If thereâs one thing Daisie always wants to avoid, its: going home. This means that whenever an opportunity rears its ugly head, Daisie grabs it by the neck and swallows it hole regardless of the consequences. She is act now, think later. She is bad news in black leather. She is the moon at night and she has come out to play.  But as with any game, there are always rules. Daisie likes to think of rules as nothing more than guidelines, suggestions, things that maybe you should do, but donât necessarily have to, not unless theyâre rules sheâs created herself. She wonât play by other peoples rules, no, but theyâll be damned if they donât play by hers.
  The moon hangs low in the sky tonight, its silvery phosphorescence illuminating Daisie, giving her an almost ethereal air. The coolness of her skin warms the moment she clicks open a zippo with the flick of her wrist. The warm tones of the fire bring a rosy tint to her cheeks. It makes her look alive. Dying a little makes her feel alive. âand let me guessâŚâ she pauses, her eyes trailing down to his name tag as she pushes the butt of the cigarette betwixt plush lips. âJitaeââ she allows herself a moment to light the end of the cigarette before blowing a puff of smoke towards him. She pockets the lighter and peels herself away from the wall, head tilting to the side in a feline-line curiosity. âwhen youâre done, youâve gotta be the first to run?â her tone is playful yet drips with taunts and mockery, despite feeling nice tonight, she still wants to make it clear. âLook, if there are going to be any rules at all, Iâll be the one making them, okay?â
  Daisie takes another drag of her cigarette, exhaling smoke as she steps around mister moon and closer towards the door she had stepped out of. âNow, are you going to come and feed mister tiddles or do I have to tell on you?â she asks, leaning against the âfireâ exit that lead back inside the animal clinic.
