Venus isn't sure what she's going to do with a damn case of beer. Yes, a calorie is a calorie, but she knows full well she can't really hold her liquor yet, and she doubts she can be as effortlessly poised drunk as she tries to be on camera. It's bad enough worrying that she drools and farts when she sleeps.

So she's decided that, for the moment, the case of beer will make fitting bait, sitting atop a bear trap covered in leaves. She tried to cover it in mud, but after a while working it noticed that the grains of dirt jammed the spring.

And she hides in the tall grass, watching, imagining herself some sort of lioness. She's pulled her hair back into pigtails to keep it out of her face, but a stubborn lock, made winding by the humidity, keeps tickling her lower lip, like a bird dipping its beak to water. The only sound she makes as she watches her trap is the occasional puff of air as she blows it away.

She stops doing even that when she hears footsteps approaching - not loud ones, but the ruffage around them makes silence impossible.