KotLC if Sophie was a Delinquent Badass

Weirdo Sleeps While I Cuss Out A Jogger

That night, I had the most fucked up dream. Keebler elves were holding me hostage until I perfected all their cookie recipes. When I told them their cookies are ass and oreos are better and they tried to fucking drown me in a giant vat of fudge. Basically, I went to bed at five and I woke up in a cold sweat at six, then decided sleep was overrated. I look like a zombie to say the least, but I can make it work.

After scrolling through Twitter until it was late enough for me to scrape up the motivation to stand, I took a shower but on some black jeans and a chainmail belt. Since Weirdo said he was coming back today, I pulled on my thick, grey, slightly oversized hoodie so I won't freeze half to death if he pulls a stunt like that again.

I decide to wear one earring 'cause why the fuck not. The designer I meet at a place-that-shall-not-be-named would be proud. I even brushed my hair. I pulled on my black sneakers and jumped out the window. It wasn't that high, don't freak.

I'll be honest, I wanna look good for the elves. I'm not gonna waltz in someone's place looking like I just rolled out of bed, might as well look like a bad bitch. Plus, if I'm right, elves are hella attractive so I'm not gonna stand out like that. I think I look cool. Swag if you will.

I crept around to the front yard, blinking ash out of my eyes. If I go blind I blame the arsonist. The smoke was so think it stuck to my skin, Seriously, when are they going to get these fires contained?

"Looking for someone? " Our next-door neighbor asked from his perch in the middle of his lawn. Mr. Forkle could always be found there, rearranging hundreds of garden gnomes into elaborate tableaux. He's an oddball.

"You just scared the shit out of me." I deadpanned. Mr. Forkie doesn't care that I curse, he's cool like that. "And no, I was checking to see if the smoke's any better. I guess not." I'm a smooooth criminaaallll.

His beady blue eyes bore into mine, and I could tell from his thoughts that he didn’t believe me.  Tough get any trust around here. “You kids,” he grumbled. “Always up to something.”

Forkie loved starting sentences with 'you kids'; it's like his catchphrase. He was old, wrinkly and smelled like feet but he's the one who called 911 when I was knocked out seven years ago so I'm obligated to be nice to him. I don't mind, though.

He moved a gnome a fraction of an inch to the left. “You should get back inside before the smoke gives you another one of those headaches you’re always-”

He was interrupted by someone's dog yapping loudly in the street. See this is why cats are better, I don't take criticism. The dog was like a ball of fur with legs, yet it was panicking and making a lot of noise as a blondie in spandex jogging shorts chased it.

"Would you mind grabbing her?" he called out to me as she raced across the lawn. I figured it couldn't hurt so I clumsily stepped down on the leash. Balance is still not my best friend. What did I ever do to it?

I kneeled, stroking the wild-eyed, panting creature to calm her down. I'm not a monster.

"Thank you so much,” the guy said as he ran up the path. As soon as he drew close, the dog growled and strained against the leash, barking like mad.

"She’s my sister’s dog," he shouted over the noise. "She hates me. Not my sister—the dog," he added. He held out his hand, displaying several half-moon bite wounds, fresh and still bleeding. One was so deep it would definitely leave a scar.

I picked up the dog and hug it to me. Cats may be better but anything fluffy is automatically my favourite thing. "What, do you hit her?" I narrowed my eyes. This gut was suspicious.

"No, no, I would never!" he looked insulted. Glancing down the street he asked, "Say, do you mind taking her to the house for me? It's only a few blocks away, and she seems to like you more than me. " He winked, what a creep. I don't blame the dog.