musicalluna

Shawn darted down one dark hallway after the other, mouth agape in a silent scream of complete and utter terror. He was trapped. Trapped like a little rat in it’s little rat cage with little rat pellets and a little rat bottle to drink from. The yowling clamor of his pursuers grew louder as they gained on him and he whimpered, leaping onto a group of shelves and clambering to the top, where he huddled, arms clutched around his knees, praying that the monsters following him would pass him by.

Fate would not be so kind.

They rounded the corner, barking and yipping mixing almost maniacally with the yowling and hissing of every little boy animal in the shelter. There was even one little boy parrot hopping along near the back, flapping its clipped wings agitatedly. Shawn shrieked with fear as one orange tabby launched itself to the top shelf, arching its back and hissing angrily at him. He let out a silent scream, vocal chords frozen with dread, and toppled sideways off of the shelving. The breath whooshed out of his lungs as he landed painfully on his ribcage and his terror increased exponentially as he struggled to suck in a breath, the little boy animals moving in on him.

A bone-chilling yowl split the din of the other animal’s crying and he saw a flash of long gray fur just before a searing pain erupted on his chest, the cat’s claws digging into his flesh. More claws followed, tearing into his shirt, slicing into his arms and legs, and a rather large little boy dog jumped onto his stomach just as he got his breath back and sent it packing again, slobbering all over his face. Soon there were hot, disgusting doggy tongues soaking his face with drool and quickly wetting his hair until it stuck out from his head in thick wet swirls. He would have screamed in agony if his mouth hadn’t been clamped shut against the foul beast’s torturous ministrations.

Just when he was sure all hope was lost and he was going to die here, drowning in dog drool and bleeding out from the painfully stinging cuts all across his body, the voice of his savior rang out. "Hey! All right, get the hell off of him!" Lassiter’s voice barked and he whistled, the sound high and shrill.

With a joyful upheaval, the little boy animals turned, racing away from Shawn’s beaten figure.

"Shawn?" came Juliet’s voice, "Are you all right?"

He moaned in response. "Kill me now, please. You’ll be doing me a favor." The words came out muffled because he didn’t dare part his lips far enough to speak properly, lest something really disgusting make its way inside.

Her voice smiled. "Come on. Sit up." Her hand slid into his and he whimpered pathetically, his bruised ribs protesting as she helped pull him into a sitting position. A moment later, a gentle hand was wiping his face with a cloth. When his eyes had been cleansed, he opened them to find Juliet crouched beside him, a white cloth in her hand and a faint smile playing around her lips.

"This is so not funny, Jules," he said, wounded.

Her cheeks pinched as she tried to suppress a smile. "No, of course it isn’t Shawn. It’s absolutely not funny. …your hair on the other hand."

He groaned. "My hair? They messed up my hair?"

Juliet snorted. "It’s cute. Really it is." What she didn’t tell him was that it looked like he had gelled it to stand straight up in the front. He would probably have a fit. "I hope you didn’t like this shirt…"

Shawn sighed, looking down at the tattered and slightly bloodied remainders of his blue and white polo. "Doesn’t really matter now, does it?"

"I guess not. Here, let me help you up." She took his hands, heaving, and he hissed as he was propelled to his feet, the thin cuts all searing painfully at once.

"This sucks," he hissed.

"Mauled by a bunch of adorable strays. It is pretty sad," she said.

Shawn glared. "Not helping."

She grinned sheepishly.