“Greyhound?  Chase or Ink?”  Bitch asked.

Now we’re getting into terms I don’t know. Sub-breeds, I assume.

“Ink.”

Bitch frowned.  I tensed, ready to jump in and distract with some mention of food.

Oh wait, she was asking which of the greyhounds she has that this girl is fond of.

Is Rachel contemplating a good, selfless deed here?

Grudgingly, Bitch said, “Rather they have a proper home than stay with me.”

She was!

I could see the girl’s eyes widen in surprise.  “I didn’t- um.  Thank you.”

“If I see him in some cage in a shelter after you’ve taken him home, I’m going to track you down and dismember you,” Bitch growled.

“Baka.”

Seriously, though, it says a lot that this girl (it’d be nice to have a name for her) has actually convinced Rachel that she’ll take care of the dog properly. I don’t think we’ve seen Rachel trust other people’s skill in taking care of dogs before. Though to be fair, Rachel has had the chance to observe this girl taking care of her dogs for some time now.

I could see from the expression on the girl’s face that she believed Bitch.  Still, I saw her steel herself as she replied, “If I fuck up, I deserve it.”

She really does seem to have taken everything Taylor told them to heart.

Obedient but assertive. Backing off but not showing her fear.

There wasn’t much more I could do to help that conversation.  I had hope that this would set Bitch’s underlings in the right direction.

It seems to have worked with this one, at least.

“Only if they’re unhappy,” the girl protested.  She glanced down as Barker thumped on the ground with one fist, then looked up at Bitch and smiled a little, “And ours were happy.”

Ahh. That’s fair, if she’s right.

Bitch seemed to accept that.

“Do you have a dog now?” I asked.

She shook her head.  “I don’t have the money.  Or I didn’t have money, before Leviathan came.  Student loans and living expenses kind of ate up whatever I made.  I’m hoping to save up enough with the work I’m doing now.”

Well, at least Coil seems to pay well. And Rachel might appreciate the notion that the money earned from taking care of her dogs goes to taking care of another dog.

Assuming it’s about taking care of the dog rather than buying one. I don’t think Rachel appreciates people buying dogs when there are so many people giving puppies away and shelters housing dogs just waiting for adoption.

“You buying the dog?” Bitch asked.  She seemed interested, now, but there was still a tension, as if she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.  One wrong answer, and this could turn ugly.

Yeah, that did get her attention.

I could only hope the girl had the right answers.

“I kind of want another greyhound, because it’s what I grew up with… and you’ll get greyhounds from an animal rescue ninety percent of the time.  There’s one I’m pretty fond of that’s in one of your shelters, but he’s yours, of course.”

Bonding opportunity!

She’d taken my advice about respecting Bitch’s ownership.  Good.

Nice.

I saw an opportunity.  “Did you have a dog growing up?”

Huh? What’s the opportunity that lies down that road?

“Greyhounds.  Eclaire and Blitzen.”

French baked goods and German lightning. No theme naming allowed in this household, unless the theme is “different languages”.

“Blitzen?  Like the reindeer?”

“No.  Like German for lightning.  And Eclaire is French.”

I won’t deny that I too thought of the reindeer before the lightning it’s named after.

I could see Bitch was tense.  Something about this line of conversation?

You might be dragging up memories of her trigger event.

I guessed what it might be and continued the questioning.  “Why greyhounds?  Don’t they need a lot of exercise?”

I guess I’m wrong. Because if Taylor was wrong here, we’d most likely hear about what her guess was, and if we’re both right, continuing the questioning might be a bad idea.

She shook her head.  “No.  They’re running dogs, but they only need about a half-hour of walking a day.  They work really well living in an apartment, which we were.”

“They howl,” Bitch said.

Oh… yeah, that might not be ideal for an apartment building.

If the henchlady goes on to explain that they did something to prevent the dogs from howling, I don’t think Rachel will take kindly to that.

“I’m surprised there’s no objections about me attacking your partner,”  I told Biter.

“Your house, your rules, you said.”

Yeah, no, Biter isn’t the oaf Taylor initially thought he might be. He actually seems like a very reasonable and level-headed man.

“What do you do?  No demonstrations, please.”

Heh. Playing it safe this time.

I would guess that Biter’s bite is worse than his bark.

