#perfectdcll

“You sound jus’ like my brother.”

“Where is your mother, little one?” Mercy’s voice was soft and sweet as she bent down - a far cry from the black lipstick and cascade of reddened hair, the heavy makeup and black trench coat - but there was a small smile on darkened lips. An attempt to not seem so SCARY. 

"Hello there, Esther , I'm Bojack... Horseman.... " What was he even doing here? He knew nothing about children, especialy taking care of children. But in his old age he had no friends, no girlfriend, and the idea of dying alone terrified him. And maybe he could help this girl and someone make up for what happened to sarah lynn. " Those are some very nice drawings you have there , did you paint them yourself?"

"I sure would!" Butter chripped happy at the idea someone wanted to play with him . Even if it was a stinky girl. "What did you have in mind?"

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“We could work together, you know.”

Mary’s feet dangled inches off the bed; she tugged at the cuffs of her starched orphanage uniform with small, impatient fingers. They were alone upstairs. Through the frosted-over windowpane came the sounds of children playing, a chastising adult’s voice.

She had been at St Augustine’s for two weeks now, fleeing Gotham for Bludhaven with a bounty on her head, finding sanctuary from one city’s most wanted among another’s least. But the high-pitched tones scratched at her throat, and once or twice it had taken all she had to not lash out viciously at a nun who dared catch her by the arm as she passed, ask Mary what-do-you-think-you’re-doing as if she couldn’t do what she damn well pleased.

Now, she fixed her gaze on the girl – woman – opposite.  

Kida turns around, she herself feeling lost in the crowd of unfamiliar and not very friendly faces. The sight of a little girl not much younger than her own adopted daughter, however, puts her at ease. At least just enough to put on a brave face.