#haaaaaha

The chariot glowed with a low dark blue flame. The Hellhounds racing off down the street. Mak swore her heartbeat matched the pounding of their paws against the pavement. The moonlight gave no cover for their escape. Dea didn’t move from her spot. Her eyes trained on that gate. On that door. On that damned place. Nothing seemed right. The hairs on her neck stood tall. Her veins, ice cold. Everything seemed to be-.

The Chariot jumped into the air.

Dea gasped.

Mak pulled a Chariot to a stop to look.

Shit.

They, she, just ran over a being.

This night could not get worse.

Mak put the reigns down. Dea held onto a pillow.

“Is this safe?”

Mak shrugged. Who knew if it was safe to go and check on a body of a person that she just ran over. If they were dead, she would know. If they weren’t, they could be unconscious or pissed.

She tapped the ground with her foot, her trusty bident formed once more.

Just in case.

As a brave and courageous detective, she did the best thing possible: she poked the run over body with the pointy end of her bident.

The body groaned.

Mak screamed.

Dea threw the pillow in her general direction.

None of these things helped their current predicament of the body on the road.

“Okay think.”

“-inking is-’t y-r bi-est st-th -ncess.”

Mak screamed. Again.

Dea came with a pillow in hand. Maybe she thought they could smother the person.

Or maybe she wanted to smother Mak’s screams.

“It talked.”

“It,” It spoke while trying to sit up, “has a name.”

Both girls looked at each other than to the person then back to each other.

“Um?”

It, well he, stood. Dea looked over him for minor cuts and bruises while Mak contemplated moving home, forever.