My First Experience with Femme Fatal

by Black Rosettes

The master thief mulls over the very first time he crossed paths with the fiery vixen inspector, and the chain of events that led up to fighting a nefarious crook, while in search for the Thievius Raccoonus. (To be rewritten, revised, and republished.)

Disclaimer: Sly Cooper and all things related to its likeliness are copyright of Sucker Punch Productions--no copyright infringement intended. Fictitious characters, however, are my creations, and are not to be used without my expressive consent.

Author's Notes: This is my first Sly Cooper fiction, but it is in no way affiliated with longer, future works that are surely to come; it is a story of itself, a narrative short story, that endeavors to detail the first conflict between Carmelita M. Fox and Sly Cooper, out of the context of the game, and then it will lead into the beginning of the first game. There are two chapters, the latter (in Carmelita's perspective) to come soon. As for this first one, the storytelling is written with a bit of sophistication on Sly's part, for it is a memory, or memoir, and the master thief has learned much since then.

Comments, praises, and constructive criticism are always welcomed. If you want to send me a more personal message or question, then please direct it to , and I will make an attempt to answer your question fully, or to reply with a friendly hello. And without further ado, enjoy this story, and be sure to check out my other work "Sly Cooper Dossiers," where I write a wide range of poetry and prose of every Sly Cooper character featured in the two games.

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"My First Experience with Femme Fatal"

Written by Black Rosettes

The night was the coldest I could ever remember in Paris, France, on the job of my first heist, where the warmth of my sporadic breaths could be snatched in the air; how the cerulean gem hung high in the dark sky, it lit up all walks of life, illuminating some but not all of the darkest recesses of the city, making it easier for me to conceal myself in the midst of their ominous shrouds as an underworld was soon to spring to life in the dregs of the capital. From atop a ledge of an apartment building, there I awaited, perched atop a flag pole like a predator, breathed in the new sight of the world around, as the French were either preparing for their nightly slumber or to watch a bit of the telly, for there were many lights in windows that told their tales.

This very night I had first thought of becoming what my family name bequeathed me, to be as my ancestors were, a thief of thieves, and that was my destiny it seemed. For the occasion, I took to donning a pair of silver slacks that inexplicably matched the complexion of my fur, giving me the appearance of nude, save for the black rings of my bushy tail, or the gray streaks in some parts of my pelt that seemed to glisten beneath the pale moon; I had pulled on a matching color of blue, loose gloves, a shirt short at the sleeves with a yellow color, and boots that came up just below my knees; to better obscure my identity, at the suggestion of a dear friend, he recommended a black mask, that tied somewhat tautly around my eyes and, in the back, a knot and tails that draped or flowed in the back wherever I moved, or if the wind blew. In one gloved hand, I twirled a family inheritance, a short, golden, triangular cane, that could be used for all sorts of things--clubbing, stealing, or clinging.

Tonight's job would be my first experience out in the new field of dangerous occupation. I had always been taught that there was no honor to be had in plundering from regular persons, so as it always were, my family decided long ago, that our mastery of thievery should be practiced upon the nefarious kind--of other criminals not just in their undertakings. Even with this notion in mind, the weight of this reality which had befallen me left me excited and as well as intimidated, but I was not a young boy with many fears anymore.

My mission was to steal from another criminal of small proportions, a Guillaume, as many addressed him, whose notoriety lied in the different sects that performed his crimes for him, whatever they may be, but what seemed more disturbing was his appetite for woman, the same ones he recruited, and he kept the many of them as his servants and concubines. (Those poor subordinates.) Despite his secret criminal and wrought activities, he was in some likeliness connected to the Fiendish Five, the group of whom I knew all too well and abhorred (for the slaying of my parents). It was from within his secret files, possibly kept in a secure safe, that I would need to procure to learn of the whereabouts of one of their members. Unfortunately, I knew nothing of the appearance of this fiend, but that was why I had my band of thieves to bring intelligence to me.

Suddenly, the gathering footholds of a newcomer within the vicinity below me brought me to attention. With a glance, I saw that it was one of the regulars, a policeman, who was charged in patrolling the streets, on the prowl for suspected bad peoples. Not a bother to me, I finally rose from my comfortable position on the flag pole, and took to the air--across to the next building I went. Landing a few short paces from the edge of another place, a rooftop, I broke off into a dash across the top of pebble.

