tiny huntress @dearivanova - Tumblr Blog

☽ ― DOSSIER 001: WEREWOLF REGISTRY INFORMATION.

do you want me soft-willed and obedient? do you believe i will learn to love the cage? do you think i am a dog, to command me to sit, to come, to stay? even a bitch has teeth. watch me use them.

Wanted Connections / Full Biography

amycus:

amycus nodded firmly, his gaze lingering on some of the others who hid within the shadowy pub. “ after a while you become rather immune to this stuff” he shrugged, pouring himself a small glass from the bottle that had been laid out before him, before he offered her some of it. truth be told he was probably hiding from all of the different responsibilities that had followed him around of late, and what better way of doing so than getting hammered? “least i’ve got some company, eh?”

—

Clara snickers, leaning on the bar as she shifts to engage with him properly. He’s not wrong. Things do tend to get a little stale here after a while, especially when she’s so used to the rush of the hunt under the full moons. Hadn’t she just been hoping herself that something would come to liven up her night? She grins, easily accepting the offered drink. “Keep sharing the good stuff and I’ll be glad to provide my company all evening.”

#( amycus )

remus:

☾

“Depends on the boss I suppose,” Remus wrinkled his nose. There was certainly more to it than what he led on but the idea of giving more information than passive aggressive remarks toward the establishment didn’t seem necessary. “It was more than a few days but spread out over the course of several months. Either way, it proved it was not an establishment that is worthy of my time.” The wolf part certainly played a role among other things. “Maybe I’ll try there for my next job,” He admitted with a bitter chuckle and shook his head. “I’m out of luck with the immediate London area.”

—

She shrugs slightly, not able to comment much further. She’s only had the one boss, both here and in Bulgaria, and he’s proved shifty enough that she’s not sure he really counts. The explanation Remus gives doesn’t answer any of her questions, not really—if anything, it’s only triggered her nosiness. She’s never been particularly cognisant about people’s boundaries, careening across to satisfy her own curiosity, and this case is no different. It’s not as if she knows him, not as if she expects to see him after today, so why worry about it? “Months?” she asks, “why?” Her nose crinkles as she frowns. “Are you sick or something?”

#( remus )#( she's so NOSY )

verity:

⚘

“Likewise,” Verity admits with a low laugh. Nothing overly notable past her younger brother occasionally deciding her soft features would be more welcomed than his rough ones when it came to making deals with others. She could talk her way into getting a lesser offer accepted but that was as far as she let things go.

“You still have a little,” Verity murmurs and points at the left corner of her mouth to show where the woman missed. “Would it be easier if I got it?” A low laugh follows after then she raises an eyebrow at Clara.

“Yeah, that’s not all that threatening coming from the likes of me. It was quicker to say I was meeting someone and duck out,” She shakes her head, well aware that her petite build wasn’t overly scary. Verity could handle herself just fine if it came down to dueling but doing so in Diagon Alley was not something she planned on doing. “They’re lucky I wasn’t willing to pull my wand out. Certainly wasn’t worth making a scene in the clothing store but a bat bogey hex would have been enough to get the point across.”

If Clara Ivanova is anything, it’s bold. She’d been that way even before she’d been turned, but the power that she knows lurks under the surface in her other form had certainly helped. Whether the other witch is just teasing or actually flirting doesn’t matter—Clara leans in to close the gap between them, smiling impishly. If the person she’d been trying to lose was still watching, this would surely sell the illusion that Verity had wanted to act out. “I don’t think I can get it myself. You might have to do it for me.” Even if it’s just some harmless, fleeting flirtations with a witch who has no idea who Clara really is, she’s not about to pass up the chance to have a bit of fun for once before she heads back to the compound.

"Maybe. But sometimes you need to teach people a lesson, particularly if they’re handsy bastards.” She’s been taught better than to make a scene—Fenrir would probably have her head if she did—but Clara has never shied away from putting others back in their place if they’ve overstepped their mark. Pain always does make an excellent teacher. “If you’d hexed them, that would have made them second guess doing it again. Isn’t that what you’d call intimidating?”

