CB: Cat and Mouse, -XV-

Ganymede is to the White Tigers as Mars is to the Red Dragons. I learned it long after I woke up and had my run in with Whitney. Lucky for me I've never had any problems here, though I'm not so sure about Spike. He keeps looking over his shoulder as the two of us head into the streets, turning our collars up against prying eyes.

We need to get off the streets. I feel my hackles raising in response to his. And there's an itch between my shoulder blades. I grab his hand and tug him down one of the alleyways that I'm fairly familiar with, heading over to the small, hole in the wall hotel that's sitting at the end of it.

Washington Avenue. The Holiday Inn.

Names I remember from a time I only recently seem to have gotten over.

But I haven't, not really. I'm not that kind of girl.

The weight of the gun in my pocket is heavy, it feels like, in comparison to the rest of me. The gravity on Ganymede is supposedly comparable to that on earth, but suddenly my entire body feels heavy, and it takes an effort just to move my feet one after the other.

Spike looks down at me in question as I lead him into the lobby. I step up to the receptionist's desk and ring the bell.

"If we have to play this game of cat and mouse with them… I plan to be prepared for their next strike. And wandering the streets waiting to catch a bullet in the back isn't ever the best idea."

The look in Spike's eyes as he meets mine with them is comforting. Odd, and at the same time very consoling. I find it hard to focus on his eyes, because they are different, and so close together. I lean against the counter and feel the fabric of my jacket as it slides up my back. He'd rather not be doing this, I know.

He'd rather run.

But he'll stand and fight if he has to. Even a cornered mouse can turn into a tiger.

The receptionist, an older looking gentleman with kind eyes that's nearly blind, steps up and smiles. "How may I help you two?" his voice is accented.

"We need a room," I say, cocking my hips over towards Spike. The receptionist blinks once, but nods without commenting, and turns his large book around to me, pointing at a spot for me to sign.

"You take fourth room on third floor, near stairs," he says, turning to retrieve a key and sets it down next to the book. "Fifty wulong a night." I reach into my jacket pocket and hold up a card, which the man swipes through a machine that looks as old as I feel right now, and then returns to me. "Thank you and enjoy your stay at the Holiday Inn."