There comes a point in your life where you have to grow up. You can't hold onto the fantasies to keep you stable and need to see reality. To look up from the pages, or the screen of the alternate universes and accept that life is not there. You don'...
"It would probably also help if you stopped chewing the walls."
"It's for architectural reasons Chief."
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Azazel remained seated. Calm and still on the front Porch of Charlie Swans home. It was how you say...
Fucking awkward.
She could sense the Chief hovering by his own front door and obviously debating whether or not he should address her. Finally as he came to a decision Swan stepped out, his smile bright under his mustache... a smile that dimmed when he noticed the girl didn't even turn his way.
He cleared his throat and stepped further out onto the porch.
She didn't want to talk to him.
Instead she focused on the white snow falling all around them... and on the cold she couldn't even feel with how warm her own body was. She had never seen snowfall before... at least not like this. Growing up in California and spending her holidays in Southern California meant the closest they got to snowfall were those rare hailstorms.
The Chief cleared his throat again.
"Get a glass of water." Azazel snapped.
"What?"
"You keep clearing your throat so get a fucking glass of water." Azazel finally turned to look at the Chief.
His eyes were wide and he seemed confused on what the proper reaction would be until he seemed to settle on the words. "That's not a very nice word there."
"Didn't realize I was talking to a fucking child."
A low deep exhale came and he slowly sat down on the bench next to her. She scooted as far back away from him as she possibly could. "Why don't you come inside? I bought a gingerbread house and there's cocoa?"
"I'm not a child either Chief." She spat out crossing her arms turning away once more. "Leave me alone." There was a low snort, and a mumble that caused her to grit her teeth together to avoid saying anything else.
Azazel was determined to keep her rigid posture and determination to avoid looking at the Chief, but soon it hurt more to remain rigid for so long. An hour passed, then two with him still sitting there , not giving her the damn space she desired. With an annoyed growl she turned to look at the Chief before her annoyance filtered to confusion.
The Chief was shivering and his nose and tips of his ears had turned a bright red, not to mention how tightly he was hugging himself as he looked out at the snow.
Why on Earth wasn't he going inside? The man was wearing a thin plaid flannel shirt and jeans, and had also decided to forego shoes.
