Damien
and every demon wants his pound of flesh
but i like to keep some things to myself
but i like to keep some things to myself
This wasn’t his usual kind of job. But he owed a favor or two to the man who’d begged him to make the delivery today, and now Damien knew why the urgency. The moment the pups had slipped free of their leashes, he’d realized the truth: someone had been desperate to be rid of these little hellions.
One was a rich, coppery red with floppy ears, the other gray and white with sharp, wolfish features. Neither seemed to care about the scowl chasing them down the street. Snow sprayed in their wake as they rounded a corner like a miniature stampede, and Damien followed with a sinking heart, boots thudding over packed snow.
A woman’s voice cut through the cold air — “Hey!” — just as the pups collided with her legs. The sight of her nearly stopped him in his tracks: turquoise jacket, rainbow tie-dye leggings, a burst of color so out of place in Halo it was almost an assault on the senses.
The gray pup immediately rolled onto its back in what might have been an apology, tail thumping the snow, while the red one launched an assault on her shoelace. Damien reached them seconds later, looking as though he’d been wrangling trouble all morning; hair mussed from the wind, gloves dusted with snow, coat disheveled, eyes holding the wary edge of a man who had already lost this battle twice today.
“Sorry,” he said quickly, voice low and rough if a little flustered. His gloved hand snagged the red one’s leather collar, but the pup planted its rear in the snow and dug in, issuing a sharp whine of protest. The other ducked behind the woman’s legs and barked indignantly, as if warning him off.
“They’re just big puppies,” Damien added, straightening enough to meet her eye. “Haven’t learned any manners yet.” A beat, and he regarded her again with a more attentive look. “Are you alright?”
One was a rich, coppery red with floppy ears, the other gray and white with sharp, wolfish features. Neither seemed to care about the scowl chasing them down the street. Snow sprayed in their wake as they rounded a corner like a miniature stampede, and Damien followed with a sinking heart, boots thudding over packed snow.
A woman’s voice cut through the cold air — “Hey!” — just as the pups collided with her legs. The sight of her nearly stopped him in his tracks: turquoise jacket, rainbow tie-dye leggings, a burst of color so out of place in Halo it was almost an assault on the senses.
The gray pup immediately rolled onto its back in what might have been an apology, tail thumping the snow, while the red one launched an assault on her shoelace. Damien reached them seconds later, looking as though he’d been wrangling trouble all morning; hair mussed from the wind, gloves dusted with snow, coat disheveled, eyes holding the wary edge of a man who had already lost this battle twice today.
“Sorry,” he said quickly, voice low and rough if a little flustered. His gloved hand snagged the red one’s leather collar, but the pup planted its rear in the snow and dug in, issuing a sharp whine of protest. The other ducked behind the woman’s legs and barked indignantly, as if warning him off.
“They’re just big puppies,” Damien added, straightening enough to meet her eye. “Haven’t learned any manners yet.” A beat, and he regarded her again with a more attentive look. “Are you alright?”
