<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><strong>Name:</strong>  Cheshire<br/><strong>Location: </strong> Side Street<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>  Mock<br/><br/>Go he says.  Git.  And it hurt too, but she'd not been allowed to go just then had she, oh no.  No, he'd gotten the Hare's acceptance before she'd been allowed to leave so there had to be egg shells.  When it already hurt to move.  Piece by piece, upright, not broken anymore than they already were.  There were consequences to breaking things.  And she'd been careful, oh so careful not to break anymore than what was already done. Meticulous, even, as cum dried against her thighs and blood dried on her arms.  Her neck hurt.  Her neck <em>really</em> hurt.  Hatter's hands had left vicious marks.  She'd been in a corner.  And then on a wall. And then...then in the streets.<br/><br/>"Should have slept with the dogs."<br/><br/>The cat's skirt barely covered her ass, her panties were still on the floor of the Hovel and her shirt had gotten tangled in the barbwire that lined the top of the wall.  But that was okay, because her belt was a rather fashionable pair of suspenders.  The god forsaken man was trying to get her killed, he was.  It was nearly dark thirty.  There were <em>rules</em> against this sort of thing.  Very firm rules, very harsh.  Painful.  So she had to find the mouse, perhaps, because the mouse could...<br/><br/>Well the mouse couldn't do anything but it was better found whole rather than in pieces.  But where did mice hide?  Curious, very curious and then the sound of shuffling caught the slut's attention as she prowled down the shadowed edge of the street, skirting wild hands and salacious looks.  Skirting puddles.  Something shiny sounded near as shiny things often door when they clink softly in the sing-song of a sirens tattle.  Perhaps if she took him back something shiny instead?<br/><br/>On cat feet the cheshire padded down the alley as the great clock started its toll and yet, for every strike the creature froze, immobile, afraid to move, afraid to breath.  The only steps allowed were those that were taken in the silence between the beats.  The shadows were getting thicker too, they were getting friendly, rubbing in places they weren't meant to rub and filling, always filling up everything until there didn't seem to be any room at all.  It would not do to be on the end of one of those bobby-sticks. No.  No it would not.  Not again.  She'd been broken for three days the last time.<br/><br/>It was....<em>Good evening, lovely?</em><br/><br/>Really?  It was dark, quite dark by the moment and the shadows were being somewhat unkind to her figure and the blood that stained her hands and the slender curves of her forearms wasn't that fashionable, she thought.  But...someone found her lovely?  And the one?  Of course it was talking to her.  There wasn't anyone else around to talk too unless one counted the shadows and behind her the heavy steps of a copper crunch crunched as if he walked on nails.  He did.  But they were aimed down, down down down, so when they tread upon soft flesh it squeaked and sang and bleed.<br/><br/>"You're really very sweet," the cat begins, because the antenna on his head is waving rather vigorously in her direction, but the "HEY YOU!" that comes from behind her isn't all that encouraging for her to draw out the conversation.  "So let's just..."<br/><br/>The sharp tinktinktink of those nailed boots coming at jog behind her put the girl in motion, so that she comes barreling towards the Turtle at a dead run from behind, all but tripping over his kneeling form, screaming at the top of her already hoarse lungs as she dove through the open door, <br/><br/>"Shut the door, shut the door!  He's got the stick!"</span>