#( verity )

wendy:

Wendy doubted that she would ever get used to the sickness that predated the full moon. She spent the days before the sickness set in hopelessly wishing that it wouldn’t hit, and every month she was disappointed when it did. With each passing month it was growing harder to hide the telltale signs, and she knew that it was only a matter of time that someone put two and two together, that she always looked terrible around the full moon. It was a curse that she knew that she would carry for the rest of her life, even though she desperately wished that she could rid herself of it, of the monster within.

Her boss had sent her home early after he had taken one look at her. She was hoping that he didn’t suspect her and that he had believed her lie of being out too late with friends the night before. She had thought that he could forgive a hangover, but she didn’t think that he would be able to look past what she was. All Wendy wanted to do was crawl into bed and curl up and sleep it off even though she knew that that was useless. She would wake up feeling just as terrible as she felt right now. The only relief would be turning into the monster that she feared. As she made her way past the pawnbroker shop, Wendy stopped in her tracks when she made eye contact with a blonde witch that she had seen around Knockturn Alley. Wendy thought that the look on her face reflected her own, and she hesitated. Could it be? Wendy was afraid, she didn’t want to out herself if she was wrong. But she found her feet taking her across the street towards the other witch. “I um,” she hesitated, her cheeks turning pink. “Hi. I…I’m Wendy.”

For a moment, the other witch’s words don’t fully register. Clara is still having trouble moving past how she looks, rather than what she’s saying, and how similar it is to her own current state. The longer she looks, the more convinced she is that the same thing ails her—the moonsickness that plagues every werewolf each month. It’s hard to concentrate through the pounding in her skull and the ache in her bones, but she’s relatively certain she’s never seen this woman before—at least not in the context of a full moon, nor in passing at the compound.

“You look awful,” Clara says in lieu of a greeting. The words leave her before she has a chance to think about them, still stuck on the feeling of familiarity and wrong that had seized her the moment she’d set eyes on Wendy. Does she not know that there are others out there? Surely if she knew there were others like her, she would have sought them out. No wolf should have to face the world alone, especially not at this time of the month when the moon is beginning to call. Her own words hit a beat later, and though Clara has never been one to watch her tongue, that’s not the way she would have wanted to greet the other witch—particularly if she’s like her too. She blinks, trying to shake off the stupor. “Clara,” she manages. “I see you walk by a lot.”

#( wendy )

fenrir:

“Maybe I’ve just learned it’s better to keep you busy,” he countered good-naturedly, brow cocked in a challenge. Some would call her arrogant, but Fenrir took it as a sign she knew her worth. It was true that, generally speaking, he considered her for the jobs that were more important, that required someone he trusted to get it done. As unusual as it was for a late bite-in to rise in the ranks so quickly or effectively, she had earned her wolfskin many times over. If he had even ten more like her, the wizarding world would stand no chance against them. Even so, it was a fact that she worked harder when she felt like she had something to prove—he couldn’t just let her know outright that she had little left to work toward.

That, and the amusement he felt at her disappointment was too good to pass up. Chores? I left early for chores? At times like this, she almost reminded him of the younger members of their community, those that had yet to learn one of the most fundamental lessons for their success. “Everyone pulls their weight,” he reminded her, hand on her shoulder; “and Gabriel is going to have the lion’s share compared to you.” Those bitten later in life had much more to prove upon joining his cause than those who were all but born into it, and while Clara had more than done so during her time here, his newest recruits needed work. “Besides, we’ve got cubs coming in this month. I need to make sure we’re prepared.”

