Sunday, she received an invitation (special). Sunday, what the fuck was up with her barista was just didn't get a lot of sleep. I'll see you around. Tuesday, some one-winged bird was found dead on her doorstep, the ants not yet aware of the feast.
Wednesday, May 21st.
There is a hair-fine crack in the wooden handle of one of Amber's middle-sized acrylic & oil paintbrushes and in front of her home [where the heart is?] there is a chalk hopscotch with these words written in each square: one | drinks deep | two | see ghosts | ghosts see | four | are | eu4ic | minotaurs -->
And a child-sized chalk outline.
They only draw chalk outlines for reporters or newspaper photographers to help highlight a gruesome scene, don't they? They only draw chalk outlines to contaminate evidence (whoops), or if somebody still has a chance to be saved if they're rushed to the hospital speedily enough.
The day stretches out before her, or perhaps the afternoon is what stretches out before her. When vampires become your reason for living, when you're wrapped up in their affairs and their world, one tends to sleep late.
AmberSunday is when she received the invitation, but not before she went to get her coffee. Talked to the barista. Got some seriously weird weird weird vibes. Then she lies to Amber, or sort of lies, and Amber can tell. She always knows when it's her that makes people fidget, makes them look nervous, makes them smack their lips like their mouth's suddenly gone all dry.
Amber's eyes narrow at her, suspicion growing, or is it suspicion? Is it maybe just irritation? She liked this place. She was used to it, and people like Amber don't get to get used to places. Someone always pulls the trigger on her temper and makes it so she can't go back.
That's not how it happens this time, but she still wonders. "Yeah," is her answer to that Uh so I guess I'll see you around? It doesn't sound very promising.
And in the end it's not. Amber isn't the sort to care so much about the wellfare and happiness of other people (strangers) that she'll do things, avoid things, act differently to placate them. She doesn't know the barista or any of the other staff at the coffee shop well enough to say she cares about them, really. The reason she stops going is simple. Amber doesn't like being where she's not wanted, she doesn't need the bother of it.
=====
It's later. The bird was dumped into the big purple trash bin she keeps behind her little house-unit. Trash day came and went and so did the carcass. Amber didn't think about it again after that day.
What she thinks about is the hairline crack she finds in her paint brush. It's the one she keeps in her hair or in her pocket or in her bag. Close. The end of the handle just a little tapered for her protection. It is an unobtrusive weapon kept for a very specific sort of protection. Maybe she should stop twisting it into her hair. She frowns at it. It's not nearly enough to make her want to get rid of it, so she puts it back into the jar with her other brushes and picks out a new one.
Takes some time to redefine the end of the handle a little, make it just a bit sharper. Just in case.
=====
Later still and she finds the chalk outline. Sadly, it does not entirely surprise her. Her home is right across the street from a charter school for international children. There is a lot of hatred in the world.
That doesn't mean it doesn't make her angry. She takes out her phone and snaps a picture of it. Mostly it. A bit of the hopscotch chalk drawing ends up in it, too. She sends the picture in a text to Detective Jasper Brahms, DPD Vice, along with the message, "What the fuck is this doing outside my fucking door??"
coronachJasper Brahms responds to the photograph and the text with a text of his own:
What am I looking at? How the fuck should I know why kids do what they do? Did you piss off the neighborhood brats?
Not exactly the most caring or horrified response, but Jasper is jaded as the stone he's named for if that stone were actually jade. Which is very jaded.
Somebody's put up at least twenty fliers on a fence just two houses down from Amber advertising a band called Mellow Foxhound, the picture of the lead singer black and white and over-saturated staring out from the paper like a convict trapped in a 2-D world when really they'd love to be 3-D.
Somebody else is taking them down right now, a young woman with earbuds in her ears, blue hair in a pompadour, dark skin, a viciously cheerful way of brushing her hands off once she's taken two down.
If Amber starts to walk to Santa Fe, she's going to pass that young woman, and that young woman's going to say, "Can you believe these assholes?" in reference to the fliers, gesture sharply at them.
AmberThis isn't a prank from one of the other guys at the precinct?
Does he know how she had to backspacebackspacebackspace through a snarling retort? What he does know about Amber is that she's about as friendly as a mongrel stray who's been poked thirteen too many times can be, and that's when she's trying. She'll snarl and snap her teeth, but she's calmed her bite.
