"And just who are ya'?"

"Who do I look like?"

Tammy shuffled, her hand outstretched. She felt naked, though every time the girl attempted to perceive herself, her eyes were deceived into believing she was enveloped by a silk sheet which billowed in a wind which did not exist. As she reached for the entity, the tips of her fingers graced the wispy curls of smoke which danced hastily away at her touch. The air felt thick, heavy and coarse. It left a collected residue on her fingers, a dark grey and black matter that she soon found creeping up her hand. She remained calm as the pollution continued up her wrist, though recoiled in surprise at sudden vivid, colourful lights which cast tall shadows of her figure into the now glowing ground.

The sound of voices began to rise up, bells and whistles echoed around her head. They grew louder and louder, challenging her to call for the experience to end. She grimaced through it and lowered her hands, peering back into the gathering cloud before her.

"I..."

There was no visible response, only the voice. The assault on her sense intensified, through the blinking neon lights and the sinful cheers of gamblers and revelers she endured. The soot like substance continued to cover her body, grasping now at her neck and cheeks, edging toward her lips and smothering her hair.

"Death. I am death. However this is the end of another story."

She woke. 

She woke with a desperate gasp, clinging to the sheets in which she slept. The girl continued to wrestle with her breathing while checking her body over. Her hands, arms, chest, legs. It wasn't until her breath settled that she accepted it was a dream, a fabrication of her mind. 

It was a typical weekday morning in Las Vegas, Gato prepared her wardrobe, tidied up her unacceptably erratic hair and headed for the bathroom. It was there she took the time to regard herself for some considerable amount of time. The girl that stared back at her in the mirrored cabinet was no longer the girl who she knew. Who her father knew. The girl he had attempted to keep from this life, from what it meant and entailed. From where it ended. 

Tabitha Gato completed her morning routine and stepped down the spiral stairwell into Brennan's Cellars. It was there that she took pen to paper, while sat in a quiet corner of her tavern. 

How do you start a letter to the father you grew up despising. 

---

She clicked her pen against the white of her teeth. Looking out across the empty tavern, Tammy found herself in a melancholic state of regret. Her skin still itched from the suggested smothering her subconscious had kindly subjected her to. The thoughts had consumed her ability to put pen to paper. With an almighty mental effort, she simply started writing.

Christian,

It's odd that the first words I would offer you since you left would be ones you will never actually read. I'm still wrestling with the idea that I care though, care that we could have had a different relationship, or care that you were doing what you thought was best. Though you will never read the first words your daughter wrote you since you abandoned her, I will still write to my father for the first time since he abandoned me. For me, it still counts.

Mom's dead. You wouldn't have known that when they killed you, because you had everything sent to her. She was already dead though, and I was alone, alone when I received packages of my dead fathers belongings which were destined for my dead mother. Whatever moronic goombas you had ensure that last wish was fulfilled should have been shot themselves. Cash? Warrants? A firearm? Who deliver those to an adolescent girl?

I bet you're wondering why I'm writing. Or not, I suppose.

My life is amazing right now, I feel like I'm actually living what it was we were administrating for you for all those years. The imports, the liquor, the real estate. No wonder you enjoyed this life more than your own flesh and blood. I know you were trying to protect me. In a way, that makes you the most effective father in the world, however you could have done it much better if you sacrificed the life you were living for mine. 

I know now what it is you were protecting me from. It wasn't this life, it wasn't the crime, or prison, or confrontation. The life is addictive, the life is a drug. 

No, you were trying to protect me from how it ends. How it eventually pulls that trigger, and how it never, ever misses.

I miss you, dad.

Tabby Cat.

A tear hit the page and she snapped out of her fantasy. The fantasy where somehow, her father would be able to hear her words. Taking hold of her coat, she stood with an urgency and left the tavern. In her hand was the letter, a clenched page of emotion and hope. The girl burst through the double doors of Brennan's Cellars and swept out onto the streets. She walked, with no destination, and walked. Her feet meeting the sidewalk one after the other through raw necessity to prevent her from hitting the ground and sobbing.

In her haste, she suddenly found herself in the midst of a heated debate. A war of words between mobsters, which suddenly fell silent, and all eyes turned on her. 

---

Fear. But from where? She had been in the streets before, she had spoken publicly before. Hell, she enjoyed it. It was a risk, a test, putting not only yourself out there, but your opinions and way of thinking. It was a rush, knowing that in the next moment your entire philosophy, beliefs, morals or integrity could be challenged. Your reputation could be broken in an instant, it could crumble and whither, forcing you to start from the bottom again and make your way back up.

