The Hounds

Chapter 2-

Seven months have passed since the murder of Master Herl. Seven months since I faced trial for his murder. I was not charged as guilty, but finding a job became impossible. A Mutt alone is bad enough, but a Mutt suspected of murder? Despicable.

I figured that since people already consider me to be a criminal, I may as well become one. If acquiring money through work is not an option, thieving is all I can do.

"Heather, you aren't going out again, are you?" Alex, who has finally returned a week ago, asks. I've been going out almost nightly for alcohol and money, but he greatly disapproves. He thinks that, "If those Pures think you're a criminal, it doesn't mean you have to prove them right." But I'm not doing this to prove anybody right or wrong. I am doing what I must to get by.

"So what if I am? What are you going to do? Stop me?" I am mocking him of course. His hate for the Pures may be strong, but he himself is a scrawny little runt. My scrawny runt, whom I am doing this for in the first place.

"This won't end well..." he warns as I exit the house. I scoff. Nothing ends well for a Mutt. 

"Hey, Mark, I'll have a water," I announce to the barman when I get to the table. I only ever get water. The booze costs money and dulls the senses. And I need to save both. 

"Sure thing," Mark snarks, pulling up a glass. I am very well aware that the employees here hate me. I don't pay, since the water is free. I don't leave tips, since I don't have the coin to spare. And I there are also the rumors. The rumors that I'm not truly innocent in the murder. That I had spent all of my coin on bribing the judge and jury. It's all a bunch of nonsense of course, but that doesn't mean the people like me any better for it. 

After getting my drink, I scan the room for my next victim. Or, how I like to call them, donor.

My eye settles on an older woman obviously trying to masquerade as a Pure human, with little to no avail. Her ear points were obviously lopped off and her cheap bangles are only there to half-heartedly hide the "M" brand on her inner wrist. All Mutts have the brand, and it is illegal to cover it intentionally, which is why many stick to bracelets to distract from it. 

"Hello Ma'am, is this seat taken?" I inquire, using the most polite intonation I can muster. The older ones are a wild card. They can be immensely wary or very easy, depending on who you get. Thankfully,  the woman starts babbling before I can even make contact with the chair.

"Of course, sweetheart! Now, look at you, so proper! Drinking water, like a responsible young lady. So much youth nowadays..." she keeps talking. And talking. And talking. Why do people talk so much? How can they even think of so many things to say? 

It's all well though, because as long as the woman is talking she's distracted. I politely nod along and feel around the floor with the end of my foot. I strike gold pretty soon. The lady's purse has a nice, comfortable handle, which I hook with my foot (all the while nodding along politely to whatever she's rambling about) and pull the bag closer to me. 

I do this slowly, because if I do it too fast I run the risk of something inside making a sound and alerting the woman. Slowly, slowly I creep the bag directly beside my leg and pretend to itch my foot, instead reaching my hand inside. All the while, I am still nodding.

I grab a bag filled with what seems to be cold, metal disks. I pretend to sneeze and look down in my lap to check what I've got. Eureka, a whole bag of coin. I slip half of the coin into my own bag slowly. Always slowly. When I'm done I "itch my leg" again and put the rest of the bag back. 

I then slowly push the bag back, until it's where it started. 

"And then, do you know what he told me? He said-" I cut the woman off, feeling only half bad about it.

"That's really so fascinating! You know, listening to the older generations is always amazing for me, you all lead so much more interesting lives back then!" I must converse, not saying anything and leaving may be strange, which is out of the question.

"Oh, darling, that is so sweet! You know, sweethearts like you really give me hope..." the woman trails off, looking sad, but quickly perks up again, "for the future of our country."

It really isn't all that much surprise that the woman looked so sad, she must've realized that as Mutts, we couldn't do anything for the future of our country. 

We continue our oh-so-very-fascinating conversation, until something, or rather someone catches my eye. Dark, short hair. Cinnamon eyes. A wicked, somewhat manic glint in her eyes. 

Nan is back in town. And with her current track record, she is probably up to no good.