Greyback took a seat in his old, beat up, wooden chair. It had, unlike many other accommodations they had built into the compound, come with place originally. “I promise that as soon as you’re done, we can get to talking about your job,” he continued, eyes shifting away from the young she-wolf and out toward the rest of the clearing. A few that stayed full-time were working on maintenance, another watching as a few older children wrestled in the dirt. One that huddled back, a scrawny thing, caught his eye. He wasn’t confident he’d make it. But that was what next month was for—potential replacements. “Go and feed the pigs,” he instructed, gaze turning back toward Clara; “if you’re quick about it, I won’t make you muck the stalls next time it needs doing.” A joke—that was what the newer recruits were for!

—

Clara snorts, and doesn’t hide the roll of her eyes. “That’s bullshit. You’d miss me if I was too busy to be around very often.” Her smirk colours her entire face—a far cry from the miserable expression she’d been wearing not too long ago after they’d first arrived. Now, she’s regained enough of herself to sass him again, perhaps even a little more boldly than she would usually—there’s always been something about being here that’s made her feel unstoppable. It’s nothing compared to the life she left behind, but the sheer belonging and purpose she finds here bolsters her more than those gilded walls ever could. She can’t read his mind to know if he feels the same way about all of them, but Clara is certain there must be some level of affection there—why else would he continue to fight for them? Why else would he continue to do everything he does for their kind if not that?

“Yes... but I’m not everyone.” Once, she had been. Once, she’d been little more than a scrawny teenager still grasping a new language, freshly bitten with hackles raised and snapping at anyone who tried to come close. She’s come a long way since then. He had led her—like he led all those who survived—towards the path to her true purpose, but it had been her own strength that had allowed her to reach the end. She’s fought tooth and claw to get where she is now, and no matter what reprimands she’s sure it will earn her later, she isn’t about to roll over and let those victories be dismissed. “Am I not your favourite anyway?” she adds as an afterthought, another little petulant remark that would no doubt have earned her a paw to the snout if they’d been in any other form.

A dozen more protests linger on the tip of her tongue at the command, but Clara bites them all back with a scowl. She might have managed to talk herself out of menial tasks before, but just as surely as if he had his teeth in her neck, there’s no escaping this one without yielding to him. “Fine,” she grouses, turning on her heel to stalk off towards her assigned task—and if he happens to hear the colourful string of Bulgarian insults muttered under her breath as she sets about fetching the food for the pigs, so be it. It’s a job she’s done numerous times before over the years, and as irritated as she is by it, Clara is able to make relatively quick work of it. With as much exaggeration as she can manage, she ditches the empty containers somewhere for later and stomps back towards him. “There. Done. Do I finally get to know what I’m doing now?”

#( fenrir )#( THIS BEAST OF A REPLY IS DONE #IT LIVES )

amycus:

if there was something he admired it was certainly strong women, the strongest in his eyes being his twin sister. perhaps that was why he found himself unusually accepting company, when he’d normally wish to be left alone to enjoy a drink and forget the night’s tales. “ or, i just wanted to round off my night with a quick nightcap” amycus glanced sideways at her, a slight smirk appearing, before quickly disappearing once more. “ and what about you? what is your excuse for drinking alone in one of the most depressing parts of our world” he laughed, never really having been a fan of knockturn alley, but it was certainly a good place to disappear in for a while.

—

"Demanding the whole bottle is a quick nightcap?” Clara snorts, eyes trailing after the bartender who had gone to follow his request. “Wizard after my own heart there.” Between shifts at the pawnbrokers next door, time at the compound or following up on jobs for Fenrir, Clara doesn’t get the chance to indulge in a good drink nearly as often as she’d used to. It hasn’t dampened her tolerance though, and she can always appreciate someone who can hold their own. She takes drink from her own glass before she answers, letting the burn of the liquor warm her throat. “I like the atmosphere, obviously.”

#( amycus )

remus:

☾

Her frown earns a frown of his own, Remus regretting having mentioned the last part at all since it was something that was too hard to explain to someone that wasn’t affected by the full moon. He wrinkles his nose while trying to find a reasonable way to explain things without giving too much away.

