt road.\n\nHe tends to her legs next, glad she's at least wearing shorts and not something that would make him feel like a damn awful person.\n\nThen he moves to clean her face.\n\nHer eyes when she looks at him, there's odd confusion and discomfort in them. It's like she doesn't understand anymore that someone can care about her at all. It's like she's lost all faith in people, last all hope that anyone can possibly be good. He's taken back to his little sister, caring for her on the street, trying to find ways to get cash to put some damn food on the table - not that they usually had a table, but… a floor works just as well. She had that confused, hopeless look sometimes. The bitterness of a broken person living underneath a whole array of loaded guns.\n\n\"Girl, you are all torn up.\"\n\n\"You should see the other guy,\" she mutters weakly, turning her gaze away from him as he dresses the wound above her eye. He lets out a bit of a laugh to match the breathless one that passes her lips.\n\n\"You were just the daughter of some diamond mine manager, eh? Because you talk like a down and dirty soldier,\" he tells her.\n\n\"… I watched a lot of movies. Interesting stuff, wars. Documentaries, combat flicks, training videos. It was a hobby. Had a collection of old medals and uniforms but... those are probably all burned up or stolen now. Add that to a genius IQ and a whole mess of insanity up in my think meat and I think that comes together to equal 'hard boiled,'\" she answers, closing her eyes a moment. \"Got a spare cig I can take? You reek of the damn things.\"\n\n\"You're just a kid… kid.\"\n\n\"My name is Z and go fuck yourself. Everyone I love is dead. Give me a god damn smoke you. I've earned it, you fucker.\"\n\nHe stares at her face as she opens her bright blue eyes and glares. The irises are so pure a blue they look like water, right down to little pale green spots like algae on the surface. \n\nFor a moment, he's sure he sees a flicker of red, and then they're back to normal.\n\nHe proffers the pack from one of his tac vest pockets and she takes one of the dirt cheap cigs, pops it between her lips. He sparks his lighter up, holds it out and she puffs a few times, then takes a drag into her mouth. He watches her inhale, then close her eyes and let her head tip back, holding the draw.\n\n\"At this point I'm just impressed you're not coughing.\"\n\n\"I don't feel pain like you do, big guy. My full name is Zilkas, by the way. Last name… doesn't matter anymore. Just call me Z,\" she says after exhaling the small amount of smoke from her lungs, proffering a paw blindly. \"I assume you're going to take me to a city, get the government to get me out of here? Or.. no, I bet not. Way you were talking back there made it sound like that ain't an option.\"\n\nHe sighs, shaking the paw.\n\n\"I wish I could. Problem is the government doesn't function. It's a god damn mess and they've probably already declared you dead. You have no ID, no bodies to claim… you're probably a nobody now and worse, no one will fuckin' care. Name is Guy, by the by. If you call me G I'll throw heavy shit at you.\"\n\nShe laughs bitterly.\n\n\"Got it, G.\"\n\n\"… fuckin'… lucky you're a kid…\"\n\nShe chuckles again, then a little more, and more until it's an insane giggle. He watches her nervously for a few moments and then she slowly stops, raises the cig, drags on it deep. This time when she exhales, she lets out a little cough after.\n\n\"Say a word, I'll gut you.\"\n\n\"What would I say? That you're adorable or something? Fuck that, you scare the shit out of me,\" he answers, chuckling.\n\nThe rest of the drive is taken in silence. He can only wonder what she is thinking as she stares out into the pitch dark, eyes wide and seemingly sightless, the thousand yard stare of someone who has already seen too damn much. \n\nThere are only two thoughts on her mind.\n\nLearning to kill better, and her brother's cold, lifeless eyes.\n\nThere's a turn then, and she turns her gaze to the lights in the distance. There's some kind of compound ahead, a huge place with enormous high walls and a dirt berm surrounding those. The berm bristles with wooden posts and concertina wire, sharp spikes of wood and metal. In the center of the wall they drive towards, a reinforced sort of gate becomes visible. On either side, men stand guard with rifles at the ready, and on each side at the top of the walls, mounted machine guns sweep back and forth. \n\n\"… warring factions…\" she mutters, thinking.\n\n\"Beg your pardon?\"\n\nShe looks to him.\n\n\"I'm a child soldier now, huh?\"\n\nHe shrugs.\n\n\"You're under me. I'm bringing you in. I got sway with the boss. You can be what you want,\" he says. \"You can stay out of combat. How old are you anyway? You're tiny.\"\n\nShe shakes her head.\n\n\"No dice on the life of peace bullshit. I've got to learn to hurt people better. I'm not going to survive if I don't. Besides, killing sounds damn fun at this point. And I'm seventeen, you prick. I'm just… just small, is all. Fuck off.\"\n\nHe frowns.\n\nA big part of him wants to argue with her about the combat but he knows it'd be useless. As good hearted as he is, he also can't deny she's not fit for anything but the life of a merc anymore. She's got the stare, and soon she'll have the scars and the itch to shoot people who piss her off, too.\n\n\"So be it. You're hardly a child though.\"\n\n\"Everyone is a fucking child on the battlefield,\" she retorts. \"Once in a while, crying for their mothers and wishing they were dead. Everyone's a damn child.\"\n\nHe has no idea how to respond to that. Inexperienced and operating on knowledge gained from war movies and shit, she still isn't wrong with what she just said. All he can do is watch in silence as the gate swings open after a lot of shouting from the driver of the jeep. There's nothing left but to see how long she lasts.\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "Two men in a battered jeep drive down a dusty road in the middle of the pitch black night. Their headlights flicker as they pass over bumps and ruts in the poorly cared for path, and then the lights fall on a small form. Someone is walking, a piece of metal dragging in the dust, held in the figure's small paw.

