I'm Still Here [John]

[L.C. Milliner]

*--outfit
The dog.

A car ride from New York City to Vermont was long enough, but when it became multiple car trips with some very large and annoying baggage, the trip could be turned into one of epic proportions. Forget The Odyssey, forget Lord of The Rings, this journey was one to beat all others. Between walking, riding, and begging for a ride, it should have been a crime, how stressful it was. What should have been a six hour jog north soon turned into a sixteen hour annoyance.

It was nine thirty in the PM when a rickety old ford, made more from duct tape and faith then any realistic material, clattered into Pilot Ridge, sighing heavily when it came to a stop in the downtown. The streetlights barely illuminated the rust bucket of a vehicle, and the movement in the bed almost went unnoticed, until a leg was thrust out over the side and a girl straddled the edge of the bed before dropping to the ground. She fumbled for her bag as a furry head popped out of the space, a low whine accompanying it as the animal put its paws up on the side, heaving itself up before jumping out, dancing around the short girl’s legs.

The blonde female and the driver chatted for a moment under the light, and a few minutes of hushed voices passed before the truck wheezed back to life, the stick shift remembered, and with a grumble and a loud ‘CRACK’ from the engine that made the dog jump, it was gone, disappearing down the road, leaving the girl and her dog in the cold. It was chilly and it was starting to mist, so the teen retreated under an awning to look at the fairly empty streets with a hint of a smirk.

L.C. had to admit, New York City had been awesome. Milly loved it, she loved it. True, there were issues- Milly coming onto her after she broke up with Zac, her subsequent running off when her affections weren’t returned, the panic that set in when she diddn’t come right back, those were low points. But her finding a job, meeting a nice girl, getting an apartment, those were great points. L.C. found decent work in New York too, not to mention the dog- which was halfway down the street already. Damn thing.

“Coricopat! You wanna get lost?!” She hissed after it, and the dog perked up and sneezed before trotting back. The Irish Wolfhound wasn’t stupid, she’d give him that. He was just annoying as hell, difficult to transport, and was possibly the biggest damn dog she ever saw. How she got saddled with it was another epic story waiting to be told. “Good boy.” She muttered as he curled around her, looking around.

Nothing would get accomplished with her standing around, so she snapped her fingers at the dog and it followed her as she wandered down the street, hands shoved in her pockets as she sniffed. She was coming down with something, she knew it. The dog was too. She knew that her barista job probably wouldn’t work out again, and she wasn’t even sure if the apartment was still paid for. How long had she been gone? Her stuff should still be there. She had a key, anyway, and she was halfway certain the rent was paid far ahead enough. She turned off the utilities before they left, anyway.

“Augh. It’s too late for this.” She’d sleep in the local church. The priest knew her. She’d camp in a pew for a few hours. There, problem solved.

Well, except for the dog, which was loping down the street again, looking for people. He was so used to people. “Corico!” Running after him, L.C. grit her teeth as the dog skittered around a corner and she followed, sliding on the sidewalk and falling sideways before getting back up, groaning. “Damn. Stupid. Dog.” She wheezed, pausing to regain her breath. The wolfhound seemed to know it was being talked about, and it came back up, allowing her to grip at its collar.

After a moment of coughing, L.C. stood to her full height, still able to hold the dog’s collar. The thing was the size of a small pony, after all. “I hate you.” She muttered, dragging it along as she tried to navigate where exactly the church was. She had been out of Pilot Ridge too long.