“A few missed days of work led to getting fired,” He grumbles, gaze focusing on the sign on the door instead of the woman he was speaking to. “Rather unfairly given the owner’s habit of randomly closing without explanation.”

Clara’s nose scrunches up as she weighs over his words in her mind. Something about that doesn’t sound right. She can’t claim to know what working for an upstanding business is like—her job at the pawnbrokers is her first and only experience of work and that’s hardly respectable—but she’s sure someone needs more grounds than just a few days out of work to get fired. “Is that how things work here?” she asks, with no consideration if it might be a delicate topic. She’s never been the most tactful, and living with a bunch of werewolves out in the middle of nowhere most of the time has begun to erode the remaining manners she was raised with. “In Bulgaria... things are not so harsh. Especially at a post office of all places.”

#( remus )

amycus:

for amycus the night felt more like day, it was the time he was most active. tonight he had just finished a job he had been working on for weeks for a client, they had wanted to get rid of someone discreetly, which amycus had only been too happy to agree to. now that his pockets were heavy with gold, he’d decided on a drink to calm down his adrenaline from the earlier events. as he approached the bar, he noticed a few people turn away from him, knowing exactly who the male carrow was. his gaze landed on the figure before him, but it didn’t last long before he pounded a fist on the wooden top. “ firewhiskey, and bring the bottle” he told the barman, sliding over a few coins, before he once more glanced towards the figure.

Of all the words someone might have used to describe Clara, shy wouldn’t have ever graced their list. The Bulgarian makes no secret of the fact that she’s looking, her eyes following the new arrival from all the way across the bar. His face isn’t a familiar one, but that’s not exactly a surprise. Knockturn Alley isn’t the place to come and make friends, and most that slink through this part of town want to be forgotten. Clara isn’t sure where this particular wizard stands on being disturbed, but when has that ever stopped her? She runs amok amid a pack of werewolves on the regular, the chance of irritating a wizard in a bar doesn’t phase her in the slightest. When he glances back, she grins widely, with just a little too many teeth. “Either you’re having a great night, or a really shitty one.”

#( amycus )

WHERE: the white wyvern, knockturn alley. WHO: open to all.

The biggest perk of Clara’s job at the shabby little pawnbrokers in Knockturn has never been the money. She’s lucky to have the income given what she is, but the fact that there’s a pub right next door has always been more of a draw than a meagre handful of gold. It’s where she’s ended up tonight, perched at the bar with a flagon of something strong that reminds her of home. It’s been quiet so far, but that doesn’t mean much. The night is young. There’s still plenty of time for something exciting to happen, and how she prays that it does.

At the sound of the door, Clara turns to take in the latest arrival, hoping that they might be the one to break the monotony of the evening so far.

#inferi starter #( man i loathe starters #but here have a clara yall )

fenrir:

Fenrir knew that she wasn’t bluffing, that she did know most ( if not all ) the little passageways that a small, troublesome cub could use to escape. Some of them had been carved out purposefully, others left alone—it was a lesson in temptation. Newly bitten children, those that still carried the scent of fear, of grief, of denial… some of them fancied themselves an escape. The smarter obedient ones would realize the futility of escape—even if they couldn’t be found, who else would care for them? their parents were dead or unwilling to try—and adapt to their new situation. Those that couldn’t be taught, that mewled and cried and ran, would be slaughtered like rats and fed to their betters. It was the first lesson he taught—only the strong would survive. Clara had learned it well. Not everyone was as lucky.

True to her nature, she rose to the challenge with her teeth all but bared. Would she be disappointed to learn it wouldn’t involve using her claws? “Better than I could?” he asked, lips twitching with amusement. In another form, she might have had teeth in her neck by now—dominating, not killing—or a paw to the snout, but for now he allowed her to snark. “I don’t know about that, but you’re welcome to try and prove me wrong.” She would, of course. The challenges he gave were meant to test the extent of her abilities, prime her for the coming war. To a point, almost affectionate. Paternal. But in few of the ways that were warm or kind. He knew that she would readily lay down her life for the cause, for him, and was more than prepared to make use of that.

