A hush falls over the clearing save for the incessant whimpering coming from the six-eye bleeding all over the snow. You didn’t stick him that hard…

You allow yourself an inward grin. But they don’t need to know that.

Weapon in hand, you take the scenic route over to one of the trees behind you–making certain to take slow, methodical strides and exposing your back to your would-be ambushers to see if any are dumb enough to take the bait.

Save for their friend on the ground, they aren’t. No, wait… as your back makes contact with the spiny bark, you notice more than one pair of eyes flit away from Mr. Periwinkle. You were right: they bark when he barks.

Doesn’t matter, though–from where you’re leaning you could blast them all with one shell if they rush you.

Two, tops. Very sloppy.

Glancing down at your handiwork moaning in the snow, you turn your steely gaze onto the ambushers. Gee, you remark in a lackadaisical tone, is he going to be okay?

“The HELLS do you care, bitch!?” Snarls the short one! Short fuse on him. “Think you can just stab whoever ya’ like!? DO YA!?”

No, you methodically reply, where you come from you just let people rush you and take all of your stuff. A beat. You just thought you’d try something new with them, is all. The pipsqueak doesn’t appreciate your Earthling humor.

“Uppity-”

“Look,” Interjects the leader, taking a few cautious steps forward as if you didn’t notice, “Let’s call this what it is, okay? A-”

Forbearance, you interject as your shotgun’s stock gets comfortable in your shoulder pocket.

“A mistake,” He corrects, frowning at your remark. “We thought you were someone else, is all… and you aren’t, so-”

Well that perks you right up. Who did they think you were, you ask as you cock your head to the side.

“Can’t tell ya.”

Actually… your gloved fingers drum against the gun loud enough to make a few taps. He can.

You’ll give this guy one thing: he’s smart enough to know when he doesn’t hold all the cards. “Okay, okay,” he sighs, making a show of running his hand over his face, “We were looking for a girl, alright? And you ain’t her, so-”

Eyes all over the place… so are his neck movements. Much different from how composed he was before. You indulge in a sigh yourself.

Liar, liar, pants on fire. Making a show of crossing one leg across the other, you meet his lying eyes with a fresh glare.

They know you’re not from here, don’t they?

The goons exchange a wary glance. That’s a yes.

Then they know just how inconvenient it is for you to have witnesses walking around.

Glance #2. The communication on these guys…

>CONTD.