Alaska Bandit.

An ironic name for a ferret of course, through the winding path of her life she had learned to live through the irony and take the best meaning she could from what suited her the best.

Right now, per chance that happened to be her name, Alaska, it rolled off the tongue, it was smooth like the whiskeys she's always heard of but never had. But that didn't suit her, she wasn't smooth and when she tried to speak of it was more of a cascading wave that smashed against the rocky shores slowing chilling the earth to its core and reeling in the merciful relief of death to those who came to it.

Bandit was another name altogether. A name that fit so well into her looks, she was thin, if she wasn't already supposed to be long or thin you would've thought she was anorexic. But that made her that much easier to slip into the smaller cracks. It helped that for the most part, she was a bandit. That truly gave her name meaning, not based upon the darker fur that masked the upper portion of her face, not a trivial meaningless insult thrown around like a ball at a game.

While she enjoyed that name greatly, that was not the only name she was called. And quite often the names didn't affect her to start with, but on occasion, a simple offhanded name could cause more damage than an actual thought out one.

But that's not the point of this story was it?

Not today at least, Bandit decided as she flicked the coin under her finger tip once again, sending it spinning on the table top like a dreidel. She dully watched it until it fell down tails up, at that point she'd pick it up once more and flick it again.

She tried her best to ignore that lingering stench in the air, that smell of molded and ancient paper, with splashes of a deeper spice to it. And even more, sometimes she could catch a whiff of an artificial source, laced with chemicals that made her mind fuzzy.

Lester Ace was the name of her master.

Well, that was a title only she would use for herself, while Lester was a self righteous asshat most of the time, he did save her in a way he would never understand.

That thought alone managed to bring a smile to her cheeks, even if it was a bitter sweet idea she toyed with at the worst of times. Lester was not a master, nor was he a brother nor a father, not even a lover to an extent. To Bandit, he was just that, Lester.

Bandit had never had an ideal role model to look up to, hell, she never wanted one to start with.she was doing just fine on her own, an anthropomorphic ferret with no plan, but she made the best of what she had.

Bandit was never special, she was never very smart, very strong, her voice wouldn't be used in any record deals and she tripped over air at the worst times. She wasn't especially pretty, and she wasn't very well mannered either, epically when other intelligent creatures were involved, or unintelligent at that.

Bandit was alway just there, a background character in a sea of talents and abilities, and who was she to argue? She was not a lovable character to any story, nor was she a charming villain.

Nobody would cry for her when she had died, nobody would notice her absence. She was invisible, purely and simply so, a mistake where nothing could be found and nothing could be had.

Bandit was a nomad, she would take what she needed to survive before she needed to move on, there was no point to anything, so what did she have to live for besides herself?

That gave her time to think, truly think about the world she was born into so small and frail, and how little she had grown. Stories have always been weaved and told by many of a kind, and yet so few would ever happen. When Bandit was a kit, she'd read into all of the stories of the greatest heros, imagining that one day she'd be a hero, that she'd be able to do all of that and so much more.

The most she had done with her life then was slept, stolen, and survived.

Bandit had done no good in her life, she never would either, she was a thief, a criminal, a bandit. Deserving of her name like a harsh flick of the tongue, deserving of the life she brought upon herself, deserving of the snowstorm that swept the land she had tried to travel. Deserving of the cold numb death that crept into her very core, and stole her final breath.

When she awoke from her so called death, she was warm, no longer outside and instead was inside, in a cardboard box lined with blankets and pillows next to a heater. And a man, a peculiar looking one with a round and smooth head like glass, sat a few feet away at a table, reading a book it appeared at the time.

At first, Bandit said nothing, this was the after life? She would admit it was quite cozy, quite warm, and there was this certain air, a mystical air of sorts that almost lulled her back to sleep. But she persevered, keeping her dull yellow eyes open as she looked at the small, warm fire as it crackled not to far away, blinking her glassy eyes slowly.

She might've fallen asleep if it wasn't for the hand placed on her back, she was too tired to react with much vigor, at most her tail puffed up and she turned to see who the hand belonged to. That man was Lester Ace, he said nothing for the longest time, he had moved himself from the chair as he sat on the floor next to Bandit, and slowly tried to pet her as if she was a house cat. Yet Bandit didn't care at this point, she just let it happen.

If he was going to use her she only asked that he would do it already and be done with her. If he was going to keep her as a slave she only asked that he would stop being gentle and acting like he cared, to tell her that all she would be is property.

