high inside the church of the neon lights

Footsteps in the darkness. Hazel could hear them, somewhere behind her. Fresh fallen snow and the breeze rustling through the barren trees don't provide much cover. High alert, the highest. Hackles up, a thick ridge down her back, shoulders hunched forward. There's something out here, and the alcohol that's begun to take hold of her system is enough to skew her judgement. Long shadows and a stark moon, it's a living horror film.

The unseen entity coming closer through the trees, Hazel's head snapping around as she finally sights down the creature. Those hackles do not lay flat, a growl echoing from her chest. She'd been followed out into the darkness, out into the snow. Every bit of her is menacing-- there are ghosts in the Col. She can see them, feel them, hear them. Hazel takes another long drink from her bottle.

Smelling heavily of Halo's strongest honey liquor, and Hazel stares her pursuer coldly in the face. "Excellent, I'm being stalked by a fucking meteorologist." The words drip venom, though she doesn't move. No threat, just the slave whelp that had moved in while she was up to her asshole in work. As for the girl's question? Hazel offers no response, just a long stare and a frightfully full drink from the bottle clutched in her paws.

Hazel, The General