"Salt?"

"Yeah."

"Just . . . salt?"

"Yes. Please.

The man stared at me. "What will you do with a quarter cup of salt?"

"It--" I considered, not for the first time, whether it was worth explaining. "It's to manage this, uh, thing that follows me around." I gestured to the ground, to the beast--which came up to my ankle at the moment. "Salt keeps it calm."

"Uh-huh," the man said. "Sure, kid."

"Please. It's not funny when it gets into a mood."

The man fixed his gaze on me for another moment, then shook his head and pulled out a measuring cup, spooning a quarter cup of salt into a sandwich bag for me. I tried not to be too eager as I took it from his hands.

"Thank you so much," I said, scooping up the best and sliding it into the pile of salt.

"Uh-huh.

I could tell they were starting to turn to the ribbons.

It wasn't actually the topic of the conversation, at least not yet. They were just talking about guard style. Unity of clothing, color coordination, tasteful combinations, avoiding complexity.

I glanced down at my hips, where an array of colorful ribbons dangled off my belt.

"Okay, I know they look kinda dumb but they help hold off the beast a little," I said, brushing my hands along the loose ends of the ribbons.

"No way that actually makes a difference," someone laughed.

I shrugged, doing my best to laugh too. "I know, right? It's weird. But it just stays down a little longer if I have them on."

"Beasts suck," someone said noncommitally. "I got followed by one for a full day about a year ago. Real awful. Maybe I should have tried the colors."

"Next time," I said with a wry smile.

She shuddered. "God, I hope not."

I didn't see a point in mentioning that the ribbons rarely did any good after the beast got disrupted.

"You're not taking me seriously!" she bellowed.

"I--no, I am, but--" I cringed as the scratching at my legs grew more aggressive. "The best is getting a little--"

"Oh enough with the beast! You always use the beast as an excuse!" She threw a hand at it, and it was admittedly looking quite puny right now, maybe a foot tall with its teeth not quite showing yet--"Look at the thing! It can't hurt you!"

"What, you think I make up its rages?! Why would I lie about--"

"You're always complaining about it, always using it to get out of stuff like this--"

"Because this kind of thing makes it really angry!"

"It's tiny! It can't do anything!"

It gets big--"

"Yeah, yeah. I've never seen it. Awfully convenient that it hates exactly the things you do, huh?"

"It does not, I don't hate this kind of thing, I just can't do it because of the--"

She stormed out before I could even finish the sentence. I should've been offended, but it was a blessed relief--the beast backed off enough that I could take the time to track down the disk bed, the only thing that could really calm it down once it got aggravated.

"I'm really sorry," I repeated. "I know it's a huge inconvenience. But if you don't turn the temperature down the beast that follows me will get really huge and angry and--"

"Kid, I don't know how to tell you this but there are other people here who don't want the room to be freezing."

"I know, I know, but--the beast is really terrible when it gets hot, please--"

"Kid, just chill," the operator interjected. "I need to check something." He backed away and dialed up the phone, fiddling with something while I waited nervously. He spent a few minutes adjusting something, then turned back, sighing as if disappointed to find me still there.

I waited.

"Okay. Not all the way to 15, that's absurd, but I can give you 20, maybe 19." He muttered under his breath, "Which is still ridiculous but whatever."

Thank you so much," I said. "Thank you so, so much."

It wouldn't be quite enough to hold it down, but it'd keep the edge off until I got home and locked it in a cage with the disk bed for the night.

This was not going to go well.

The dress code was such that my ribbons would be absolutely unacceptable--so my waist was unadorned.

The room was hot and stuffy, and getting hotter by the minute. The beast was already almost up to my knee, pacing and scrabbling impatiently.

"But you have the disk, right?" my friend asked.

I cringed.

You would think that I'd bring it everywhere, knowing it was the only thing that could really fight the beast. But I'd left in a hurry that morning, no time to grab it from its usual spot in my backpack, and of course I didn't have my backpack either because that also wasn't part of the dress code. So there I was.

"No disk."

"Oh."

My friend new exactly how bad that was.

The beast began to gnaw at one of my calves. I jerked my leg away, trying to hold it off, but it just danced after it hungrily. It latched into the flesh solidly, and after that, no matter how much I shook, it only dug deeper.

"I-I'm going to try to get some salt," I choked out, trying to keep the total panic out of my voice. My friend nodded firmly as I dragged the beast out of the room.

The bitten leg was already getting shaky, and the feeling was spreading through my nerves to the rest of my body. Salt. Salt. I knew it would do anything--not like I could immerse the beast when it had gotten this big--but I had to try.

The beast was up to my waist now, hackles raised, muscles swelling, hair standing on end. I crahsed into the kitchen and wrenched open cabinet after cabinet. I tore open one to find dishes, then glasses. No good. No good. Spices, but no salt. Finally, I opened one to find a tub of flour, sugar, oil, and--

"Salt," I let out, reaching--

The beast crashed into me and tackled me to the ground, slamming my outreached arm against the kitchen counter. I cried out and curled up, and that was the only reason I didn't crack my skull against the floor.

And then I was on the ground, the beast tearing at my arm with its teeth and its claws digging into my chest. I struggled, trying to get the claws out of my shirt and flesh, but it only dug deeper, blood blossoming on the fabric. I howled.

The kitchen door burst open and the beast leap back, shrinking to a slight, innocent-looking creature, leaving me lying on the floor covered in blood and tears.

"Wow," someone said. "Drama queen."