CANINE | the avengers

9 • Shoulders

Whenever you think you're alright.

Whenever you think you're happy.

Whenever you think you're safe.

You know you're not.

This is why Parker is always serious. She keeps to herself so she has no distractions. She ensures the liability of her location. She never trusts anyone. Now? She regrets dropping her guard.

She sees a man. He's tall, has dark disgruntled eyes that could frighten any living being away; his dark hair has messily grown out, in need of a cut.

Parker's muscles tense unwillingly, the fur on the back of her neck stands on end and her ears are stiff as stone. She sniffs the scent, the air flowing a sense of familiarity to her nose - albeit, it wasn't a comfortable one. The man's eyes stared at her, a small similarity between the analytical look in their eyes. Her heart rate increases and her senses are profound, she senses something - a warning perhaps, from her inner self. The large scar on her eye tingles with remembrance.

But wait - it cannot be.

A small smile appears on the man's face, yet it is... sadistic. Parker's eyes throw subtle daggers at the man, heeding a warning to stay away. But he won't.

Shit.

Parker knows this man - knows what he is capable of, knows what he is here for, who he works for.

Deamhan.

His name makes Parker's spine sting and her skin crawl. Goosebumps form under her pitch black fur. She remembers the pain. The treatments - the punishments. Brutal ways of upbringing. The small, rusting ca... the cages. An apprehensive feeling hit Parker in the chest so hard that she had to let out a quiet grunt.

Deamhan MacTíre.

Parker's walk was now one of fury. She couldn't think of anything but that man - her cousin. He was the one to cause all her pain. He was the one that scarred her, physically and mentally. He was the one that caused the problems she has now. To say she hated him was a compliment to the man - she abominated him, abhorred him. The man was on the top of her 'to kill' list.

The name itself means 'Demon' in Gaelic. Oh, and a demon he is.

Parker snapped out of her thoughts, and eye contact with Deamhan was lost. Steve had nudged her with his knee. "Are you okay, Parker?" he asked, crouching to her level. She swallowed the hate in her throat, burying the feeling once more, but stayed looking at the man as her claws scraped the grey path underneath her.

"No," she said to Steve, "I'm not okay."

Deamhan's smile now turned to thin lips. He turned and walked away; just like that. He was there because he knew Parker hated him, and seeing him in the flesh would muddle her mind up even more than before. Not only this, but it is his tradition: 'Má fheiceann tú an deamhan, feicfidh tú an diabhal chomh luath.' - It is Irish for 'If you see the demon, you will soon see the devil too.' It is a warning. It means that you will be taken, killed, tortured even.

Steve's face held a frown as he watched Parker's breath escalate. Her heart rate was up and she could hear the run of her blood in her ears. If it is possible for a dog to hyperventilate, she was bloody close to it. She remembered though, she remembered how to calm herself down. She took a breath and let it out, a snarl appearing at the end of her exhale.

"We better get back." Parker said, not making eye contact with Steve. She started walking to the gate of the park as Steve stood up straight. He caught up with her quick, tense trot and whispered to her.

"Who was that?"

"I can't tell you now." Parker replied quickly, her Irish accent making it near impossible for Steve to comprehend her rushed whisper.

By the way Parker behaved, Steve knew to stay quiet. She wasn't going to tell him even if he begged. He tried not to judge her for the person she was labeled as - assassin, a murderer for hire, but by the way she was walking, he knew that her killing instincts were at their peak. She wanted to kill, right there, right then. Steve looked behind him, the man Parker was looking at had gone out of sight. Steve's pace quickened.

Parker was under attack.