And yet, he didn't do either. As he sat there next to her in a vest and gloves, his hands trailing down her back in a comforting manner that she couldn't quite grasp herself, she made a soft chitter of comfort. She didn't feel safe yet, not yet, this could be a guise after all, and she wasn't going to be taken off guard easily.

Lester on the other hand was, lifting his hand off her when she chittered, he looked at her hesitantly, his dark brown, almost black eyes almost looking concerned as if he had hurt her. That puzzled Bandit, she looked back at Lester, if she were a cat her tail would've flicked in annoyance, but alas she wasn't, she was a ferret.

Lester looked at her confused, Bandit snorted and lowered her head to rest upon her hands once again. And slowly, ever so slowly Lester started to pet her again, and slowly, ever so slowly he started to pet her hair. He did it once, pausing after to wait for a sound of protest, before doing again, pausing, then petting.

Bandit closed her eyes and chittered softly, leaning into his gentle touch, this was something almost foreign to her. Touch, affection, perhaps even someone who might feel a twinge of something if she died.

At some point she must've fallen asleep, because one moment she was looking at a crackling fire and felt a hand petting her gently. The next, the fire was merely glowing embers, and the hand was gone. The room was dark, but she was covered by a blanket.

She was alone as if she was still out there, yet for the first time she could feel as if she was truly alone, and perhaps she was. For all she knew, the man who had saved her had simply left after his deed was done.

Then again, Bandit was never one to complain in the first place. She had gotten shelter and a warm bed, one that she didn't have to steal for once as it was, and someone who at least acted like they had cared for her health.                         

She could breathe safely for at least a little while to come, she never knew when she'd be able to rest like this again, so she simply laid there, too tired to try and get up at the moment, to lazy to think about why Lester had left her.

She was back to simply existing.

And for once Bandit wasn't okay with that, who did Lester think he was? Bringing her in and caring for her,only to leave at the first chance he had, he must've wanted to repent, and giving her the kindest of warmth and shelter, once that was over he left.

Her ear flicked, had she heard something? Ferrets weren't renowned for their hearing, but it was above average. There was a shuffling, like a mouse in a nest, perhaps she could return the favor? Ridding the house of a rodent problem, even if it was all an elaborate way to make her hurt, she could at least try to return the favor.

Stretching she crawled out of her box on all fours, she could walk on her hind legs like any human could, but on days like this, she preferred to stay low to the ground, she could move faster this way.

Bandit assumed the mouse knew she was there, and didn't bother with secrecy. She wasn't going to stalk prey that already knew that she was there, what was the point then? She wasn't going to wasn't her breath sneaking around uselessly, she found the source of the noise and faltered.

Instead of seeing a wall, she saw a bed, and in it was the man who had saved her, sleeping soundly with soft exhales of air coloring the air ever so faintly. Shifting in his sleep, creating the shuffling noise that she had heard, and for one blissful moment Bandit was filled with joy.

So overcome in fact, she found herself jumping onto the bed, in her old baggy clothes, and curling up against the small of his back, and fell asleep feeling content, and, safe? Maybe, she couldn't have been too sure of it at the time.

Looking back on that memory Bandit snorted, she was so easily swayed by small gestures at that time, but that worked out in her favor well enough. The rest from that point was rather simple, Lester taught her how to be an effective and engaging assistant, and she taught him how effective a little foreplay can weave itself into performance.

Bandit was almost satisfied, that was until Vanessa Weiss walked into her life.

Bandit growled and slammed her hand down on the penny, making it lay flat on the table. She lifted her hand and sighed, picking the penny up and spinning it again. She should've left as soon as Vanessa became a normal occurrence, she gobbled up all of Lester's free time, and Bandit hated her for it.

Bandit hated the girl with a passion. Who did she think she was? Walking into their house as if she owned the place, growling and snarling at every small thing Bandit asked her to do, and Lester who simply went along with it.

That's when Bandit should've know her spot in Lesters heart, if she even had one to start with, would've disappeared to make room for Vanessa.

That shriveling feeling in her stomach that happened everyday, that abandonment as it filled her very being and cemented itself to her heart. She'd look at the sunset everyday, hoping with every ounce of her very being that she wouldn't be alone once more.

And every night she was wrong.