Probably it's not some kind of Welcome to the Neighborhood prank. And it's not a legit crime scene - even if she'd slept through it (which, depending on the time it was drawn or any possible crime could've taken place is entirely possible) there'd be more detritous to a crime scene than this.
Fucking kids. Amber swears all the more fervently never to have any of her own.
Fucking...fucking everything. She's going to go to Santa Fe and look around, maybe talk to that tattoo artist at that parlor she's interested in, maybe slip him some designs or simply discuss a thing she wants imprinted onto herself. It's when she's on her way that she sees the fence. She sees the fliers before she sees the person but when she sees the person her attention is sharp. Sharp over her hair and her skin and the curve of her cheeks.
She looks from the woman cleaning up the fliers to the fence and scowls. She clucks her tongue. "You want a hand?" she asks, perhaps surprisingly, but then the woman doesn't know her. Not many do. Amber doesn't swell with righteous indignation or rush to do her civic duty because she cares much about the city. The fliers are ugly and they're on someone's fence. They were on Amber's fence she'd have the whole thing torn out. Fucking fences.
Fucking assholes.
[percept+investigation]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3) ( fail )
Amber[alertness?]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 5, 9) ( success x 1 )
coronachThe texts:
Not as far as I know
Whod think it was funny or whod they be trying to prank?
Amber, looking over the fliers, sees nothing of particular distinction, nothing of particular note, nothing to indicate that there's a message anywhere except that Mellow Foxhound really would appreciate the honor of your presence, etcetera. The copymachine they used to make the copies has a flaw and the flaw is persistent in showing up, picture after picture after picture, super-imposed over the lead singer's face, but even that doesn't quite grab Amber. What does grab Amber is a note at the very bottom, something that says, fuck you red im doing it.
Knows she's seen the woman living in the house behind the fence before, in passing, knows she's a redhead, that kind of deep almost auburn color, so maybe it's a vengeance spamming of fliers.
Boys can be assholes. Men are worse.
The woman with the blue pompadour (whose house it is not) looks surprised by Amber's offer, then grins. A startling white grin, flash of pristine set of chompers, and she takes one of her earbuds out to let it dangle against her throat. "Really? Yeah. Excellent." Another scrape scrape peel of fliers down and out-- looks like glue was used on some. "I'm Zina," she offers.
Now you.
The street isn't very busy right now, but it's not exactly an empty and abandoned wasteland. The sound of kids playing near by between a couple of buildings reaches Amber, a crescendo of shrieks and then some barking. There's a van idling across the street from the house with the fliers. Just idling, a guy in the driver's seat his attention hard on a phone.
AmberYou'd be surprised. - The response.
Or maybe he wouldn't. He's in Vice, he knows what kinds of things people get up to just for kicks. Then again, dumb pranks on the prostitute's daughter that spurned them are probably too low on the list for him to notice, though. She doesn't tell him. It's already bad enough she's been seen hanging around Detective Brahms' desk more than any other. Best not to burn what pull she has with the force for That One Guy.
And then the fence. Nothing unusual about the fence. This part of the city, people see all sorts of fliers up about all sorts of things. Come see this band in this hole in the wall bar, this club, this half-gallery half-bookshop one-eighth bar. Come see Mellow Foxhound because they'd really appreciate it. Same shit different location.
Except these appear to have been put up on someone's personal property without first obtaining permission. Ugh, what assholes, right?
Zina's surprised by Amber's offer to assist, and Amber lifts and lets fall her shoulder in a shrug. "Amber," she says, because now it's her turn. There's van idling but the driver's intent on a phone and not the kids and not the women, so he doesn't hold Amber's attention for longer than it takes her to notice him.
Then, "You a friend?" She nods her head toward the house.
coronachJasper doesn't return that text, at least not right away. Some time later, Amber'll get a little: Guess so.
"That would make sense, wouldn't it?" Zina says, soft-voiced and self-aware but not self-aware enough to seem sheepish (not even sheepish as the latest style in clothing for wolves. But blue pompadour doesn't seem to indicate wolves). "But not really. I just know she wouldn't appreciate it."
"You new to the neighborhood?" Two hands make the work of taking down the flier mural easy even if those two hands are attached to conversing women.
... And the tone of the children's voices changes, subtle at first but suddenly shot-through with- isn't that a little too piercing, too shrill, to be just playing?
AmberTwo sets of hands make the removal of the fliers go that much quicker, and quicker still one one of those sets is used to scraping off old wallpaper or bits of glued-to-the-wall (c'mon, fuckin' college kids renting houses, but your shit in frames at least) posters.
