As they walked, Fletcher finally allowed himself a smoke. He'd thought it would help a bit, but it did nothing to ease the tension. They were on the run, the both of them. It was only a matter of time before their names and faces were plastered on every corner of this city. And now he'd have to set up somewhere else and start from scratch. He wouldn't have enough coin to feed himself for a long while, let alone that mangy mutt. He was still deep in thought and strategizing his next move when they approached an outpost. "Wait. In here? Are you daft?" he began, but she'd already barged in through the door and started arguing with a very large, very broad man. With one final glance over his shoulder, he tossed his cigarette to the street and followed her in.
"Ah, lass, brought me some more, aye?"
Some more? Fletcher mouthed to Olwyn behind the big man's back. Did she seriously make a habit out of jailbreaking strange men and bringing them here? He looked their apparent co-conspirator up and down. This poor sod, he thought. Then the woman started arguing about bringing the damned dog inside, and he scoffed.
"No, no, no," he butted in. "You want fleas in here? She stays outside. Go on. Get."
Predictably, Aya didn't go on or get. In fact, she sat pointedly at Olwyn's side, leaned into the woman, and wagged her fluffy tail with a little thump thump thump on the floor. Fletcher groaned and scratched at his head. "You fucking serious?" he muttered. He shot an exasperated look at Big Man as if to say, can you believe this shit? "Fine. I'm too tired to argue. But she's your problem now," he warned Olwyn. "Clearly not my bloody dog. And, er...no, thanks," he added to Big Man. "Appreciated, but I'm not much of a drinker these days. Erm...thanks for having me, though. And...sorry for the smell. You wouldn't happen to know where I could wash up and clean these clothes, would you?"
