<div class="floatleft">(http://s6.postimg.org/6cbu83e4h/Young_Silky.png)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Silky Levres, Age 16 (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=250173.msg12373275#msg12373275)<br/><strong>City | Date | Time:</strong>St. Cloud, Minnesota | I-Hop | January 2014 | 11:30 p.m.<br/><strong>Tagging | Mentioning:</strong>Wyatt Colton Faulkner (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=250173.msg12370769#msg12370769)<br/><strong>Content:</strong>On the Run, Not so Fun<br/><hr/><br/>It was<em>stupid</em>cold outside. Almost as stupid as Silky felt for getting caught in it. Up till a few days ago, everything had been fine. About 2 months prior, she'd managed to hook up with an only slightly skeezy trucker who didn't have any qualms about taking advantage of a 16 year old Evolved runaway down in Arizona. It wasn't the best, but as her life went, it was one of the easier times she'd had in the past few years. She had food to eat, a place to sleep, and living on the road made it pretty easy to avoid catching the attention of Tac 6.<br/><br/>Yep, besides the lack of regular showering for her OR her low-rent sugardaddy, life was good. Of course, Mr. Trucker decided that their arrangement wasn't good enough for him. Three days ago, when they got to Minneapolis, Silky woke up handcuffed to the cot in the sleeper cab. Trucknuts was talking to someone on his cell in the front seat. She couldn't catch all of it, but it sounded like he was arranging a meeting with someone. He might have been setting up a gangbang with his friends, or maybe trying to sell her to some traffickers, or worst case, calling Tac 6. It didn't really matter. If it wasn't something bad, he wouldn't have tried to lock her up.<br/><br/>Of course, you don't live on the streets for two years without knowing how to get out of handcuffs. Silky was out in just a few seconds. Silky pulled up her tank top and spit a high voltage stun gun into her hand, just in time for dickless to finish his call. He, in turn, opened the door to the sleeper cab and stuck his head in just in time to get 35 million volts right to the neck. He lurched upwards, banging his head against the top of the little doorway, but Silky held the zapper right against his jugular, her face completely impassive.<br/><br/>She gave him several seconds of juice, enough that he might be dead. He definitely had a nasty burn on his neck when she finally let him flop to the floor. It didn't really matter though. If he hadn't been talking to Tac 6 before, he would definitely call them now. That needed to not happen.<br/><br/>Silky started collecting her few posessions. She also started looting the truck, and handcuffed BBQ's hands around a crossbar on the cot. It was a little crowded with all three of her at once, but it saved time. Silky carried a lot of her stuff 'inside' but she couldn't really get to that without being obvious, so she had a small bag as well. Plus there were some things she didn't want to get drool on...<br/><br/>It was only a few minutes before Silky hopped out of the truck, now dressed in a couple of heavy sweaters. It took even less time for her to put a homemade incendiary on top of the gas tank and light it up. It wasn't complicated. Literally a large tuna can filled with thermite, with a bundle of 4th of july sparklers sticking out the side as a fuse. She'd learned how to make them from a weird prepper guy she spent some time with near Waco. Turned out to be a serial killer. But what can you do right?<br/><br/>Mr. Bad Choices had parked a good way outside the city, on a side road concealed by some trees. So no one saw when Silky jogged off into the woods, or when the thermite melted through the steel of the gas tank and spilled burning diesel all over the road. By the time anyone even noticed the truck, it would already be a raging inferno.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>From there, Silky had headed north-west, trying to stay off the roads and away from people as much as possible. January in Minnesota was not the time to be hiking through the woods. It was friggin freezing. Lucky for her, Silky was pretty tough, and not just because of her time in the school of hard knocks. Even so, by the time she got to Monticello, she was shivering pretty badly. She ended up spending most of the cash she'd lifted from the truck for a crappy hotel room on the south end of town. The shower didn't work, but the guy at the front desk barely even looked at her when she checked in, so that was a win over all. The rest of the money bought a bus ticket to Fargo.<br/><br/>Of course, she didn't<em>go</em>to Fargo. Silky had bailed at the St Joseph station, then hiked into St Cloud. If Crispy-fried<em>had</em>called Tac 6 to try and turn her in, they would definitely be after her. She had to hope that they didn't have a good description of her, and that if they did, she could lose them while they tried to find her in Fargo.<br/><br/>It was a long ass walk into St Cloud, and Silky was not in good shape. She was filthy, she was exhausted, she hadn't eaten anything besides a candy bar for the past 36 hours, and it was shaping up to be a<em>really</em>cold night. At the rate it was going, she was gonna freeze to death if she tried to sleep on the street, but she only had a few dollars and change left. Not nearly enough for a hotel room, and shelters were too risky.<br/><br/>Silky trudged down the street considering her options, when a sign with the answer loomed on the horizon. A 24 hour I-hop. She didn't have enough money for a room, but she<em>did</em>have enough for a few cups of coffee. And this one looked pretty run down, which meant that the manager was either a total ass who would throw her out after a few hours, or wouldn't give a fuck about a homeless girl taking up a booth. It was pretty good odds really. Silky picked up the pace, wincing as her tired legs protested the effort.<br/><br/>The last trudge down the street was only a few hundred yards, but it seemed like miles. Silky gritted her teeth and powered through it. She stopped outside the restaurant and tried to wipe some of the dirt off of her face and hands. The less she looked like a homeless vagrant the better. There wasn't really much she could do about it though. She was a wreck.<br/><br/><em>"They're probably just gonna throw me out."</em>She thought to herself sadly.<em>"No help for it. Maybe if they do, I'll burn the place down or something. Don't have much to lose at this point."</em>Fiery revenge fantasies cheered her up a bit, and Silky pushed through the doors and into the warm, pancakey air of the International House of Pancakes.<br/><br/>It was so nice being out of the cold that Silky didn't notice the kinda dorky looking guy approach her until he spoke up.<br/><br/>"Oh, uhh... Booth. Yea, booth."  Her revenge fantasies and discomfort had lent her a rather frightful mien, but it fell away to reveal her fatigue and uncertainty as soon as the man spoke.<br/><br/>Silky was quiet as he led her over to a booth, then sat down with an audible sigh of relief. "Can I get coffee with lots of creme and sugar?" She asked as she not-so-subtly placed her three dollars on the table. It was important to establish that she actually did have money. Her stomach growled loudly. "Uhh... Do you guys have any like..." Silky trailed off, blushing. Asking would give her away, but she was sure they could see through her weak facade, and she was<em>really</em>hungry. She cleared her throat. "Do you have like, any soup crackers or anything I could maybe get?" She looked away, worrying her lip and immediately regretting asking.