"Little bit," she admits when Zina asks if she's new. She doesn't give a timeframe of when she moved in or for how long she's been in her little blue house-unit. It's enough for the stranger to know that Amber hasn't been in the neighborhood too long.
She might say something more, but those children's voices. Even at a slight distance they're starting to cut straight through from one ear canal to the other, a sharp stab like an ice pick right through the middle of her head. Her eyes narrow and she scowls. Shoots a quick, sharp look at Zina because Amber doesn't have the manners to say Excuse me a second or I'll be right back.
Wouldn't that just be too surprising if she did?
Anyway, she makes that face and she gives that look (does Zina look concerned? does she look like she notices the shrieking?) and she stalks, stalks off to find the source. Just so she can ask a hars, "What?" when she gets there.
Amber[percept+alert COME ON YOU STUPID GIRL NOTICE THINGS]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 7) ( success x 1 )
coronachZina might've been just beginning to look -- not concerned, but let's say rather, -- aware that the kids were being noisy in a way that is designed to get into the head. Evolution, maybe. Amber makes that face. Zina looks after her as she goes, and where does she go?
She goes across the street. Another house, and then a wide and generous alley between that house and another, where there's a sad and woe-begotten looking couch somebody's dumped and an even sadder and more woe-begotten basketball hoop and there are kids.
Five of them. Two are on the couch, screaming their heads off, one of them with a stick. One is under an overturned shopping cart, crying. And another is running away.
There is a dog. A little one, a dachsund with a wire-haired coat, menacing the shopping cart, not barking or making any noise yet except -- now that she's close -- a wet-in-the-lungs growling, snarling, and it's a filthy dog, bloody, yes bloody, dry blood on its coat and blood around its santa-bearded little mouth, caking fur into dreds.
Amber[this will determine how Amber deals with this scenario: Conscience! (what could go wrong?)]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (5, 5, 6, 9) ( success x 2 )
AmberAmber does not like children. It has nothing to do with her upbringing. She was not (terribly) menaced by other children when she was a child herself, at least, no more so than many other children all the world over. Her mother, despite a misstep with her daugher that gave the child a deep-seeded fear of darkness, was a good mother that Amber loved dearly.
No, Amber does not like children because children are assholes. They are burdens, they are leeches. Their very existence sucks the soul from a person along with all their hopes, dreams for themselves, and their money. There are people in the world who are satisfied or even happy to make that sacrifice. Indeed there is a multitude of people who do not even see it as a sacrifice.
Amber is not one of those people.
Still.
There are children screaming with fear and there is a dog, a mangy bloody thing, growling at a child trapped beneath a shopping cart. Her heart does not go out to the children, she does not suddenly feel a mother's protective instinct, she thinks
Shit. Shit! Rabid dog!
But she is aware that there are children around and she is aware of how wrestling even a small dog to the ground to stop it attacking (permanently) would affect these children. Children who are already traumatized. Well, shit. Shit shit shit! Amber doesn't have the heart to pile more trauma on top of that.
She runs forward toward the animal, intent on scooping it up.
Amber[+6]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (6) ( success x 1 )
coronach[+4.]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (8) ( success x 1 )
coronach[kid with stick. +3]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (9) ( success x 1 )
coronachThe dogs ears prick and its hackles are up as Amber comes swooping, comes sweeping in; it doesn't want to leave its prey under the shopping cart and snaps again with a clash of teeth (smash! [smash!]) at the cart and turns around and bites Amber bites her oh it bites her once that's what it wants to do bite her and eat her flesh feast on it give me give me give me. This is not a nice dog and its teeth are sharp.
The kid on the couch with the stick, a snot-nosed little carrot-top with glasses and a pugnacious set to her chin, gulps and it looks like she's screwing up her own courage to get down off the couch and help the kid under the shopping cart out. If the dog is distracted. There's an adult here now. The adult'll handle it.
AmberAmber comes swooping in like some dark avenging angel. Hair streaming like a red-streaked brown banner in her wake, face screwed up into a look of fury because Amber's face is always a hair's breadth, a second, a millimeter away from looking furious. She throws at her arms before she gets to the animal and does it bite her before she gets to it? Does it sink its teeth into her arm?
Well. Doesn't that just make it one step closer to being clinched in her arms?
