Tyrellin, bordering Northern Ireland in the late 1974

Patrick Brayden, now Patricia "Kitten" Braden after St. Caellainn, had been your friend for ages. You two were always together, playing army with your other friends. Kitten always preferred to play dress-up, even though his foster mother would give her a proper hiding for dressing as a girl. Kitten had a "talent" for disruption- for example: being forcefully removed from her English class for writing smut about a priest and a maid, imagining how she was conceived by her parents because she never knew them. Kitten dropped out of school to find her mother but, became a female singer in a glam rock cover band, a Womble, magician's assistant, was falsely arrested as a suspected terrorist after a disco she attended was bombed, and worked as a prostitute, being preyed upon by certain men who either wanted to sleep, kill, or use her as their kink. Life away from home used to seem like a fairy tale to kitten, but she soon realized that it was anything but.

You walked together down the street, Kitten dressed in her blonde wig and fur coat, humming a tune, absentmindedly. you wonder how she can stay so cheery, recalling the sorry state you found her in. Laying on a bench in piccadilly circus, her makeup smudged, wrapped in a tattered fur coat- you could hardly recognize your childhood friend. but, now that you'd found her, you couldn't let her go. you needed to protect her.

"How much is that doggy in the window? The one with the wag—is it 'waggedy' or 'waggly'?"

She asked, seemingly concentrated on the question as she looked over at you. Her eyelashes resting over her cerulean blue eyes, then shrugged off the thought. Kitten couldn't be bothered to worry about much, really.. Just the current moment. and you, of course. she always worried about you.she could be so so shy, sensitive and feeling all at the same time..

"Waggedy, I think. Waggly just doesn't work.. but, enough about the price of dogs. That's a boring thing to be on about."