The small red pack attached to my back swayed with my every movement; its contents slightly sliding from its place from side to side. Across the rooftops, I raced on an treacherous trail accompanied by railings, water tower, ventilation ducts, fans, and billboards and light fixtures; and all of which, with a swift jump, a twirl amid air, or by the latch of my wondrous cane could attest, while I made my trek a short way until it came for another scary "cliff from which I jumped once more, drawing closer and faster to the next building. And by this way--my method of transporting myself--I became a skilled free runner.

Within minutes, it seemed, I had found the location of Guillaume's hideout. It was an inconspicuous and somewhat remote place, uncharted by the looks of the great dark that hung over it, with the semblance of an old derelict place; the building itself shone of cobwebs and dirt and grime, a further testament of its senescence, or so that was just what the owner wanted others to believe. Standing high and proud on a building several meters away, I reached into the sack on my back, and removed a device that had been given to me before the mission.

The Binocucom.

With it, I looked through its lenses and zoomed in on the site proposed to be Guillaume's stronghold. From within an ear, wherein a tiny microphone had been embedded, the voice of one of my beloved friends rang, inquiring whether or not I had arrived at my destination.

It was Bentley, the turtle, with his ridiculously worried voice. "Sly? Sly? SLY? Do you read me?" his voice spoke with vehemence that led me to believe, if for a moment, that the lad had been right beside me all along.

In my usual, collected voice, "Yes, I hear you--very loud but clear."

"Good, good;" he said. "In case you didn't already know, Guillaume is one acerbic fellow; the lupine is well-known for his bad temperament."

"So he's an ill-tempered wolf? Sounds like I can use his emotions to play off with in my favor, should I make his acquaintance."

"Very so, Sly,"--a violent sneeze--"Achoo!"

My face contorted at the harsh new sound entering my ear.

"Bless you, Bentley."

"Thanks, the sneeze came so unexpectedly. It's a good thing I'm not in your shoes, out in that autumn cold," he sniffles. "What's the situation like over there? Do you see any way of entry?"

"Hold on a minute, buddy..." I said, turning the dials of my binocucom to study the building.

My eyes set upon a cable which extend from the building I was atop on to the side of the house of Guillaume. Close to it, a shaft of some sort appeared close to the end of the cable--this surely was a way to infiltrate undetected. Zooming outward again, I took notice of the chimney, which smoked, a sign that someone was in.

"I see a way in--through a small shaft built into the side of the building. From there, I'll think on my feet and locate the safe."

"All right, get to it. Once you reach the safe, let me know and I'll see if I can crack the code, provided I get it from a clientele long before then."

"Okay, I'm heading in. Wish me luck!"

A new voice came through the earpiece, that of Murray the hippo, and he too sounded enthusiastic of the nature of the mission.

"Hey, Sly!" he crowed. "Remember, I'm the Driver. Bentley and me will find an extraction point once you've completed your mission."

"Thanks big guy, I can hardly wait to be driven around so... quickly... again."

The conversation ended and I brought up my cane. The aforementioned cable stretched a few feet beneath my elevation; and with a bend of my knees, I lurched forth, with cane extended, using its triangular hook to latch onto the cord, and quickly I slid down the length of it to reach the house. The ride was brief, but nonetheless fun. Upon coming into contact with the wall of the estate, I reached out with my hands to cling to the brick work, my feet finding their place along a pane of cinder block. Moving across, slowly, toward the shaft, with a simple whip of my cane, did the covering break and fall off, and inside I crawled among the dust and thick air.

For as much crawling and climbing I had done, in the constricted pathways of the ventilation system, I led myself to believe that I had journeyed somewhere at the top of the building, for the air grew warmer and musty, like someone had never taken responsibility of housework. Crawled and squirmed, I did until a light flooded toward the end of my trail, from the rectangular covering of the topmost floor. Peering through the slits of the vent cover, I saw a spacious room--old and dirty--illuminated with orange light from the fire within the hearth, where logs of wood and, of another thing, burned and crackled with a ping. And there, within the room, were some simple furniture, paintings, bookshelves, a makeshift bed with mediocre blankets, taxidermy, and tables. But what caught my sights more was that of a lithe lynx girl, who stood poorly, saddened by something or another, but of what I knew not of until....