She crouches, swooping, sweeping, golem given life to defend, to protect, to remove the threats to a neighborhood under her watch (or seeming to). She is intent on grabbing that dog. One hand beneath its belly, the other coming up under its jaw before she closes it close against her chest. Pinning it.
Before she runs, runs to the veterinarian clinic she's passed who knows how many times on her way down Kalamath to wherever.
[dex+brawl: SCOOP! +WP because tripping and falling straight into a dog's face would be too embarrassing]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 3, 3, 6, 8) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
coronachThe dog's teeth are still gnashing against the metal of the shopping cart, its intent to turn a half-finished thing and an intention to gnash its jaws just beginning to form, spittle-dripping from its teeth, chomp! when Amber swoops in. The little thing has no chance to dance away or to jump under Amber's arms and go for her belly, so she gets it, holds it, holds it and runs.
The screaming turns to wild cheers.
Unfortunately, these don't seem very soothing to the dog, which struggles in Amber's grasp, wildly. Wild-eyed. It stinks.
Amber[str+potence+brawl! scared to use WP because she doesn't want to crush it so going without it *crosses self*]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 5, 5, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )
coronach[Dachsund's: strength + potence + brawl]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 7, 8, 8) ( success x 3 )
Amber[dex+ath]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )
Amber[inits again! grrrr! +6]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (5) ( fail )
Amber[percept+occult]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 10) ( success x 1 )
coronach[Dachshund: +4]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (3) ( fail )
coronach[Kid with stick: +3]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (6) ( success x 1 )
coronachIt stinks, and it is strong. Too strong, too, too strong for something as little as it is, and it doesn't escape Amber's grasp because it's difficult to hold on to: it uses sheer brute (blood-fueled? [ghoul?]) force to get out and land on the ground and shake its head and this time it wants to bite her leg so that's what it lunges forward to do, favoring a paw
while the carrot-haired kid has lifted the shopping cart and is trying to coax her friend out from underneath it, come on, come on, and looks up when the dog escapes and the kid under the cart and still on the couch both stop cheering and start screaming again
which seems to irritate the fucking dog, so its attention is halved.
AmberIt stinks, but who cares? Bums on the street, the people Amber talks to sometimes about what's what in this city, they smell. They wear a perfume of body odor, piss, and stale alcohol soaked into their tattered, grimy clothes. Amber holds onto the dog as long as she can but it's not just any dog.
And she knows that power, that strength. Knows something that small shouldn't be able to squirm out of the arms of someone like her, not unless they were like her, too. Flood's told her that sometimes people take an animal for a ghoul like her. She wonders if that's what that one's cat is, the orange tabby.
Once she knows what it is, though, her heart sinks a little. The little shit's vicious and it's more dangerous than an animal like it should ever be and so Amber has one choice and one choice only. She does not look over at the children with their screams renewed. She looks at the dog and she moves to scoop it up again.
There'll be no vet's examination of it, though. This animal has something far worse than rabies.
[scoop! =[ diff +1]
Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (1, 1, 3, 4, 5, 9) ( success x 2 ) [WP]
Amber[holding onto you: str+potence+brawl]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 6, 6, 9, 9) ( success x 4 )
coronach[RUFF RUFF RUFF. In dog-language: The fuck you are.]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (6, 8, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )
Amber[dex+ath!]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (4, 5, 6, 6) ( success x 2 )
coronachThe creature intent on menacing her leg doesn't have a chance to try and dance away from the lovely earth-hewn young woman reaching down to grab it up, swipe it, hold it, hold it, hold it, as she races out of the alley away from the innocents and toward ... well, out of the alley, spilling either onto the street she came of, where Zina her new friend is getting into a car and that man in the van is still idling, or onto the other street, where there are a couple of sparse lawns and traffic in the distance. Maybe that one takes her closer to the shops. Amber: her strength is immense.
If she didn't suspect something was amiss with (supernatural about) the creature before, she knows something is amiss now, because it frees itself with a Titan-worthy effort, something that'd send scratches into her skin and tear her shirt--cosmetic damage only.
It hits the ground again and this time
[pup's self control]
Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (5, 10) ( success x 1 )
coronachwhines and doesn't immediately attack.
Amber[conscience!]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (3, 7, 7, 9) ( success x 3 )
AmberIt whines, oh god, it whines at her and holds itself at bay. They're out of sight of the children but possibly in sight of other watchers. That doesn't help Amber much in terms of the grim task she knows is how this is going to end. It is an animal, an animal who has been given a naturally (all-natural, no additives or preservatives!) unnatural (dead, gross, disgusting) energy drink. One that's given it a boost of strength or a boost of speed or both.