“I make parts of myself bigger.”  He pointed to his mouth, then to the fist with the spike-studded knuckle-duster.

Ooh, that’s pretty cool.

(Yet Barker is the one with eyes that look big for his face.)

“Open wide, swing with bigger hands.”

Nothing that would have been that great against the Nine.  I couldn’t blame Bitch for leaving them behind.

I suppose that’s fair. Kind of depends on the maximum sizes, though.

“Fair enough.”  I addressed the two unpowered individuals from Bitch’s group.  “And you two?  Why were you picked for her team?”

“I was just starting my first year as a vet before everything went to hell,” the girl said.  “Needed money to pay my boyfriend’s hospital bill, was offered more than enough.

“Woah, I didn’t ask for your whole backstory.”

He got better a week ago, then broke up with me.  Not even a thank you.

What a dick.

Guess I’m still here because I don’t have anywhere else to go, and I like taking care of the dogs.”

That is a very valid reason.

“That’s the sort of thing you have to watch out for,” I told him, as he fell to the ground, writhing and coughing, tears welling in his eyes.  I kept my voice level.  “You’re in my house, my territory, and you fuck with me?  That’s the sort of thing that would get you in your boss’s bad books if you did it to her.”

Ahh. Setting an example. Fair enough.

“He has,” the boy with the scars on his face spoke.

Barker only gagged in response.

Yeeah, you screwed up by doing that to Rachel. No wonder she doesn’t cut you slack.

“Guess that’s why he deserves shit duty,” I commented.  I leaned against the wall, folding my arms, my telescoped baton still in one hand.

Bitch had chosen that moment to return.  She stared at the scene.

Oh, wonderful.

Hey, at least she didn’t arrive just a moment earlier, when Taylor was right in the middle of attacking one of her minions. Right now still looks bad, though.

Me standing idly by as Barker was curled up on the floor, wheezing and making pathetic noises, a few stray bugs crawling across his face.

She looked at me, glaring.

I don’t think you quite thought this one through, Taylor.

“He started it, I finished it,” I told her.

She looked at Biter, who shrugged and nodded agreement with my statement.  Bitch seemed to accept that as answer enough.  She picked up his chair, moved it a few feet so it wouldn’t be in Barker’s way as he kicked and spasmed, and sat down.

Fair enough.

Though I still say Taylor started it. What Barker did was a harmless prank and in return she went into full “eat bugs, asshole” mode.

I sighed a little, watching as Barker looked to the others, then over at Charlotte, as if they’d be joining him in his amusement.  None did.

“Oh come on, guys! That was funny!”

Biter earned a brownie point in my book by staying quiet and simply watching.

I caught my baton from behind my back and swung it underhand, still folded up, into Barker’s chin.

Taylor, please. You asked. He demonstrated. He even had the courtesy to ask if you wanted a demonstration first.

His teeth clacked shut with percussive force, and I stepped closer to push at his upper body while hooking at the chair leg with my foot to pull it in my direction.  He toppled backwards, his head hitting the wall behind him.

Taylor, you’re being a spoilsport.

I suppose it’s not unreasonable that this could be part of his power. Making people agitated at his taunts.

Kind of unfortunate when you’re not a Brute.

I didn’t have a full measure of his ability, but I did know his mouth was his weapon.  It made me look weaker, but I stepped back so his legs and the chair seat gave me cover in the event that he decided to attack me.

If he does, it’s your own damn fault, unless his power does mess with your head.

“Adapt,” I told him.  “That’s all I can say.  If you’ve proven yourself reliable, showed that you’re willing to clean up after the dogs and take care of them without complaining, she’ll test you in other ways.  That’ll be your chance to prove you’re useful.”

He sneered, looking at the girl and the boy with the scars on his face.  “She’s cutting them more slack than she’s cutting Biter and me.  We shouldn’t have to prove anything.”

Maybe that’s why. Maybe she feels threatened by the fact that you have powers?

“What do you do?  Your powers.”

He looked up at me.  “You want to see?”

Yes please.

Gas dogs? Nightmare miasma (the nightmares’ bark is worse than their bite, but they bark pretty damn hard)? Maybe he has to shout (”bark”) to get the full effect of the smoke out of his throat, whatever it may be.