Running mouth first into an argument was a daunting experience, and it was understandable why many would shy away from it. Confidence in your opinion plays a part in where and when you get involved, it could be an easy pitch, you could be of the opinion that the majority have taken, or even better build that majority on your own opinion, but confidence was only one driver. Tammy did it because it was in her blood.

Her father had once asked her how she would change the world.

"Be kind and nice to people." He would chuckle at her, sitting comfortably at her side. She had already grown distant from him at this point, his work keeping him far more entertained than she ever could. He still knew her, though. He saw through her response knowing there was a much more brittle and skeptical little girl in there. And there was the fact she was only eight years old. He looked down at her with a smile which could be interpreted as fondness. She could have stared into his bright hazel eyes forever, knowing that they told her she was safe, secure and loved. At the same time, the reflection of the little girl in them was lost and alone, continuous pushed away from her father through fear she would follow his path.

"Tabby Cat" He would say. "The world will never fully appreciate who you are unless you show them. There will be some who do not approve, some who gravitate to you and then those who would remain watching with curiosity."

"Those are the people who are waiting to be inspired. Regardless of their opinion of you, make sure your story is told, as you will never know how it could change the world."

The words were lost on that frustrated little girl, though through time she began to live by them. 

Walking the streets was more than just a place to run your mouth, it was a place to capture the moment and everything in it. She never thought that what she had to say would change the world, but by making sure it was out there, at least the chance was there.

"Never change, Tabby Cat. If you take the shape that the world expects of you, then how can you ever hope to change the world."

The words of her father faded as she stared back at the figures waiting for her to contribute to the discussion. She stared back, open mouthed and silent as a darkness crept in from behind her eyes. Was this still a dream?

---

She ran. A figure was in pursuit, his skin dark and impenetrable. His form was inconsistent, moving between a horrifying, filthy gas and the recognizable, comforting figure of a man. She found his more human form more accepting, regardless of the fact he was still in pursuit of her. As she neared the end of the alley, it stretched out once more before her. The walls rose tall over her, there was no other option than to run. 

It must be a dream, but when? When did she fall asleep? In her hand was the crunched up letter, the link she had with reality. In it were the words she never knew she wanted to write, which told the story of the path she never knew she wanted to take. The walls around her began to blur, though in the distance there was light, a brilliant white. As her feet hit the ground a seemingly infinite number of times, her breath returned and a whisper of a song floated from her lips, breaking the silence of the alley.

♫ Now there's grit under her fingernails an' some days her eyes are black... ♫

Fear, again. Of what? Why was she afraid?.

♫ But he hopes, he hopes, he hopes,... ♫

The song lifted her chin, she began to slow her pace and eventually stopped running. The figure following her also stopped, hanging behind her like a shadow. She closed her eyes and clenched the paper between her finger, remembering the words she had written. She turned, her eyes open wide.

♫ ...That there's no goin' back. ♫

Here she would fight. Whatever this was, wherever it had taken her, she would fight. 

Suddenly she was naked again. The brilliant white light enveloped her and the silk sheets caressed her as they floated in the wind which didn't exist. The gaseous smog floated toward her. She reached out her hand. 

"I'm here"

The voice was familiar, though not her father.

"And just who are ya'?"

Her fingers graced the dancing smoke once more, though this time, the pollution did not spread across her hands as before.

"Who do I look like?"

A figure formed from the mass. A man, familiar to her than most others. He stood before her though she knew he represented more than just a man. He was the sacrifice her father had made to keep her from the end of this life, the way we all end. He was the one who would lead her there, and she would gladly follow. She lifted her arms and embraced the figure, smiling from the corner of her mouth.

"Death. You are death."

The man nodded, smoke lifting from his blackened skin. 

"Yes, however that story is yet to end."

For the sake of expediency, TabithaGato, could you tell us which paragraph has the latest news on the sex scandals that have dogged your bloodlines?

Dub approaches.

Oh look! The mentioning of others' scandals! Right on cue. 

Butthead walks up to Dub, Kuku and Tabitha. Kuku was raving about useless nonsense again. As he always seems to be.

"Ahh, Kuku. It's shitty to see you again, as it always seems to be in the streets. Oh, what's that? You're here to judge other people's bloodlines again? If you spent a fifth of the time doing something productive instead of sitting there, jerking off while thinking about how superior your bloodline is, then maybe you'd actually have a line worth mentioning! Just food for thought.."

I want the allegations to remain where they belong.  In the past. 

"I also wanted to bring this gem up. This was a quote in a particular transcript of a speech that your father made, I've actually got the journal here if you wanted to take a read. Rather hypocritical if I say so myself. But feel free to point it out if I misunderstood the meaning of your father"

Butthead spits on the ground beside him and walks away