A door closed rather roughly and seemed to frighten her with a jolt of her pitiful form, then a man, that lupine fiend of middle age, marched toward her from behind, gripped her shoulders, and spun her most viciously around; his big paw touched her face once, enough to make it red, and then his grim, strict voice seemed to hit her still.

How he spoke and struck her offended me!

"You worthless wretch! How can you and your people not succeed in stealing what's rightfully ours from that sleazy Dimitri? Oh!--that fake American-wannabe lizard shall meet his end with my fist, if ever I get a hold of him myself," he cursed, jerking her with one hand and with the other straightening his short, grayish hair. "Fail me again, Clarisse, and you will mark the end of your days--and find yourself on the street--alone, homeless, and broken."

Quick and deliberate as he come he left the room, the girl, to her thoughts, and the door slamming, almost off its hinges, to remind her of his rage for her and only her. At this, I watched how she motioned so wounded toward the fireplace, her gaze ending at the center of it, as if a sinful thought came over her suddenly. Thereafter admiring her, that was when she denoted my objective, the large safe, which lied in a corner of the room adjacent to her. This proved a challenge if she did not remove herself from the room, but I supposed it did not matter. Who was she more than one of Guillaume's lackeys?

To my greatest surprise, I found my gloved hands moving along the vent cover, to unhook it from the wall, and mindfully move it into my cache. Once removed, I crept downward, touching the floor as light as a feather, slinking toward the girl who stood unaware of my creeping. I came close to her, crouched halfway, with cane in hand, and my eyes on the safe, but I somehow kept her on my mind--conceiving a way of completing my mission without being a bother to her. Quite unexpectedly, she slowly turned around, and I followed her movement, gathering up behind her and out of her visage. She kept to gazing toward the entrance of the room door, and this was the time that I moved to the safe as ever slowly and worldly possible. But there was one minute detail that I thence forgot about--and it undermined my ambuscade. For it was the reflection of the fire that my silhouette belied me!

At this, the female turned and greeted with me a countenance of shock and wonder, and surprisingly she remained silent. I moved in closer to her, almost in an enticing way, and stood at her height, taking in the woe in her eyes. For this, she thought me sympathetic, and a curt smile appeared on her face, for she instantly knew of my reputation was very much the same as hers. And judging by my amateur tactics, the antic of my mask, she took a liking to my ways. Whichever way my eyes moved, hers did too. Whenever I moved the next bodily step, she followed too. And when I gave a smile, ready to speak, she spoke too. Who began this play?

"Who are you, stranger?" her voice was soft but weepy from a previous moment's affair.

I was a bit hesitant to give her my true name, but a num de plume had to do.

"I'm but a Sly Raccoon, if you must know,"--a voice so calm and cool--"and I've come to escape with whatever is in this here safe. If that's not a problem for you?"

She looked as if she wanted to touch my face and unmask me.

"You dare loot from Guillaume? You are a crazy, little raccoon. You must be gone, away you are, or else he will catch you--destroy all those you hold dear to you."

Her words came to me as poetry--exotic, soft, and rhythmic. Between us, a sort of piano of melancholy played in the background, and I listened most attentively, waiting for the part that drew upon a climax. She, too, with her jade eyes young as mine, looked me over and presented something only motherly eyes would do. She came closer and, with a reluctant hand, she pressed against my chest, as if to feel my heartbeat and know that I was true; this was symbolic of her exile, her loneliness.

Closing over her hand with mine, "Clarisse, is it? I may look too young, but I assure you I'm more of a man as you are a woman. And I saw what he had done to you, and I listened well. You deserve so much better than this. Perhaps, is there a way that you can lead another life if the opportunity presents itself?"

She soughed deeply, almost turning away from me as if I had said the wrong thing. From then, she drew her hand from me, out from mine, and held her bosom, overwhelmed by a sudden windswept sadness.

"You do not understand the full weight of my circumstance. This is a reality I cannot leave, I think death is what will welcome me. Should I allow you to take from this safe, then I will surely be at fault--and doomed. Would you do that to me?" she said so heartfelt that it made my heart skip a beat.

"No, I wouldn't allow that. And neither will I also allow this creep Gaillaume to rule you forever. Take this, you are in need of it more than me."

From my pack I brought forth a small pouch of francs, enough coins to last her a little while, and to steer her in a new direction. Sadly, even with this offer, I could see in her eyes a decline, and she refused this plea. Irrespective of her decision, I dropped the sack on the wooden desk from which she stood behind, in between it and the hearth, to show my indignation.