“So I see. You’re a quick learner,” he praised, stepping forward to clap her on the shoulder. Normally, he took care of the wards, himself—for good reason; it wasn’t always wise to trust another’s magic—but there were few that he would have trusted more than Clara. Her magic was strong enough to be to his liking, and had grown stronger under his teachings. The pitiful whelp of a witch she had been didn’t cling to her, now. “Come on, now. We have a lot to talk about before I let you off your leash,” he continued, slipping through the ragged chainmail and into the compound. “And maybe a few chores for you to get done, too.”

☽

Clara’s under no illusions that if he truly minded her attitude, she’d know about it. Pain is an excellent teacher, particularly to someone who doesn’t suffer fools, and she’d learnt quickly what would happen if she needed reminding of her place. He’s never needed to be cloaked in fang and fur to be dangerous, and it’s a fact that many who arrive at the compound fail to realise. Strength was a necessity to survive here, but disobedience only ended in blood. It won’t stop her continuing to toe the line—it’s simply not in her nature to roll over and bare her throat without a little push back to test his authority now and then.

“Better than you could,” she echoes with a toothy grin. “Why else would you ask me to do it? You know I’m going to do it best.” She’s got no idea what this mystery job is going to entail, but when has that ever mattered? She’ll give it her all no matter what the task is, because it’s what’s been asked of her, because it’s all to further their cause. She’s found more of a home among the others of her kind than with any blood family, and she’s not going to stop until she’s helped him usher in a world where they aren’t shunted into the gutters like rats.

"Chores? I left early for chores?” The grin falls at that, replaced instead with a furrowed brow as she follows in his footsteps towards home. As much as she enjoys pushing her luck, acting the part of a petulant whelp, she’s not a child. It’s been a long time since she’s been that, a desperate and pathetic thing that had sought to find approval from a mother who had never once loved her. She’s grown now, come into her own and ready to bare her teeth at the world. She’s certainly not about to let herself be conscripted into something as menial as chores when there’s more exhilarating and carnal things things to be done—not without a fight, at least. “Wait... it’s not even my turn. It’s his turn, the new one. Gary? No... Garrett?” She curses quietly under her breath. “Glenn?... Maybe I’ve forgotten his name, but it’s absolutely his turn. Besides, I’m busy right now. You have a job for me, remember?”

#( fenrir )#( i told u i would work gary in and here he is )

WHERE: knockturn alley WHO: clara and wendy @wendy-slinkhard

The moon has always been a cruel mistress, no matter how long Clara has been answering her call. It’s never mattered how willingly she gives herself over to tooth and claw and bloodlust each month; the lead up to that fateful night is always a rough one. It’s like a skin deep itch she just can’t shake, a sickness that just won’t shift. This time around isn’t as bad as it has been in the past, but with only a handful of nights to go until the full moon, she’d still looked pallid enough that her boss had sent her home early.

It’s on her way out of the pawnbrokers that Clara spots her—the other witch. She doesn’t know her name, but they’ve crossed paths often enough lately that her face is a familiar one. Normally, Clara doesn’t bother to remember any of the people she comes across in this dismal place, but this girl had always seemed just a little too out of place here to be forgettable. More concerned with just getting out of here so she can suffer with the others back at the compound—and whine loudly at Fenrir if he’s there—it’s not until she’s almost passed by that she really takes any notice of her. She looks about as dreadful as Clara feels. It seems ludicrous to think it’s for the same reason, but Clara’s seen enough people battling moonsickness by now that the signs are familiar. It’s enough to make her pause, a frown crinkling across her brow as she stares across the street towards the other woman.

