Anywhere the police show up is somewhere Billy shouldn't have been five minutes ago. But Billy zoned out watching Arlie sitting in the corner of the playground piling handful after handful of sand into a growing mountain, and the window for getting the hell out of there without certain pursuit has already closed.
It wasn't supposed to be a big deal. They've been on the train, in and out of shops, a movie theater, even ducked into a pokecenter for a few hours to wait out the rain and made it through without incident. This is a public space. People are supposed to sit on benches here. Children are supposed to play in the sand.
"Officers," Billy rumbles.
Billy's voice is deep to the point that it doesn't sound threatening so much as just, by nature, is a threat. A lot of times, that's a good way to sound.
It can't be the outfit. Billy knows she's got the outfit right, all done in casual brightness. Red plaid and the kind of jeans that look bleached until the blue is almost white so that if they were dirty, it'd show. See? they say. See? This is a normal person who puts their normal clothes in a normal washing machine and throws them out if they stain. And the final piece on her belt: white on bottom, red on top, round and shiny. See?
At least the herdier at the woman's side looks bored.
"ID?"
"It's in my bag," she lies. The backpack isn't bright. The dull brownish black backpack is the realest thing she has, and accordingly as worn as it is oversized. "Let me get it out." Arlie is still pouring sand. She whistles, high, to get his attention.
The police herdier's ears prick. He growls, the sound like briars dragging down Billy's spine. The police woman's face gets darker. "What's in the bag, sir?"
"My ID," Billy repeats. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Arlie looking at them now. "Hiking stuff. Change of clothes. Snacks. The usual. My daughter and I are on vacation."She tries, "Her mother was too busy to join us. Big project, crunch time. You know how it is." That's normal. That's normal, right?
"Your daughter?"
"The little girl in the green dress, right over there," she says, pointing and then flicking her finger. A pink dress would've been better. But he childishly insisted on green, though at least she talked him around to one in neon colors. He couldn't look like he was trying to hide. And now he childishly isn't taking the hint. "My Arlie." Her anyone, she thinks, would've run by now. But she only took Arlie a week ago.
It wasn't supposed to be a big deal. She knows the walk and the talk and the look, and she had enough money to buy him ice cream on the way so he had something to hold and eat while he got his bearings without looking like he needed that time.
Now the police man has peeled away and is walking toward him. Arlie still isn't running.
"Your ID, then?" the police woman says as her partner goes toward Arlie.
"Right." Billy slowly rolls the backpack off her shoulders, only for the herdier to growl again. "Hey, I'm not..."
"ID."
She moves her hands slowly to the zipper. It does not contain changes of clothing and she can't open it very far before it's going to be obvious, but for now she should be able to get away with opening it just enough to pretend to rummage around.
"OW! She fucking bit me!"
Arlie is finally moving.
She swings her backpack into the police woman. Billy can hear a rib crack as it slams into her side. With any luck more bones will break when she hits the ground. As Billy tries to pull the bag back to run, the strap in her hands breaks.
She can't lose it. Every thing she has is in there.
Her nails dig in and she has to move forward, steps toward the police, to avoid it slipping from her grasp as the bag whips around on the end of the strap. Then the swing arcs back to her and Billy grits her teeth as it thumps into her chest but she doesn't drop anything.
She vaults the bench she'd been sitting in before and takes off in the opposite direction from Arlie, zigzagging to avoid a bite in her leg from the herdier. She's just got to break line of sight. The man will be distracted with the bite and his injured partner, and it's only the police herdier she has to worry about now. Unfortunately, the herdier's the most immediately dangerous of the three. But if he bites, if he bites, even that she can handle if she can just get far enough to get out of sight. Herdier can't talk.
She runs into the street, skipping sideways barely in time to dodge a car and hoping the blaring horns are more disorienting to the herdier than it is to her. She hops back onto the sidewalk on the far side and pelts toward the smell of garbage. Billy skids into the alley, passes the first dumpster, and dives into the half-empty second one to flop on top of the trashbags, still clutching her wrecked backpack to her chest.
Safe, Billy tells herself, panting as she shakes out her fur and focuses her new illusion on being a second filled dumpster with no room for the big guy they were chasing to hide. It's hard moving around just like you're one of them. But when that illusion falters there's always others further down to try, always something you can be when you can't be someone.
Arlie knows about being a thing. She goes to him within an hour where he's being a bush among bushes, and she does feel bad that she finds his leaves still shaking, but he's got to learn to handle this. There's a million and one reasons people can take issue with you, because there's a million reasons they take issue with each other. "Outta the bushes, Arlie," she rumbles, standing in front of him to make it hard for anyone else to see. She's wider than last time but shorter, with a breezy patterned Alolan shirt and plain white shorts in the hopes that does enough to keep eyes from sticking to her. She's lucky enough the strap of the backpack ripped at the bottom, not the top, so she's got the backpack hanging casually off one shoulder like she's just too dumb to use one right.
He wriggles a little, makes two bushes into one particularly thick one, then slowly pulls down the extra branches until there's just the original. Even babies know to never just drop from one thing to another. Before he can roll out, she says firmly, "Not taking any rocks you found with me. Now get out of there, you'll get your nice blue dress all dirty."
The rock becomes a child in a blue dress. Arlie shivers, looking around, and there's an explosion of lace and poofy tulle netting that nearly doubles him in size. "Yeah what're you doing in the dirt with your fancy dress? Come on out already."
Arlie crawls out with a little whine she meets with a glare. He flinches but instead of going properly silent he whispers, in defiance of the most basic rule, "Wanna go home to Grandpa."
She scoops him up, smiling widely. "Not something to whimper about." She starts walking them away.
"Auntie -"
"Don't whine at me like you're some pokemon, you use your words if you're going to talk." He finally goes quiet. So long as he can't, there's no need to worry about him saying Auntie when it should be Daddy, so she hasn't bothered with getting him to keep those things in mind. For now he just has to remember he can't make a sound if it's not the right sounds. They can worry about what kind of things it's safe to say around them when he can say anything.
He may never talk like she can. Any real aunts he had, like his real mother and father, they couldn't. That's why he's down to a grandfather and it's why that grandfather made her take him. A kid's got to start learning young to have any chance at passing for one of them.
"We'll be seeing your grandpa soon," she lies for him. It's hopefully not a big lie. The guy was wily enough to stay hidden in the mountain this long and he could still be there when Arlie can go back one day.
And if he's not, well, it'll hurt. But it'll also be proof of why Arlie had to leave, had to at least try. If the only kinds of things you can be are rocks and bushes and trash, then one day you end up becoming a little white and red ball for good.
So she decides, "We've still got to visit the mall today," keeping her grip on him tight. Because nothing happened, and there's no need to stop for the day. The sooner this becomes normal for him, the better.