Back before Vanessa Lester used to drag her outside every night to watch the sun set, especially after a draining show and they'd simply sit there together. Sometimes Bandit would rest her head on his shoulder and he would wrap his arm around her shoulders, other times he would lay he head down in her lap, looking at her with a simple before closing his eyes to simply enjoy the moment. If she was lucky, he'd fall asleep, and she could finally see him smooth face in perfect content.

Because of Vanessa he was gone.

Even with more menial tasks, if one had gotten hurt during a performance the other would would pay special attention to the other. Now, if Bandit hurt something, she'd get a "Not now" from Lester, or an almost cocky "Just go lick your wounds somewhere" from Vanessa.

As small as that was in the grand scheme of things, Bandit found herself tearing up at the thought, pressing the palm of her hand into one of her eyes as the other held onto her neck. Perhaps with her most recent injury the thought was like rubbing salt into the wound.

She was and assistant, yes, but she was also supposed to be the entertainment between sections of the show, mostly by trapeze, utilizing her flexibility. As she finished one off, she missed the bar, and fell unceremoniously to the ground on the back of her neck. To Bandit it was the most sickening crack in her life, as her vision blacked out she felt herself roll to her feet and hold her arms out as if it was all planned out, she had to use her senses to find her way away from the public eye.

Usually, if she had gotten an injury like that, Lester would've asked if she was at least okay, or help her after the show was over. But he never came, it was hours after the show ended before her vision came back. With it, crushing fear, had she done something wrong? Was Lester angry at her?

No.

Vanessa was just in the crowd, he had been so focused on her he never noticed Bandit had hurt herself.

That wasn't the thing that hurt the most, what hurt the most was the fact that he didn't care in the end. She had confronted him after, asking him why he didn't help her in the slightest. Even after telling him about her losing her vision, he simply shrugged with Vanessa hanging on his arm, who was giving her this nasty Cheshire grin. "Well, i didn't even know you were hurt in the first place. Nobody said anything, did you see anything Vanessa?"

"Not a thing. I don't even think her story is true to start with."

And he believed Vanessa

Bandit sniffed lightly as she pushed the tears back forcefully, she wasn't going to cry about it. She was just being petty after all, this was nothing to cry over, Lester was never hers to start with.

But, Bandit still felt that sharp sting that was stabbed through her heart when Lester looked at Vanessa, then back at Bandit to roll his eyes and go back to whatever he was doing before she had shown up.

Bandit felt like she was sitting in a foxhole now, with Vanessa and Lester on the other side, trying to hit her with artillery fire. Whenever she'd raise her head, even with a white flag she'd be bombarded with gunfire and her world being filled with shrapnel.

Bandit looked up at the sunset, and pulled her knees up to her chest. "Why?" She asked softly, the soft word containing emotions too various to count drifted into the wind leaving a confused girl behind with a heart torn apart by herself and by others.

Was she simply not good enough? Was there something alluring about Vanessa that Bandit didn't possess?

Bandit was there through some of Lesters harder times, a constant, she liked to think, in a life of unpredictable outcomes. Bandit never pushed him out of his comfort zone, she preened and took care of him just as much as he did to her. What did Vanessa do to earn his trust?

Bandit picked the penny off of the table next to her, and put in her pocket, pulling out a small ring next. She looked it over, and a flicker of a smile came onto her face, it was a promise ring. She had gotten it for Lester so long ago, so he promised they would be partners in crime forever. He might've not worn it ever, but he kept it because he knew how happy it made bandit.

But then she found it on the ground far away from where Lester kept it. Bandit was too hurt to ask Lester what it was about, she knew what it was about. But she couldn't bring herself to leave.

Bandit didn't play dirty, but it looked like Vanessa did.

Bandit would never admit it, once she left this place she'd smile and carry on as if All was right in the world. She'd act like Vanessa being around and insulting her every chance she has was fine, like she has thick skin. She'd act like Lester, her master, the one that saved her from a meaningless life and gave her something to live for, was still giving her attention, like he didn't try to shut her out completely.

Bandit would smile.

Because that's what thiefs did after all wasn't it? They acted like nothing was wrong even if the plan they had made was falling apart, they took what they could and made out like a bandit.

But Bandit wouldn't move, she had nowhere to go, nothing to do. This was the only life she knew, and if she would be forced to be miserable in her own home then so be it. If she was forced out of her room and back to a cardboard box in the basement, so be it.

Bandit was in a foxhole after all.

And Nobody would cry if she died in the crossfire.