Work Text:
“Mr. Chaaaaase,” the pestilent brat whined with the sort of shrillness that could only be mustered by the very young or the very obnoxious, “I’m tired. I don’t wanna walk anymore.”
“How unpleasant for you,” he droned, tearing a branch from the thick undergrowth before them. The path he was clearing was not the most elegant or the most convenient, but this jungle was so dense that any path was better than none. To his displeasure, however, it had done nothing to lessen the amount of sticks and leaves that insisted on snarling themselves into his hair, and it had done even less to stem the flood of complaints from his young companion.
The blasted whelp. Why had Spicer decided to bring his young cousin along to a Showdown in the first place? A Showdown was no place for a child, much less an untrained, spoiled little snotrag.
“Carry me!”
A sudden weight on his back threw Chase off-balance as he reached for another branch, and he very nearly fell over into a particularly prickly thornbush. Two small, Mary-Jane-clad feet dug sharply into his sides, and two grimy hands grabbed hold of his tangled mass of hair.
“No,” he snarled, and went to snatch the child from his back...but to his shock he found that he could not budge her. The brat seemed to be blessed with preternatural strength - that, or she was just very, very stubborn.
Considering that she was of Spicer’s blood, the latter seemed far more likely.
“Giddy-up!” the little monster shrilled, and kicked her heels into his sides.
With a resigned sigh - he couldn’t very well remove her from his person without injury, and harming such a young child was a bit too low, even for him - Chase ripped another branch from the path and continued his slow, torturous journey on.
It was going to be a very long walk.