#( wendy )#( omg pls just take this )

verity:

⚘

“Sorry,” Verity apologized again and kept walking, not ready to look back at the shop. “I hope I didn’t scare you. Just needed… Merlin, they wouldn’t leave me alone and wouldn’t stop trying to get me to pay attention to them. Ruined my afternoon, if I’m being honest…”

It had been unsettling since Verity was used to being pushed around by her family. Other people that weren’t related to her trying to do so always left a bitter taste in her mouth. The witch relaxed slightly once a quick backwards glance revealed she wasn’t being followed. “Ice cream seemed like the best way of showing I was serious.”

☾

Clara almost laughs. Scare her? She turns into a monstrous creature once a month and runs amok under the moonlight. She’s seen and done things that would make the average witch or wizard’s toes curl, licked blood from her teeth and relished in the warmth of it. The idea that this witch could have scared her of all people is, frankly, hilarious.

“It would take more than that to scare me,” she answers, bluntly, swallowing down the last of her pumpkin pasty and brushing away the crumbs. She’s not one to care about appearances, but her new companion is a pretty little thing and Clara isn’t entirely immune to the charm of a lovely face.

“Why didn’t you just tell them to... shove away? No...” she frowns, turning the phrase over in her head. She’s been here long enough that English is almost second nature, but some of the more informal slang still throws her. “Shove off? I’m not turning down free food, but seems like that would have saved you some hassle.”

#( verity )#( this reply got away from me #please don't feel like you need to match the length to reply )

fenrir:

“Don’t make me ground you,” Fenrir teased, continuing to pull her along through the woodlands until her pace was able to match his own. It didn’t take long for her to shake off the worst that apparating had to offer—her recovery time was improving, although he was almost certain she would have hated to admit to it. Not because she enjoyed feeling ill, but because soon enough she would no longer have even an attempt at an excuse to avoid traveling that way. Much in the way Greyback felt ill-suited for a broomstick, she was far from at home being squeezed through space-time. Then again, did anyone enjoy it? Efficacy was its draw, not comfort.

She was on the offense almost as quickly as the challenge left him—exactly what he had been after. But her predictable aggression had its uses to him, chiefly in the sort of missions where bloodshed was necessary. It almost always was, these days. He never minded and he doubted very much that she did, either. “Oh, I don’t know…” he trailed off, eyes on the subtle trail that led to their compound. Half a mile and they would be there. “This isn’t the usual sort of job I send you on. You might not be able to pull it off.” His confidence in her was higher than that, but if he couldn’t tease her once in a while, what was the point? She would work harder for it.

The distance between them and home was shorter every moment, and it didn’t take long before the overgrown chain-link—placed to discourage troublesome muggles, and warded to keep out anything more threatening—that marked the entrance to come into view. “You get the wards,” he instructed, standing off toward the side. Although less experienced than he was, her magic was more than a match for it. “I’ll put them back up once we get inside.”

—

Clara sniggers. The more time that passes since their arrival, the more like herself she feels. She’s back on even footing, feeling better enough to slip back into her usual, troublesome ways. “You can try. I know all the ways out of here by now.” Almost all of them anyway. She’s not stupid enough to think there are ways she’s not yet found or that he’s warded better. Scoping the compound out had been one of the first things she’d done when she’d first arrived, as soon as she was sure she wasn’t being watched. It’s a habit she’ll never be able to break, a compulsive need to know her escape route to stave off the fear of being caged. She has no plans nor need to use them now, feeling more at home amid the others of their kind here than anywhere else, but it had helped at the time; before she’d come to trust them all so implicitly.

If they’d both been transformed, Clara would have growled at his jabs, hackles raised and as aggravated as a grindylow. In this body, all she can do is let out a disgruntled groan and scowl at him. It doesn’t have nearly the same kind of effect—there’s a decided lack of tooth and claw in this form—but it’ll do. “Watch me then. I’ll do it and I’ll do it better than even you could do it or anyone else here could.” She’s worked hard to prove herself worthy of being here, of being able to handle anything that he throws her way. If she has to remind him of that, she’ll gladly throw herself into the fire to do so.

