Annie was born venomous, and the world made sure she weren’t gonna forget it.

It weren’t Matron’s fault the other kids was teasin’ her for bein’ skinny, or havin’ a stumpy tail, or gettin’ stuck in her molts, or talkin’ dumb, or gettin’ caught stealing food when Cook wouldn’t give her enough, or bein’ ugly. There were more kids under that patchwork roof than one Matron could ever be expected to handle, so she couldn’t always be there when they pulled her tail from ‘round corners, or put ants in her britches, or kicked dirt in her face while she was tryin’ to nap, or knocked her tray out of her hands at meals, or tore up her schoolwork, or just plain told her they hated her stupid, knobbly face.

It was Matron’s fault no one ever looked twice at Annie when people actually showed up lookin’ to adopt; there was always a needier child, someone who was less trouble, cuter, smarter, while Annie was shut up in a room out of sight. It was Matron’s fault she never stopped the kids who pushed Annie into the beat’em-up circle, or ever let her finish the fights with the ones brave or stupid enough to take her on alone; it was always Annie’s fault anyhow, so she should learn to be nicer to the others and not pick fights. It was Matron’s fault that she couldn’t keep her mouth shut, gossipin’ to Cook late at night when she thought their wards were asleep, about how Annie didn’t much look like her Pa, or how her Ma, in the end, just couldn’t handle’em lashin’ out about it no more. That must be where Annie gets it. That’s why she’s their problem now.

So what did it matter, then, if she bit’em? They had it comin’, anyway, and though Annie didn’t mean to make’em squirm like their blood was on fire every time she had to use her teeth, she couldn’t help herself. Apparently, she couldn’t even bite somebody right.

It was the best damn day of Annie’s life when Matron declared that she was too old to stay, that she’d have to take care of herself from now on, and they didn’t have enough to go around to give her anythin’ to set herself up with. That was fine; it’s not like they really did anythin’ for Annie to begin with, so how was this any different? She would find her own way, no problem.

At least, that’s what she thought. Unsurprisingly, nobody in the Six wanted Annie, either. Nobody at the home ever taught Annie nothin’ besides her letters and easy maths, and nobody wanted to hire some raggedy kid who didn’t know how to do nothin’. No homes opened themselves up to her in kindness; on the contrary, most folk seemed repulsed by her rough appearance and coarse manner. For a short while, she tried stealin’ to get by, but that didn’t last long. There are well established gangs with well established territories runnin’ in the Six, and they didn’t take too kindly to some upstart nobody clumsily callin’ attention to theft in their turfs; and so, eventually, it was either join up, or get run out of town. Soon after, on a job that took the crew outside the Six, they declared Annie to be dead weight, abandoning her, forcin’ her deeper into the desert, and leavin’ her for dead. She didn’t see it comin’, but a part of her weren’t surprised nonetheless.

The next few days in the desert outside the Six were hard, harder than even Annie thought days could be. The sun beat down relentlessly, cookin’ the barren landscape that, ironically, provided no food Annie could find. The nights leeched the heat from her scales, and all she could do was shiver in whatever shallow crevasse she balled herself up into. Birds flew overhead out of reach, keepin’ a distant eye on Annie, waitin’ for her to collapse and be still. Creatures small and tiny alike ran at the sight of her; rodents and lizards scurryin’ lightnin’-quick beneath rocks, scorpions backin’ down into sandy burrows and darin’ her to follow with raised stingers, and wild-eyed hares lopin’ away in great obscurin’ clouds of dust. None would share their secrets of how to live in such a place.

On the third day, Annie seemed more a knobbly fence-post than a starvin’ young woman. That she could still stagger forward at all was a miracle, even to her; but if she died, how would she ever make it back to spit in Matron’s face? The thought of showin’ Matron that Annie never needed the likes of her was all she could think about, her eyesight blurry from hunger, when she stumbled. Her face smacked into the hot, unforgivin’ dirt, her mouth filling with acrid dust. Somethin’ about literally being facedown in the dust, the taste of it dryin’ her already arid throat, was more than she could take. She sobbed, spillin’ moisture she didn’t think she had left and watchin’ the sun steal it from the sand. Her fist lashed out in frustration, and she screeched in pain, withdrawin’ her needle-covered knuckles from a tall cactus she had failed to register earlier. As she removed the long needles from her fist, she noticed liquid shining in the hole where her hand had smashed through. She licked her wounds, and was amazed by the first taste of water she’d had for days. Snappin’ off one of the wide, flat leaves, she carefully removed the needles as quickly as possible before taking a tentative bite. It was crisp and tart,