"I need no money, only a savior. I don't believe you're Him."

I turned away from her suddenly, a bit dissatisfied with her, and pressed against the earpiece in my ear to contact my gang. In my right hand, my cane stood erect and tapped softly against the floor.

"At the safe. Awaiting combination," I spoke much to the dismay of Clarisse. Even for a woman in my midst, she too, could not deter my goal in life.

"There you are, Sly," came Bentley, "I've been waiting to hear from you. Lucky for you, I've been given the code. Too easy, my friend. Enter in 5-5-8."

Murray spoke next. "We're waiting just around the corner, buddy, so high tail it out of there soon. I've a bad feeling about the last part of this mission--the great escape."

"No worries, pal, I'll be out of here real soon."

I turned back to Clarisse, the lynx had her ears lowered back against her head in despair. She had overheard my conversation with my comrades, and she took it poorly, but I did not blame her, for I was only thinking of myself then, having shown a little selfless act moments before. Without any confrontation, the girl moved out of my way as I advanced to the safe. For a little while in my mind, I thought she would strike me down in some way.

There I kneeled in front of her, with my head pressed against the front of the safe, as I turned the combination in the direction of the numbers given to me, making every effort to be done with the job and on my way before some unheard of trouble came. A click sounded, signaling the safe to be unlocked, and I pulled it open. Inside I found many things that any thief would think worthwhile: gold coins, foreign currency, small artworks done by skilled artisans, small paintings enough to fit within, and of course, what I had planned on for a time, the file on one of the Fiendish Five. Of that, I picked up and studied well, briefly, and then realized that the document was incomplete; there was only a name and small reference, but nothing of the kind that gave away the person's location or biography.

Muggshot, I whispered to myself.

"Is that all you wanted to take?" inquired the lynx, having folded her arms and appearing incensed. "Some papers?"

I motioned to look over my shoulder, reaching into my side pocket, to unveil a family momento, a cutout and colored card in the shape of the family emblem, and placed it within the safe where the documents had been.

"Normally I would steal all of this stuff, but I just came for this file. I've some unfinished business to attend to."

All of a sudden, the lupine from before, burst into the room and to his consternation he found me there, by his safe left open. I quickly turned to Clarisse who, too, was stricken with all the greatest of fears; her eyes, almost instantly, began to well, her body shaken, and eyes broad. As for me, my nonchalance left me suddenly, and fear rained down over me in the form of perspiration and cold. About the bravest thing emanating from me was that my cane, which stood taller than me. Guillaume began a deathly walk toward us with his hands outstretched, and every claw pointed maliciously.

With a tap of my earpiece, I needed new courage and a sort of comfort from my friends. "Bad news, fellas. Guillaume has spotted me. Contact the gold badges and batons. I'll try to escape as best I can, but the distraction should serve us well."

"Get out of there, quick, Sly! If you're caught by the cops, there's no telling what they'll do to you," warned the ever hysteric Bentley.

"That's if 'they' catch me. Jail couldn't be any worse than Happy Camper Orphanage all over again, could it?"

"This is no time for jokes, little buddy!" chimed Murray. "Escape any way that you can, even if that means you have to go through Guillaume and his goons. Just don't expect a welcome party at the front door."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. See you two real soon."

From behind, Clarisse braced me for comfort. Seeing this, Guillaume interpreted this as defiance, and this realization only fueled his anger further.

"Why you idiotic child!--breaking into my operation and stealing from me? I'll rip you in two!" he threatened, his seething fangs dripped with spittle. "As for you, Clarisse, you've already sealed your fate. Bon voyage!"

Behind Guillaume, a group of his men of five came in behind him, all of which were armed with various clubs, of all shapes and sizes, threatened with their own snarls and spiteful faces.

There seemed to be no means of escape, except for the only entrance to the room. I surveyed the room in attempt to see what would make weapons or aid in my escape, toward that door that looked so far away, and in the end of my estimation, with ever tightening squeeze of my arm by the girl in behind, I came forth with my cane. Clarisse instinctively released my arm, allowing me to take care of the unruly group that cornered us from the outside world. And it was first with my cane which met with the skull of one canine, and then another. The main boss lied behind the group and in waiting, watching how I whipped his minions side to side.

