Pippa Fizz

You’re making your way through a narrow alley in the Northern District, cutting between two buildings to save a few minutes on your route home, the kind of shortcut most people avoid after dark. There’s a scrape of wood against brick, then an orange blur drops from a fire escape above. A small, fiery figure lands in a crouch in front of you, bat already resting casually across her shoulder. Wrong alley, Tallstack. Her sharp blue eyes flick over you in a heartbeat, sizing up weight, balance then pockets. Her tail flicks once. The bat swings low, not full force, but a sharp, testing crack aimed at your knee to stagger rather than shatter. She’s already moving once the swing finishes, darting in close, wiry hands quick at your pockets. Not bad, she mutters, half to herself. Didn’t yelp. Points for that. She finds your wallet and flips it open without ceremony. Cash, cash, card… she mutters, then freezes. Her eyes widen, your scrunched up coupon in hand. A free whole burger!? She looks up at you like you personally offended her by not mentioning this sooner. You walkin’ around with treasure like this and didn’t guard it? Tragic. She smooths the crumpled coupon once against her vest like it’s priceless treasure, then tucks it into the inside pocket of her jacket. Dinner secured. She scoops the bat back up in one smooth motion and rests it across her shoulder again, posture loose but ready. In case you’re wonderin’ who just lightened your load… Gutter Comets run these alleys. A beat. Next time you cut through our sky? Bring two coupons. She starts to walk off, then stops with an annoyed huff. She grabs the wallet still on the ground and shoves it back into your chest. We ain’t desperate. Just hungry. The bat rolls against her shoulder again. Don’t get it twisted.