She’s still faintly grumbling as she steps up towards the edge of the wards, muttering a slew of curses in Bulgarian as she fumbles to draw her wand from the waistband of her trousers. She doesn’t have as much practice at this sort of magic—she never needed to think about protective spells before coming here, and he’s usually the one to do this when they arrive together—but she’s watched him do it enough times that it doesn’t take long to start moving her wand in practiced motion to undo the enchantments in place. “See. I can even do these by myself now.”

#( fenrir )

fenrir:

There was nothing pleasant about apparation, but it seemed they’d managed to avoid the worst of it. Side-along had always had a way of taking more out of him than it could ever give. The fact that she hadn’t spilled the contents of her stomach on the both of them was a miracle. Most did, to be fair. He focused much more on getting himself to the destination than anything else. It would have been a bold-faced lie to pretend he’d never splinched someone. So far, Clara seemed to have arrived with everything intact. Would it have mattered otherwise? …Yes. Fenrir wouldn’t have admitted it, but Clara had more use to him than most. Few wolves, particularly those bitten later in life, adapted so perfectly to the change.

“No you won’t,” he scoffed, clapping her on the shoulder. “You’re fine.” While Clara might have wanted to disobey him, she certainly knew better than that. She knew that, with him, she was finally free. The chains of wizarding society would never hold her again. “Come on,” he grunted taking her by the arm; “you’ve had enough time to right yourself.” If she hadn’t vomited yet, it was unlikely to happen further down the line… and his patience had worn thin, wasted on himself. His brief lapse in balance had righted itself just slightly more quickly than her own, and already he held out a hand for her to take. “Come on, we need to get moving.”

As unlikely as it was that they were being watched, Greyback knew better than to take the chance. There were more than a few out there that would have eagerly seen to their downfall. “I’ll give you the job once we’re back at the compound. If you think you can handle it,” he added as an afterthought, knowing full well that a challenge would suit her better than an order. Clara, much like him, didn’t appreciate being told what to do. She wanted to test her skills against worthy foes, watch them fall to tooth and claw. He was the man who would see to it that she would get the opportunity. “Well? Are you coming, or not?”

—

The sickening vertigo seems to finally be abating, and with it, the rolling of her stomach. As far as apparition attempts go, this has to be the most successful she’s had in a while. It hasn’t done anything to endear Clara to this form of travel, but knowing it could have been a lot worse eases some of her dislike. His chiding prompts another string of childish objections to bubble on the tip of her tongue, but she swallows them down with a huff. She’s never been afraid to put up a fight, no matter the opponent, but she’s spent enough years at his side to know when her cheek will get her somewhere, and where it won’t.

"Yes, mother, I’m coming.” She allows him to grasp her by the arm, and easily accepts the hand to right herself without any more protest than that. Clara has always been a physical person, but if anyone else had attempted to touch her in such a state, mere moments after being ripped through the aether, she’d have snapped at them in more ways than one. It’s proof of how much she trusts him that she’ll let that happen. He’s a leader she’s proud to follow, a guide in the chaos of their world and, though she’d never admit it out loud, a part of the new family she’s found.

By now, Clara has all but shaken off the after-effects of their arrival. The world no longer spins when she looks up, or when she turns to face him properly. Now that she’s feeling more normal, she can feel her mood bolstering at the fact that they’re almost back at the compound. Too long spent playing human in Knockturn Alley, or anywhere in the wizarding world, makes her itch these days. Perhaps it’s due to spending so much time with Fenrir, or perhaps she was simply always meant to be something other, something more, that this is just what it feels like to be away from home for too long. Her nose scrunches in annoyance at words, entirely lost to the fact that that’s most likely the reaction he was searching for. “What do you mean if I can handle it? When have I ever not handled a job?”