A howl here and a growl there, my cane beat the head of every person who dared to seize me. With club to cane, or stick to cane, or bat to cane, no weapon touched me so easily, although there were at times my balance would slip with every thrust I made--lashing, bashing, or brandishing, to parry off the oncoming attacks. How my shadow must have danced across the room for Clarisse! And after disarming or having incapacitated my enemies, only Guillaume stood waiting.

He looked to his fallen compatriots and gave a roar.

"You weaklings! You all can't take on a child?"--he looked to me--"I will see to your end myself."

The stout wolf, garbed in simple outerwear of loose breeches, a thick shirt that stopped short at his shoulders and at his waist, and in areas where his clothing did not conceal, his thick and bushy pelt protruded in all its magnificence. Spiked bangs flowed from the top of his head, and there his gold eyes set on me as fiery as hell's. Broad-shouldered and his chest massive, he looked big and dauntless. With enough courage that had gathered in my silence and temporary reprieve, at him, I went with my staff to his face.

He caught the edge of my cane in his hand and held my arm still, then came a powerful blow from his other fist that reared me back in the most agonizing way, causing me to lose my footing and collide into the desk from behind, over it, and onto my back there where Clarisse looked down in horror. Springing to my feet, I leapt on top of the desk, then to the ceiling, my cane latching onto the ceiling fan, and from there I delivered a kick to Guillaume's maw--knocking him back to topple over the bodies of his gang.

Despite my efforts and to my disheartenment, the wolf turned over onto his stomach, rose to great heights anew, and came at me again with a ferocious rush, his claws swiping dangerously at me. A series of flips, I performed, a quick spectacle of acrobats kept me from being disembodied so; and as if in some fashion of slow motion, it all seemed that my world moved in such a way so graceful and adept, that I escaped his reach, for every swipe of air that welcomed me was greeted with the emptiness that followed my form. A last swing of his arms and, with a high jump, they went past and underneath me, and then down my cane swung as hard as it could, smashing the top of his crown with a crackle. And as the story goes, or as I retell it on occasion, Guillaume the Worst went down.

Clarisse came to my side that victorious moment and gripped me tight as if to celebrate my triumph. It was how she looked at me, with a gaze so grateful and reposal, that I could only return a smile. For what feigned to be a long moment between us, as our lips about to lock as much as I eyes already were, the sirens of Le Police International could be heard outside, gathering in crescendos with each passing moment, so I tipped my hat to my thief-lady, bided her a farewell and good fortune, and ran off toward the door. From behind, she thanked me.

"Merci beacoup, mon ami!"

Within a minute, after dashing down corridors, a flight of stairs, there within I found a window, and burst through it with a swing of my staff. Onto the fire escape I landed, and raced upward to the rooftop, for the ground of the estate was not safe. Policemen and policewoman charged the scene below, the sounds of heavy foots and of the front door being knocked down was enough to make my heart pulse even more.

I finally reached the top of the building, where I made quick to search around the roof's edges, for any sign of the my friends--Bentley and Murray--in our getaway vehicle. Suddenly, as soon as they spotted me, a small shadow in the middle of the moonlight, I knew Murray had been the one to flicker the headlights of the van as my cue. Slowly he pulled the van out front, from a dark alleyway that concealed all, away from the police vehicles, and crept toward a corner for me to make my own path from the housetop.

Once I mustered enough courage to plan out my escape, I stole some several feet behind me, then shot forth like a round, and sprinted toward an edge, leaping off with all my limbs outstretched as if I had taken to execute a swan's dive. Gravity pulled me down at such a quick rate that I had barely enough time to think. I positioned the top of my cane to cling to something, anything, and it found its mark on a suspension wire that led to a neighboring building. Touching the wall with my foot, I fell, clung to another object, a rain gutter, and began my descend, though my heart had beat me to the punch.

I touched the earth again, somewhere not too far from Guillaume's dark lair, and began to walk calmly to my friends, whose expressions looked worried as mine, because we were still too close to the police scene. Only a few feet away from the van, a voice of questionable concern halted me, making just about every fur on my body perk up in fright. Too slow to turn around, the voice I recognized as belonging to a female, possibly a cop, ordered with her Spanish accent for me to turn around. She sounded tough, demanding and domineering in unison.

