Saturday finds the thing's jaw and digs her fingers into it. Even brushing the teeth makes her fingers bleed and go cold; she ignores it, because she can. At least for a little while.

"My name's Saturday," she informs it, glaring into a pale cold eye. "We're gonna have to work together, or die. *Do not fuck with me.*"

To make her point clear she digs the nails of her metal arm, suddenly sharp as knives, into its gums. Then she shoves it away and leaps back, wary, ready to meet it if it decides to continue the challenge.

It was the only thing she could think to do, once she saw its form was a dog.

"Guts," she calls. "It's a rabid fucker, but the two of us beats the on it any day. Work with me. I know you can."