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Posted: Sun Feb 05, 2017 9:22 am
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When she was in mink form, Preacher felt safer, somehow. She wasn't short, wasn't too temperamental, too uneducated. She was just an animal. Still, she shifted back, catching her breath in great gulps that sounded almost like sobs. But her eyes were dry, even though her knuckles were busted up. Preacher spat on them and tried to rub some of the blood off onto her jeans. She didn't think she'd broken anything, but it would be a bruised mess tomorrow.
She'd left Oliver far enough behind and pushed the guilt from that and her other feelings down. That had been a display of weakness: unacceptable. Preacher ran her fingers through her tangled hair, wincing. She walked down one of the many streets in this place, lifting a hand to wave at some of the weird mannequins that littered the town.
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Posted: Wed Feb 08, 2017 5:28 am
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Dammit. The little thing must be skittish. Cats usually were, she thought, turning and fishing around in her pockets. Preacher didn't really have anything on her to entice anyone, much less a cat. She did, however, have some string cheese. Frowning, she walked in the direction of the meow. Maybe this cat was, like, super fast.
"Kitty," she called out. "I won't hurt you~ cat cat cat."Look, Preacher just could really use petting a cat right now. Everyone knew they were the superior animals.
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