"Hey, I'm talking to you, ringtail. Who are you? What are you doing out this late?" she spat with a hint of impatience.

Realizing I had on only the most suspect of clothes at the time, one of my friends from the van opened a door, and stuck out, partially, with concern. Bentley, it was, who--from the passenger side--threw a brown trench coat over to me, which I caught out of the air with my cane, pulled it over my head, as if for that split second to remove my mask, and then I turned around to face the policewoman--pulling on the coat. Behind me, I could hear Bentley retiring into the van, closing his door while Murray edged the van closer to me.

The policewoman, garbed in a tight-fitting blue halter, which exposed very much of everything above her breasts and at the waist, boasting her midriff, and pants, quite befitting, that appeared to sink into the top of her boots, she was but a tall vixen with auburn and peach complexion, one with a long, flowing bushy tail, and an interestingly long blue hair, that had been intricately tied into a thick ponytail that fell down her back below the waist; in her left ear, there was but one piercing, of a golden earring and, at her waist where normally a belt buckle would be, there she wore her gold shield proudly. What was more peculiar about her appearance was a collar--with a round gold piece at its middle--that marred her strong yet beautiful form--that and her mean disposition. To compliment her overall physique, both rugged and sensuous to the eye, a brown overcoat that stopped short midway at chest, again, with sleeves tucked in her yellow gloves, she also had one distinct feature about her--a mole that rested beneath and off to the side of her left eye.

Of all of these strange and exotic features of the vixen, I knew she was not really a regular cop, a familiarity to most criminals, but of someone of importance.

I changed my face to something more naive to test her. "Why, I'm just a citizen on his way home with his friends. We'd been hanging out at a bar, nothing less or more."

The fiery vixen shot me a look; taken aback by her response, and slightly amused, the unveiling of her gun, a big firearm that looked powerful enough to put a hole the size of a melon into any one or thing, put a lump in my throat.

"Partying, huh? Something seems a little fishy here."

I asked, "Fishy? How so?"

"One: you're here all of a sudden, after the police arrive on the scene. Two: I know this whole city like the back of my hand--and there are no bars nearby for a mile in any direction. Three: and even if you were partying, I would know if a person had been drinking or not, and I smell nothing on you this close to you. Four: you look too young to drink, and more like a thief than a passerby," her voice was firm as she readied her weapon.

"You're very perceptive, Miss."

"Ms. Carmelita Fox to you, crook."

"Well, Ms. Fox, I'm afraid you've caught me red-handed. I submit to you and turn myself in," a small smile suddenly crossed my face, alarming her to the point where she drew her gun with conviction.

"Drop the stick or I'll drop you where you stand. And here," she said with a slight growl as she removed some handcuffs from behind with one gloved hand and tossed them to me, "put these on to save me the time and trouble. I'm taking you in for questioning."

The handcuffs struck the street and her eyebrows narrowed then.

"Are you serious?"

"Quite."

I bent down to gather the cuffs, noticing how the barrel of her firearm followed me so viciously. A sort of fright had begun to weigh in my mind as I prayed for some kind of distraction, for no scheme came to me just then; but then, something of a miracle, an unanswered prayer being realized, something exploded on top of the vixen's head--a liquid, viscid substance. And with this kind of distraction, I used to my advantage by leaping toward the policewoman, and removing her weapon from her hand, or so my staff saw to that. Next, with the handcuffs did I restrain her hands behind her as she would have done to me. She spat all sorts of anger for me, but I ignored them and took to leaping on the side of the van as Murray stepped on the pedal the hardest he could--tires screeching, peeling from behind.

"C'mon, Sly! Grab on," shouted Murray.

On the side of the van, I climbed to the top, and turned to look behind and sit with my legs crossed, smiling all the same to Carmelita, how she floundered with the handcuffs and reached for her gun, kicking it away from herself in the process by accident. With a glance upward, on top of the buildings to see who had given me unexpected aid, from high above there I saw Clarisse--bidding me good-bye. I gave her a thumbs-up, and then turned back to the nasty, bitter sight of a vixen whose form began to disappear, jerking her hand in a threatening manner, and her voice growing fainter. So she got free so soon?

"I'll track you down, raccoon, if it's the last thing I do!"

It was funny how fate made me cross paths with that feral vixen that night, because until this day, she has kept that promise. Sadly, after that first night, I never saw or heard from Clarisse again.

To be continued...