Same as Amber. Flood hasn't told her anything about animals becoming ghouls like her, it seems so...strange. Then again, Amber's never been terribly interested in having a pet, she can't understand the desire to keep one into eternity.
But if it has the power of Amber and it has the wherewithal to hold itself back, maybe there's a spark of intelligence? At least a little bit of understanding?
Ugh, this is ridiculous. At least possible-new-friend Zina isn't going to see Amber trying to hold a conversation (a real, semi-intelligent conversation) with a dog.
Amber grimaces, and she glances real quick, side to side, before looking at the dog. Hands out stretched, both I'm not going to hurt you and also but I'm ready if you give me a reason to hurt you.
"Can you understand me...dog?"
[charisma+animal ken, no animal ken]
Dice: 4 d10 TN7 (6, 7, 8, 8) ( success x 3 )
coronach[Am I smart? +1 diff]
Dice: 2 d10 TN7 (4, 10) ( success x 1 )
coronachThe dog whines again, a wheezing, wet sound, and it dances uncertainly on its fluffy (matted, filthy) paws, lowering its santa-bearded face (filthy, bloody) down to the sidewalk, ears pricked in the center like it's going to ask a question. It doesn't come any nearer her hand but that's probably a good thing, considering what it was trying to do earlier: eat that child. Blood blood blood blood a haze. It does huff-sigh out dramatically after a second, eyebrows (pale splotches of fur against dark) pricking and manic dark-chocolate eyes less white-rimmed. Does it understand her? It understands her intent not to hurt it at least.
AmberAmber doesn't lower her hands just as she doesn't lower her guard. Just because the animal has some intelligence doesn't mean she (or anyone else in the neighborhood) is out of danger. Intelligence won't help for long if this animal, this ghouled dog, is suffering from withdrawal. Amber remembers it well, the urges, the strange desires. There were nights she wanted to sink her teeth into someone's arm, jerk her head away, and peel back the flesh. There were times she wanted to ride someone, anyone, to fuck until one or both of them couldn't move anymore. It was only through her surprising strength of will that she never gave into her own urges.
How does a dog fare? If that's what's happening here, well it's obviously not going very well. Amber's eyes narrow.
"Do you need to eat?" she asks, incredulous that she's even having this conversation.
coronachEat.
The whine goes up in pitch until it vanishes away, arcing up then diminishes into a hack. The dachshund gives a thump of its little whip of a tail, and scuttles backward.
Panting, its jaw opens. Pant, pant, pant.
It looks Amber in the eyes like its ashamed.
[Self Control.]
Dice: 2 d10 TN7 (1, 7) ( success x 1 )
AmberFuck.
Fuckfuckfuck. Fuck.
It needs to eat and she can guess what it needs to eat. But she's not about to run and find herself a vampire to give the dog the fix for the addiction that was forced onto it.
Which means that her options are still limited. But now. Now? Now there's no way a woman with that big of a conscience is going to try to snap that animal's neck. Not without good reason.
"I think I can help you out. You think you can come with me or do I gotta try and grab you again?"
coronachThe dachshund cries (whimpers) and makes a restive-limping gesture back, dragging its blood-straggled blood-dredded jaw across the ground. Apparently it's not going to follow her -- or maybe it is if she starts moving? There's no human-to-animal dictionary on google, and even if there were, it probably wouldn't be much good.
coronach[la la la]
AmberAmber does not speak dog. She assumes its because the dog is a ghoul that it has any understanding of her whatsoever. Possibly she's right. Flood said there are vampires who can command animals to do their bidding. Maybe it understands enough of what it's been commanded before to get the gist of two-leg vocalizations.
That is to say that she doesn't understand what it means when it limp-steps back away from her, dragging its jaw across the ground. Is it being defensive? Whimpers aren't the same as growls, same with cries versus barks. It doesn't seem like it's going to attack her. Still. She can't let it get loose.
She crouches, lowering to the dog's level but also preparing herself to spring forward should she need. Once she's lowered herself, she holds her arms out and tries to encourage the dog toward her.
"C'mon, dog," she says.