"Holy fuck, is that a little girl?" one of them asks. His deep brown eyes flick over to the tiny figure and he lets off the gas to slow way, way down. "Shit, man…"

"So what if it is a little girl? Fuck her man, we have things to do," the other responds lazily, taking a drag on his cigarette. A coyote, a big angry looking one at that. The driver isn't particularly fond of him.

The driver glares at him, eyes narrowed. His fur is a dusty tannish yellow. His mother, may her soul be at rest, was a german shepherd. His father, a yellow lab. His soul can rot in the pits of Hell.

"Are you fucking kidding me? For fuck's sake man, it's dark. There's feral lions and shit out here, predator species, carrion fowl, absolute psychos. Plus the opposition has a bad habit of doing bad things to unattended kids. Fuck you, I'm stopping," he growls, pulling up close to the girl and braking. Before his companion can react he throws the door open and hops out of the car, boots hitting dirt and rocks. He marches over to her, flicking his own cigarette to the ground.

Before his paw can fall on her shoulder, she rounds, raising the piece of metal. He sees, from the shape of her body, and face, that she's definitely not a little girl. She's far too developed for that.

"I don't know who you are, but if you try to hurt me I will end you," she hisses. He recoils in shock. Her eyes and voice are cold and hard and they look like…

He's seen the monster staring out of her eyes before. The cold, broken thing. He's seen it in the mirror, years ago. Seen it after pulling his sister's broken body from the rubble after the terrorist attack on London. Saw it in his own dead, bitter eyes, the look like her soul has been flayed, skinned to raw nerves but left living. She's a damn nightmare wrapped in flesh and it makes a fist of ice close on his heart and cold shiver pass down his spine. He has no doubt, looking at her, that she will end his life without a second thought and feel no remorse.

Part of him almost immediately wants to shoot her dead, end that terrific pain boiling in her mind, but he knows he can't do that because a much bigger part of him wants to take her up in his arms and tell her everything will be alright.

But he can't do that either. There are ways to do things, ways to handle people like her. He knows well enough a hug won't fix anything. It'll probably just piss her off.

His paws rise, palm pads out to face her. A nonthreatening gesture.

"I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. I just… are you bleeding?"

She glares down at the arm that hangs limply at her side and then raises the piece of metal to rest it on her shoulder.

Dried blood shows up black in the headlights.

