Alejandra woke with a groan upon hearing the too-cheery alarm blare from her phone on big upside down box she used as a makeshift nightstand. Her bed was two mattresses stacked on top of each other covered by an assemblage of clashing blankets and a series of pillows ranging from soft to firm. Initially the hideout wasn't meant for people to live in it permanently, but then again, no one had really expected Al to show up with a criminal record. Trespassing. Vandalizing public property. Assaulting an officer. Al wasn't entirely sure whether or not there was a fourth one, that depended on whether or not that one cop managed to get back up after she knocked him down in the escape. Either way, it made her move to the base of the Resistance permanent. Giving a wide yawn, Al sluggishly turned off the alarm and sat up in her little bed and looked down at Dante, her faithful Xolo dog. He lifted his head and yawned, as if she had spread it to him like a virus. Al gave a tired smile and scratched him behind the ear, Dante leaned into her touch.<br/><br/>"Morning, little buddy," she muttered, voice still thick with sleep and her deep brown hair a bedraggled mess.<br/><br/>From there, Al went about navigating the note-strewn floor of her room to the suitcase that now doubled as a trunk for her clothes since there really wasn't any normal furniture in the place. On her way to the bathroom attached to her little bunker, she shoved her hand between the mattresses and reached in to hear the crinkling of plastic wrappings and bags. When she brought it back out, she was clutching a handful of sour gummy worms. She shrugged, and began nibbling on them as she tucked her clothes beneath her arm. She had had worse breakfasts. There had been days where she had worked all through the night and completely forgot to eat at all. One quick shower and braiding of damp hair later, Al was at her Keurig stationed on the floor, making herself a pot of coffee with a dash of chocolate creamer and cinnamon.<br/><br/>A whine from Dante brought her attention to his empty food bowl in the corner of the room. She set down her coffee and filled his bowl from the dog food bag sitting next to it. She had heard a few jokes that it was a wonder Dante had never gotten into the bag. Al didn't wonder. He was a good dog. He knew better. She petted him for a bit while he ate, sipping on her coffee. When he had finished, he stared up at her expectantly.<br/><br/>"Alright, we'll go for a walk," she said, rising to her slippered feet and allowing him to follow her out the room once she had grabbed her notes from yesterday's test subject.<br/><br/>And so, the Butcher dressed in a t-shirt, capris, and bunny slippers walked through the halls of Resistance headquarters with a hairless black dog at her heels, mug in one hand and gummy worms in the other with a thick tome of notes tucked beneath her arm.