"Hey, where we goin'? I thought Uncle Mike wanted me to help with that boathouse deck."

Grinning, Tim turned to face Puck.

"Mumblemumble - lied."

Puck glanced over the railing down at Uncle Mike who was busy prying up boards from the decking that surrounded the Madsen's boathouse at the waterline on the other side of the house and then back at Tim, confused. "What're we doin' then?"

"That." Tim pointed up at a ladder leading onto the top of the gigantic roof. "You know mumblemumble shingles, right? Fat mumblemumble bitch just decided to mumblemumble new roof the middle of the mumblemumble fuckin' winter!"

Puck nodded.

Last summer she'd helped Uncle Mike with a few roofing jobs around Salem for Wolf so he could buy Aunt Raina a Harley for her birthday— anyway, it paid better'n flippin' burgers at Daisy's like Maggie and Josie.

She shrugged, "Show me what needs doing and I'll do it."

Tim scratched at a brown sideburn with jagged, dirty nails, eyeing her thoughtfully. His hipster vibe felt superficial – more protective coloration than anything – like his over-the-top trench coat. "Mumblemumblemumble, FUCK!"

He turned indicating she follow him to the actual worksite. Obviously "Mumblemumblemumble, FUCK!" meant, "We got work to do!"

Following Tim, Puck couldn't help but notice that the body under the trench coat didn't exactly move like a normal human's. Probably some sort of RAD not interested in coming out like the rest of the sheep: not everybody in Salem or anywhere else agreed with Frankie Stein's outing the entire community.

That is if you could call something as diverse as the RADS a community.

Finally, Tim scrambled up a ladder with Puck right behind him and onto the roof where Brian waited impatiently.

"Yo! Chick! Know what you're in for?" Brian barked a short, harsh laugh, adding, "Last kid Wolf hired climbed up, looked down, and suddenly remembered his fear of heights."

'Chick' seemed to be Puck's name for the day. Not the worst, like 'Jet-Lag', when she'd been tripped, so that her overflowing backpack barfed out all her magazines and books about jet aircraft all over the school hallway waaaaay back in seventh grade.

"See any clogs in the gutters? Clean 'em out! Keep track, we charge extra for that!" Brian added while demonstrating the chute he'd rigged so that she could easily send old shingles and nails plummeting into the waiting wheelbarrow beneath when they'd originally been hired to tear out a bathroom.

Toilet or roof, they got paid just the same.

"Yooo-hooooooo, Alexaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"I have a name, Bekka!" Puck hollered back.

Bekka studied Puck over her Versace sunglasses. "What's your name again? I forget, Alexaaaaaaaa."

Puck glared down at Bekka from the roof, which was getting slick. She sat and removed her work boots, exposing her clawed feet. Claws digging into the expensive but doomed redwood shingles, she looked at Tim and Brian. They grinned and deliberately got back to ripping up shingles as Puck looked down at the bitch with too much money and said: "Why are you in a bathrobe outside? Just run an ad on Craigslist and you'll never have to leave the house!"

"Ooooh, why you…" Bekka regained her composure, smiling, "Because, Alexaaaaaaaa, my friends and I are about to go soak in the hot tub. I would invite you, buuuutttt…"

"But what? I wouldn't get in that jacuzzi with you bitches if you PAID me!" Puck exclaimed.

Ignoring Puck's refusal, Bekka giggled, adding, "Bitch, you're shedding. Mom gets mad when she has to call the pool man to come clean the filters off schedule. It interrupts her yoga and private self-actualization lessons."

Puck sucked in and held in the fishy smelling air, for once trying not to make things worse. Then she noticed a clot of half-frozen dead baby starlings clogging the gutter at her feet.

Grinning, she used the pry bar to pop the stinking mass loose so that it landed with a flat, wet "SPLATTTTTTTTT!" spattering Bekka's platform sandals on the heated deck below.

"EEEEEEWWWWWWW You did that on purpose!" Bekka wailed, backing up in disgust, heel catching in a crack in the deck so that she stumbled.

"Not my fault! Ya ol' lady told me if I found a clog, deal with it!"

She could hear Josie snicker from the porch, "Bekka, you knew she has the high ground this time."

Laughing, Puck easily clawed her way up the steep incline of the pretentious roof towards her work buddies, tail sassily waving, "Buh-bye bitches!"

Phew, what a reek! And for once, to have the product of a fuck buddy agree with her for once…

A lit cigarette now dangled from the corner of Tim's mouth. Brian was obviously concealing something large and full of liquid in his jacket as he wiped his mouth off on his plaid work coat sleeve.

Ignoring the reek of on-the-job substance abuse, Puck said. "Sorry. I know you didn't wanna have'ta clean up a big mess, but – "

"S'okay mumblemumblemumble Chick, we mumblemumble done it before, too." Tim rasped. He took ciggie from his mouth, took a long, deep drag, pinched it out, and tucked it behind his ear. "Stupid! mumblemumble— too much money!" He gestured downward at the sudden barking din below with a smirk.

Puck followed the gesture in time to watch a herd of yapping overweight pugs and Pomeranians mobbing… eew, Markus as he minced out of the dressing room towards the steaming Jacuzzi in rhinestone studded platform flip-flops. OMG, was he REALLY wearing a low-cut pastel pink one-piece with a Dolce and Gabbana logo on the hip? STFU, he was – and his nose was still bandaged from earlier in the week - score!

Markus obviously wished he was Jefferee Star, sexual assault charges and ALL!

"Damn, State Representative Barleycorn MUST be taking bribes right and left!" Puck muttered, adding, "Only a Phantomhive or a Trump can afford that much ugly!"

"The idle rich, forever a steady source of income." Brian opined philosophically in a ripe blast of Jack Daniels, adding, "Now, Chick, get'er done. Startin' to snow again!"

Huh, Puck thought to herself a few minutes later. She paused mid-pry, staring downwards, watching Josie wander out onto the ice of Lake Augua Clara. What's crybaby doin' wanderin' around on the frozen lake and not with the bitch pack in the Jacuzzi? And who's the scruffy lookin' blond dude not wearin' a winter coat walkin' beside her?

Nope. Puck grunted, levering her prybar beneath another shingle. Not my problem what happens to the whiny little bitch.