"No shit I'm bleeding, idiot. My arm is torn to shreds... fuckin' leg too. Had to put the arm in the way of a friggin' feral lion so I could stab him in the throat. Now, are we going to sit down for tea or is this useless conversation over with?" she demands her last and turns her back, already starting to walk. "I got fuckin' walking to do."

Fucking said… feral damn lions… he mutters in his head.

He dashes forward, paw falling towards her shoulder. It lands, but at the same time, a jagged metal tip presses to his throat. Turning his eyes slowly downwards, he sees her good arm has it thrust over her shoulder, pressed into the fluff of his neck.

"You're pushing your luck, mutt," she says, tone dripping with malice. "I'll throat fuck you with this metal before you can so much as draw a knife and I will straight up do so happily. Service with a fuckin' smile."

"I said I don't intend to hurt you. Your Portuguese is good, your accent sounds... American? If you tell me what you're doing here, I'll take you back to base, clean you up, and give you food and shelter," he says quietly, not particularly being comfortable with the whole 'having something murdery pressed to his throat' part of this situation. He switches to Bantu, specifically the South Mbundu - he figures she might know that as well, since it's the most widely spoken language in Angola. "Do you speak this as well?"

"… of course, I do. Regardless of that, I can't trust you," she mutters in the same language, pressing the metal's tip in harder. "Or anyone else."

He's shocked. Whoever this girl is, she's either got a gift for languages or she's a damn all around genius. He's not real familiar with compulsory education, or even college level stuff, but he's pretty sure the language isn't exactly something they teach in American grade school. He gets this feeling, this real strong feeling like he absolutely has to get this girl to trust him. She's important somehow.

"I'm going to reach for my gun, then I'm going to give it to you," he says quietly, paw dropping. The metal presses harder to his throat, piercing his skin just a little and drawing blood. He ignores it and slowly draws the weapon from its holster, raises it with the barrel in paw and holds it out in front of her. "Go on, take it. Then you have all the power here. Then maybe we can chat some more. Sound good?"

She grits her teeth.

"If I take the gun I drop my weapon and give my leverage, dog. Drop the pistol and back the fuck up."

She shocks him again with her tactical sharpness. It's true, what she says. Sighing, he drops it and steps back slowly, paws rising again. His companion throws open the door of the jeep, but the canine waves a paw and shakes his head, stopping him. The girl drops the metal, scoops up the gun and turns to face him. Blood dripping from her arm onto the ground. It's apparent the bleeding isn't going to stop without some kind of intervention. The way she turns too, avoiding putting too much weight on her injured leg... it's obviously hurting quite bad, or the muscle is damaged enough to make supporting her weight difficult.

She raises the gun, glaring, and thumbs the safety off.

Well fuck. That's not what I expected, he thinks, feeling a little panic form in his gut. He was hoping she wouldn't know how to handle a firearm - but she is American, he figures. Might have had some exposure to them.

"Now that messing around is out of the way. I'm here because…"

She tells him the truth, the entire truth, because she has to tell someone. Even hardened and reconstructed, she's hurt real bad inside. She's got to say the words. Make them come out of her mouth so someone knows the nightmare in her head. She leaves out the part about the head voice, about losing her mind, about essentially killing herself.

No one can ever know that awful truth. She's visibly shattered enough. By her way of mind, making herself sound completely bonkers won't help things at all. She and the Knight that makes up her core, they both have a feeling about him as well. Just as she is important in some way, so is he.

"… had to crawl. Crawl over all the corpses. So many fucking corpses. Might've crawled over my dad's, my… mother's… my brother's…" she trails off. The new personality is a little unfamiliar with the idea of crying, but it figures it out pretty quickly. These emotions are uncontrollable. They must exist. They counter the logic, bring balance to the mind, prevent further insanity. To try and suppress and bottle them up would only weaken her mind, undo all the hard work put in to stitch it together.

She is still her, after all. Just… different at the core.

She lowers the pistol, sobbing. Her knees hit the ground and she lets out a little whimper of pain as her arm is roughly jostled. The older merc, he stares at her in confusion a moment, then approaches the outright tragedy and kneels, pulling her close. A hug won't fix anything, but it damn sure beats doing nothing.

