Moonspear we're gonna die young.

The woman remained just as unhelpful and infuriating as ever, and Fin grit her teeth.  Who the fuck would do this to someone?  Make them grovel and beg while they're lying in front of them, broken and pleading.  This chick was a bitch.  Straight up, awful, terrible creature.  And though Fin would have likely found herself behaving exactly the same as her were the roles reversed, it didn't stop the anger that rose in her throat like bile.

But.  In spite of all of her dark, insulting, vicious thoughts, Finley knew that this bitch was her best shot at not dying.  She couldn't promise her anything - what could she possibly give her?  Unless she wanted a few porcupine barbs to stash in her scrapbook, Fin really had nothing.  Except... "Please... my son is only three months old," she murmured pathetically, shutting her eyes against the wave of terrible guilt that crashed down her on.