The last cigarette was always a morbid proposition for Michelle.<br/><br/>Cigarettes were the perfect little 'fuck you' to the wolf, a nice little cattle prod to keep it back under it's sheep's clothing. They were wasteful, smelled bad, tasted worse, killed you slowly... they very antithesis of survival. She was probably doing this whole 'wolf' thing wrong, but better to be bad at something like that then to be good at something much, much worse. As she contemplate the burning edge of the Marlboro and watched the paper crinkle into little orange strips, she let out a sigh and took a final, monumental drag before letting it out past the piercing in her nose.<br/><br/>She wondered who she'd have to play nice with to get a carton of cigarettes added to the next store run.<br/><br/>Resisting the urge to fire-and-forget, she crushed the embers out of it on the palm of her hand (it stung, but she kind of liked that) and jammed the butt into a little metal canister she'd picked up entirely based on the fact that it blocked the scent. She didn't like it better than any of the others, but she couldn't quite bring herself to give it up, so she put up with it and just used it to keep herself on the bottom.<br/><br/>First thing she'd learned: Less people get hurt when Michelle keeps her nose down.<br/><br/>She was a ways from camp to keep her habits to herself, but it was never hard for her to pick up on campfire or the smell of blood and meat. Padding her way back through the snow and the forest wouldn't take that long, and in a few minutes she was skulking out of the forest and twitching the corners of her mouth up in a smile, the metal in her lips quirking a little. She looked rough, but then she always looked rough. Best she could do was try and play nice.<br/><br/>"Hell of a kill." She offered by way of introduction, making her way over to the fire and stirring it a little bit--it could use a little love, and if there was a woodland survival skill she actually knew it was how to make a fire dance. Kneeling by the edge of the ring, she looked up to the skinner and tried to look friendly. "Yours?"