"Jesus, the shit you saw really fucked up your headspace…" he mutters, sighing. "I'm a merc kid. I kill for cash. But… fuck all, you remind me of me way back. Let me take you in, clothe you, feed you, et cetera. You're already… damaged. Out here, less you get to the killing and get to it fast, you get dead," he says quietly, hating having to lay down reality on her. "You got any problem killing, kid?"

She pulls back, tapping his crotch with the gun and sniffling. He stiffens, looking down at the weapon pointed at his groin. He hadn't even realized that in her grief, she was still heavily on guard.

It breaks his damn heart.

The things she saw…

Poor thing… never function again in the world, ever. No way. No, she's like me now. All torn up inside and full of murder, he thinks. He stands, trying to ignore the gun that follows him up, and holds out a paw. She stares for several long moments then hands him the weapon. After flicking the safety and holstering the weapon, he holds out his paw again.

"Fuck off, my damn legs are cut up, not broken," she spits bitterly, forcing herself to her feet. He watches her sway and then steps forward, catching her before she falls.

"You were saying?"

"Eat a dick, mutt."

He almost chuckles.

She's just as much of an asshole as he was when he was a kid. He carefully leads her to the car, and opens the front driver's side door.

"Take the wheel, Darrel. Drive slow. This little one needs some damn bandages."

"God whatever man, fucking… don't know when you became a pansy ass sympathetic bitch."

"I'll fucking shoot you," Z growls. Both men look at her in shock. She glares right back, swaying a little bit.

Protective already.

The older merc isn't surprised.

She's latching on.

He's not entirely upset at that. It's to be expected. He's the first to show her a bit of kindness after she was dropped feet first into the ugliest Hell he can imagine for someone so young.

"Come on, feisty little raccoon lass, in the back," he says, leading her around. Her grabs under her arms carefully and lifts her up. "There we go, now sit and scooch your tiny ass in so I have some damn room."

She settles down on the cold metal back, slouching and breathing shakily.

"Blood loss is a real bitch…" she mutters.

"Ain't that the damn truth."

The jeep starts moving and he drags over an old, battered med kit and pops the dented metal top open. From inside, he produces a pouch of a strange powder. It's styptic, she realizes. He warns her it will hurt like hell as he cuts her sleeve free and sets to work pouring it on.

She just stares as the pain hits. He swears she even smiles a little and the cold glint in her eye makes him shudder internally. For a scavenger species, she has a downright predatory air to her that makes so little sense.

She's awful damn calm for someone whose been through what she's been through... must be good at hiding how shattered she is, he thinks. He is of course wrong - at least, about the shattered bit. There's only so much broken upstairs, but all in all, she's outstandingly stable. The strange Knight holds her together with a hungry core of rage.

Fucking god, her fur is soaked, her shirt, and she was walking, and timing the thrust of that metal, keeping track of gun placement… fuck it, she was conscious! This level of blood loss… Christ. This girl is something else, he mutters to himself in his head as he cleans up her wounds and bandages them as best as he can in a jeep on a dirt road.

He tends to her legs next, glad she's at least wearing shorts and not something that would make him feel like a damn awful person.

Then he moves to clean her face.

Her eyes when she looks at him, there's odd confusion and discomfort in them. It's like she doesn't understand anymore that someone can care about her at all. It's like she's lost all faith in people, last all hope that anyone can possibly be good. He's taken back to his little sister, caring for her on the street, trying to find ways to get cash to put some damn food on the table - not that they usually had a table, but… a floor works just as well. She had that confused, hopeless look sometimes. The bitterness of a broken person living underneath a whole array of loaded guns.

"Girl, you are all torn up."

"You should see the other guy," she mutters weakly, turning her gaze away from him as he dresses the wound above her eye. He lets out a bit of a laugh to match the breathless one that passes her lips.

"You were just the daughter of some diamond mine manager, eh? Because you talk like a down and dirty soldier," he tells her.