The moisture within hydratin’ her barren mouth as she chewed. When she’d finished, her attention turned to the plump, magenta bulbs that sprouted in various spots along the leaves. She picked up a sharp, thin rock nearby, plucked off a particularly bright bulb, and peeled off the spiny skin. The first bite almost brought her to tears, it was so good. Sweet, tart, and fruity, the flavor reminded her of the candies she would steal from Matron’s stash, the one’s only given out willingly to her favorite wards when they’d been especially good. The little seeds within crunched between her teeth with some effort, but the rest of the flesh was tender and juicy. She spent the next hour devourin’ as much of that cactus as she could, grateful for the spiny plant’s existence. When she could stomach no more, she prepared as many leaves and fruits as she could fit into her sack for the journey ahead. Before she left though, she turned back to the cactus, gazing at the stumps where she’d partaken of its body. If it hadn’t been there, survivin’ in its own way in that wasteland, she would’ve surely died. A gratitude she’d never known welled up inside of her, and Annie gave it thanks for savin’ her life.

She soon learned that other things enjoyed the cactus fruits as well; even their spiny rinds attracted small creatures lured in by their sweet scent on the wind. With patience, and a little cleverness, she managed to trap a few, and dried their meat on sticks during the hottest hours of the day. She got by in this way for another day, tryin’ to make her way back to the Six for shelter, when she suddenly came upon a small camp with a pair of bodies layin’ around the remains of a doused fire pit. Despite never seein’ a dead body before, she felt oddly calm. After bein’ in the desert for 4 days, she was just glad she weren’t one of’em. Inspectin’em warily, she realized they hadn’t been dead long. One wore a long, sturdy duster, a wide brimmed black hat, and clutched a large, intimidatin’ crossbow made out of some kind of exotic wood, “Jolene,” etched into the side. A small dagger protruded from their thigh. There was little blood around the wound, which was puzzlin’. Poison, maybe? The other body was face down, and the fancy but road-worn clothes concealed a bandoleer of identical knives to the one found in the first body. A long crossbow bolt pierced their back. Turnin’em over, Annie realized she recognized the face; this was Dirty Davies, wanted dead or alive in multiple cities of the Six for extortion and murder. The other person she didn’t recognize, but they were clearly someone aimin’ to cash in on Davies’ bounty. Searchin’ the first body, she found a card which read, “Ery Theema, for hire.” She also found a nearly full canteen and some rations. Well, it weren’t like Ery was gonna eat’em, anyway. She hefted Jolene, and decided she liked the weight, and the feel of the pressurized trigger against her finger felt just right. She aimed at a squat shrub some distance away, and fired off a bolt, surprised by both the powerful kickback from crossbow and her own accuracy as the bolt thudded just off mark. “Nice to meet’cha, Jolene. I guess we’re each others’ only friend, now,” she said, realizin’ she hadn’t said anythin’ else for four days, but somehow comforted by having a listener who wouldn’t just tell her to shut up. The duster fit her well enough, if a little large around her wiry frame, but she liked that too; it left just enough room for Jolene to be strapped to her back underneath. 

Apparently, Ery had caught Davies as he was packin’ up camp, so after drinkin’ a bit from the canteen and fillin’ her belly with rations, she took and unrolled his bedroll. Wrappin’ him up nice and tight within and strappin’ the roll to some dowels from over the fire pit, she created a makeshift sled to drag him along with. The wanted poster had said alive or dead, after all, and he would just rot in the sun otherwise, so why not cash in herself? Hell, she might even be good at catchin’ scum like Davies, given a little practice with Jolene and the chance to do it herself. She waited until sunset, then hefted the rope attached to the sled over her shoulder, and began makin’ her way back to the nearest city in the Six.

“Say, Jolene, y’wanna hear about the time I stole Matron’s special night drink? The one she only ever shared with Cook? Well, it was a stormy night, and I was real tired and thirsty from gettin’ beat up in the yard earlier, y’see...”