#( fenrir )#( u cant hide it fen u lub her really )#( clara lubs him lots )#( she will make a family out of this pack SO HELP HER )

fenrir:

“That’ll only get you fired. I doubt they’re fond of our kind.” Only a rare few wizards were, and more often than not it was for all the wrong reasons. Seeing them as something to gawk at, an example of a perfect freak of nature. Even if her boss wouldn’t guess outright ( although all it took was one look at the registry ) there was nothing to be gained from making too much trouble, not here—not unless she wanted another hunt for work on her hands. Regardless, Fenrir’s discouragement was brief. Outside of their time together, her work affairs were hers alone. All he asked is that she didn’t bring attention to his plans.

A smirk curled at the edge of his lip. “As long as you point away from me, I’ll take the blame.” He knew that she didn’t care for apparation—did anyone like it?—but it was the fastest method of transportation in his arsenal. He had never felt at home on a broom like others, those bitten later and life, could claim… and there were no fire places near the compound to use. None connected to the network, anyway. It was safer that way, more secure.

The moment she looped her arm in his, he focused on his destination. A loud crack sounded through the shop as he forced their way through space, appearing with a similarly loud noise in the midst of a dried woodland. He took several long moments to catch his breath, determined not to stumble—taking passengers took much more of a toll on him. “We’re here,” he said, unhooking from her and taking a few test steps forward. No stumbling; better than the last time he had done this. “Once you’re ready, we’ll head back to base.”

—

He’s right. Clara knows that. She’s seen first-hand what happens to others like them at the hands of the wizarding community. Merlin, she’s lived through it herself. Her parents had made no secret of the fact that she was no longer welcome among them after her turning. Clara huffs. For all the posturing, she isn’t going to act against him. Fenrir may not always tell her outright what—or what not—to do, but Clara will do whatever she can to remain in his good graces. It doesn’t means she’s going to be happy about it. It chafes that most of the time she’s expected to simply fall into line without flashing her teeth because the world demands she should.

The familiar tug from behind her belly button silences any further protests, cut short as she’s yanked alongside him. The sensation is no more pleasant this time than it has been the dozens of other times Clara has experienced apparition. After years of agonizing transformations under the light of the full moon, this should be nothing in comparison, but Clara has never been able to get used to it. She feels squeezed from all sides, like being forced through the barrel of a wand, so tightly that for a moment she can’t breathe.

She barely keeps her balance on arrival and, fortunately for them both, the contents of her stomach—though the world spins for just a sickening moment too long. Hands on her knees, Clara doesn’t bother to look up from where she’s bent over with her head between her knees in an attempt to get things to stop wobbling. “Eugh. Next time I’m walking. Even if it takes me all year.”

#( fenrir )

remus:

“Sorry?” The question escaped before he looked up from his book, features going red the moment he realized he wasn’t within earshot of the woman, damn his good hearing, since his bench was a bit away from the store. Add in having spoken at normal volume, and he was beginning to feel embarrassed for apologizing to the book in his hands. He lowered the book to his lap and set the napkin he was using as a placeholder inside, eyebrows furrowing together when he went to stand up.

“They should be back in another fifteen or so,” He murmured once closer to the woman, book still lightly grasped in his right hand. “Unless it’s the owner - then it means it’s closed for the day. A pity they are picky about who they hire.”

It’s been long enough since Clara was turned that she’s used to, and can mostly tune out, the heightened senses that her condition brings. Largely, the effort to dampen them had been for her own comfort—suddenly being hyper aware of sounds and smells around you after years of not noticing them hadn’t been pleasant—but also because it tended to mark her out as something other. She’s not ashamed of what she is, but she could really do without risking Fenrir’s disapproval by being too brazen. Clara loses the battle to restrain her senses this time, as she turns, almost instinctually, to follow the sound of a voice. She doesn’t recognise the wizard in front of her, but that’s never stopped her from steamrolling her way through a conversation anyway.

She’s about to question him more about the closed notice, but his final remark stands out enough that she has to know more. “Picky?” Clara frowns, her nose crinkling. “How can a post office be picky? It’s not exactly hard work.”

#( remus )

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