[manip+ uh, empathy? though subterfuge is the same pool, so whicheveR!]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (5, 5, 5, 9) ( success x 1 )
Amber[fine then SCOOP!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 6, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
Amber[str+potence+brawl! diff 4]
Dice: 7 d10 TN4 (1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 6, 9) ( success x 2 )
Amber[try again diff 5?]
Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (2, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 8) ( success x 5 )
coronach[now the test. do I escape, ruff ruff.]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 4, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )
coronachThe dachshund doesn't come any nearer to Amber. Maybe it doesn't speak human. Maybe all it hears are noises and its just intelligent to know that this human person wants something, that this human person is talking nicely to it, that this human person is more than meat on a bone although wouldn't it (that scrape of a whine) love to eat the meat from the bone. The dachshund does not 'come on.'
And then Amber dives in, scooping it up and holding, and holding, and holding; and this time it isn't strong enough to get free again, although it does begin to struggle in her arms, paws scrabbling, jaw trying to open so it can snap her flesh from her face or her shoulder or her arm or where ever is the nearest.
To the vet? No. To Amber's home? Maybe?
AmberAmber scoops the little hound up, and one of her arms is like a steel band around its little body, gripping it against her chest. Her other hand clamps under its jaw, and she holds it up, and she holds it there. It's a hard hold to break and so that hold does not break.
Leaving Amber free to take the dog somewhere, but where? Not to the vet, they can't meet its needs, not really. No, the only place that she can take it is to her own home, and so to her home she goes. Holding it close. Checking the road both ways before crossing. And darting down the sidewalk to her little blue house.
A little blue house that she may have to lose, and so soon after she got it, too.
Amber[charisma+contact: the flier]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 6, 6, 10) ( success x 3 )
Amber[street influence: char [4] + influence]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 3, 4, 5, 8) ( success x 1 )
Amber[int+investigation]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 8) ( success x 1 )
coronachIf Amber goes back the way she came, she'll notice straight off that the kids haven't stuck around and the stick the little carrot-top had is stuck in the shopping cart, a flag or a warning or a weapon or war left behind on an abandoned battlefield. Neither can she hear them any longer over the snarl-growl-whine of the creature in her arms, getting frantic the longer its kept constrained.
Her new friend (?) aquaintance is no longer in sight either, but the fliers on the redhead's fence are all gone. A mailman, that's all, who looks at Amber, but why wouldn't he look at Amber, her hair flying like that, her face set that way, intensity delineating her as it always does?
The dog is difficult to wrangle once she's inside, but she finally gets it locked up. Then all she has to do is figure out what she's going to do with it. How she's going to feed it.
Cleaning it probably isn't an option either. And dachshunds are notorious diggers, but Amber might need to wikipedia that one.
Eventually after pawing at the door it collapses and sleeps. Fitfully.
Dreams of blood.
Once Amber starts poking around, she finds a story in the Denver Post (albeit not one authored by the reporter she is familiar with), though little other mention of animals acting mad.
The story is about a brace of dogs (a dachsund and a malamute-shepherd mix) attacking a young boy, name withheld, age 5, before going on to attack a police officer who was on the scene, Brent McDermott, and another unidentified bystander who fled the scene. The young boy is in critical condition and the malamute-shepherd was shot on-site but the dachsund escaped.
No mention is made of the dogs owners and the article just really wants to laugh at the unlikely dog-teamup while letting people know that a cop got hurt. Most of the comments on the online version of the article devolve into vitriolic hate-flinging re: those dogs should be put down LOL NO the cop should be put down they were only trying to help etc etc.
This happened near a school (also unidentified) late at night.
On Friday, haunting some of her old watering holes, she meets a guy she knows who's always been a fighter, dog fighting cock fighting bum fighting street fighting anything where it pits two living beings against one another and sometimes only one walks away. He's a sweet guy, quiet and doesn't like to speak a lot. Only once you've seen him fight do you get the idea that he's someone for whom violence holds an attraction. His mother's a prostitute and he's been raised by an 'uncle.' Looks at her when she brings up the fight club and says, I know it yeah. His voice is full of a mixture of longing and misgivings. Fuckin circus.
And that's what the word on the street seems to be, such as it is. A whole lot of secrecy, a whole lot of quiet. A fuckin' circus, people from uptown involved, nobody talks about it, they always get you. Some sick fuck's idea of a good time. Make people fight who have good lives or don't make a mint off of it make a new fucking mint Treasury Beware. They always get you nobody knows how but they do.
Fuckin' circus.
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