"… I watched a lot of movies. Interesting stuff, wars. Documentaries, combat flicks, training videos. It was a hobby. Had a collection of old medals and uniforms but... those are probably all burned up or stolen now. Add that to a genius IQ and a whole mess of insanity up in my think meat and I think that comes together to equal 'hard boiled,'" she answers, closing her eyes a moment. "Got a spare cig I can take? You reek of the damn things."

"You're just a kid… kid."

"My name is Z and go fuck yourself. Everyone I love is dead. Give me a god damn smoke you. I've earned it, you fucker."

He stares at her face as she opens her bright blue eyes and glares. The irises are so pure a blue they look like water, right down to little pale green spots like algae on the surface.

For a moment, he's sure he sees a flicker of red, and then they're back to normal.

He proffers the pack from one of his tac vest pockets and she takes one of the dirt cheap cigs, pops it between her lips. He sparks his lighter up, holds it out and she puffs a few times, then takes a drag into her mouth. He watches her inhale, then close her eyes and let her head tip back, holding the draw.

"At this point I'm just impressed you're not coughing."

"I don't feel pain like you do, big guy. My full name is Zilkas, by the way. Last name… doesn't matter anymore. Just call me Z," she says after exhaling the small amount of smoke from her lungs, proffering a paw blindly. "I assume you're going to take me to a city, get the government to get me out of here? Or.. no, I bet not. Way you were talking back there made it sound like that ain't an option."

He sighs, shaking the paw.

"I wish I could. Problem is the government doesn't function. It's a god damn mess and they've probably already declared you dead. You have no ID, no bodies to claim… you're probably a nobody now and worse, no one will fuckin' care. Name is Guy, by the by. If you call me G I'll throw heavy shit at you."

She laughs bitterly.

"Got it, G."

"… fuckin'… lucky you're a kid…"

She chuckles again, then a little more, and more until it's an insane giggle. He watches her nervously for a few moments and then she slowly stops, raises the cig, drags on it deep. This time when she exhales, she lets out a little cough after.

"Say a word, I'll gut you."

"What would I say? That you're adorable or something? Fuck that, you scare the shit out of me," he answers, chuckling.

The rest of the drive is taken in silence. He can only wonder what she is thinking as she stares out into the pitch dark, eyes wide and seemingly sightless, the thousand yard stare of someone who has already seen too damn much.

There are only two thoughts on her mind.

Learning to kill better, and her brother's cold, lifeless eyes.

There's a turn then, and she turns her gaze to the lights in the distance. There's some kind of compound ahead, a huge place with enormous high walls and a dirt berm surrounding those. The berm bristles with wooden posts and concertina wire, sharp spikes of wood and metal. In the center of the wall they drive towards, a reinforced sort of gate becomes visible. On either side, men stand guard with rifles at the ready, and on each side at the top of the walls, mounted machine guns sweep back and forth.

"… warring factions…" she mutters, thinking.

"Beg your pardon?"

She looks to him.

"I'm a child soldier now, huh?"

He shrugs.

"You're under me. I'm bringing you in. I got sway with the boss. You can be what you want," he says. "You can stay out of combat. How old are you anyway? You're tiny."

She shakes her head.

"No dice on the life of peace bullshit. I've got to learn to hurt people better. I'm not going to survive if I don't. Besides, killing sounds damn fun at this point. And I'm seventeen, you prick. I'm just… just small, is all. Fuck off."

He frowns.

A big part of him wants to argue with her about the combat but he knows it'd be useless. As good hearted as he is, he also can't deny she's not fit for anything but the life of a merc anymore. She's got the stare, and soon she'll have the scars and the itch to shoot people who piss her off, too.

"So be it. You're hardly a child though."

"Everyone is a fucking child on the battlefield," she retorts. "Once in a while, crying for their mothers and wishing they were dead. Everyone's a damn child."

He has no idea how to respond to that. Inexperienced and operating on knowledge gained from war movies and shit, she still isn't wrong with what she just said. All he can do is watch in silence as the gate swings open after a lot of shouting from the driver of the jeep. There's nothing left but to see how long she lasts.
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