#blaise doress

[hottubraccoon]

OC: Blaise Doress

EXCERPT

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Blaise Doress | 21 | Werewolf

misses his living twin more than his deceased parents

fave colour is 'fresh green'

chews on his lips way too much

has a sweet tooth

Charmander/Charmeleon/Charizard

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Appearances: Fears and Fire trilogy

excerpts

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Taglist: (PM me if you want to be added/removed)

[hottubraccoon]

Tumblr prompts “the fuck, who are you?”

Camilla was pacing the length of the train car with long strides and her fingers were flying across her phone screen. Her eyebrows were pinched uncomfortably and she kicked at the loose nail in the floor, making it fly across the car and embed itself in the opposite wall. It wouldn’t take a genius to know that she was angry, and that’s why Atlas was trying to hide in the far back corner and pretending to be reading a month’s old news paper.

“Has he messaged you?” She snapped, her worn black pumps stamped firmly to the ground. Atlas shakes his head, and attempts his best puppy dog eyes look.

“He did say he’d-”

“Be back before dark. *I know*.” Her pacing starts again but this time she’s holding the phone against her good ear. Atlas sinks in his place and uses the newspaper to block the view of the angry girl. She makes another round of the car before she stops stock still in her place again.

“Caleb! I’m so sorry for interrupting your studying but I need to ask about Blaise. No, no, he’s not *here* is all. Yes- No! He said he’d be here before dark and it’s getting pretty damn dark.” There’s a long pause without sound and Atlas peeks over the top of the newspaper. Camilla’s free hand was resting on one of the last stable chairs in the car, the rubber on it almost completely in place.

“*When*?” Her voice was gravely and her eyes flashed a vibrant orange. The metal under her hand twists and bends, an obscene creaking sound comes from it before it finally snaps in her hand. Atlas ducks back behind the newspaper and puts the broken chair on the frankly, long list of things broken by werewolves. There’s the beep of Camilla hanging up on Caleb without a goodbye, then she sighs heavily that Atlas could feel the weight of her worry on *his* shoulders too. 

She’s careful to put her phone down by her rucksack and steps out of the train car. Atlas follows her with his gaze and peers out the broken window at her standing in the middle of the boarding floor. After a pause, she throws her head back and howls so loud that Atlas hears it even after she’s stopped.

“You must be a worrier too.” Both Atlas and Camilla’s heads snap in the direction of the voice. Blaise was standing by the entrance with a rather guilty expression, and the girl next to him smiles and waves.

“I’m Joey! And the reason why your Alpha is late, sorry.” Camilla’s glare was fixed solely on Blaise but neither spoke. Joey began to fidget with the pleats in her dress and glance between the two of them. Nobody wanted to interrupt their stare off.

“The fuck, who are you?” Atlas blurts, staring at the newcomer and determinedly ignoring Camilla’s annoyed glance. Joey startles at the sound of his voice but smiles easily again.

“I said I’m Joey. I had some information for Mr. Doress and he decided that everybody should hear it from me.”

“Information?” Camilla asks, though the question was more directed at Blaise.

“Joey *Wendler*.” The room freezes then. Atlas’ back stiffens and Camilla’s eyes completely turn orange again. Blaise looks at his feet and curses once.

[hottubraccoon]

Tumblr prompt “Great, perfect, nice. Fuck this.”

“All we have to do is keep Blaise off our backs until Caleb fixes it,” Atlas explains carefully, his voice lowered and head bent towards the others. Caleb nods along. “All I need is like, two hours, tops. Blaise isn’t that hard to trick either, he believed me when I told him that I still sleep with stuffed animals.” Camilla rolls her eyes and points a finger with a perfect green nail at both of the boys in turn.

“Do not fuck this up.” Then she’s turned away with a flick of her wavy hair and walks out of the old shack. They sigh with relief at the lack of her presence and grin at each other, soft giggles rising in their throats. Atlas waves at hand at Caleb and shushes him again.

“Okay,” he starts quietly. “Okay. You start on the fixing of the things.” Caleb’s giggles disappear into the dark when he turns and walks into the back of the shack, a tool box clanking in hand. When Atlas goes and finds a chair by the entrance, the salty sea breeze pulling at his hair and a new notebook in hand, he makes sure to keep his eyes towards the entrance to the beach. He then learns that looking at his lap as he writes and listening for movement doesn’t work when it concerns werewolves.

“What the hell is that?” Blaise snaps, already standing toe to toe with Atlas in his chair. The teen startles and drops his pen, staring at Blaise with an open mouth. Ironically, he couldn’t find any words despite just writing as much as he could. “Where did you get it?”

“That ice cream store,” he blurts then curses under his breath. Then in the moment between Atlas’ curse and Blaise’s next scathing remark, Caleb drops something and the clattering noise echoes slightly in the shack.

“Wait! Blaise!” Atlas scrambles after the alpha quickly. Blaise takes one look at Caleb standing over the bonnet of his Ute, grease stains on his hands and tank top, and reels around on Atlas’ still holding the notebook open in one hand.

“Great.” He snatches the notebook out of Atlas’ hands. “Perfect.” He flips through it briefly then turns to Caleb. “Nice.” He glances across the scratched up paint and broken windows. “Fuck this.” He turns and storms out in a frenzy, leaving Atlas and Caleb stunned in the old shack and staring at each other blankly.

“You should talk to him,” Caleb suggests after a minute.

“Me?”

“I’m bad with words *and* you said that you know some of those titles.” Atlas gapes before he begins nodding slowly and rushes out after Blaise. He didn’t need to look far as the older man had slumped into the chair Atlas was using and opened on a certain page in the notebook. Blaise didn’t look up but Atlas didn’t say anything either. He just picked up the pen he was using and offered it to Blaise. The man looks surprised at the gesture but takes the pen and slips it into his jacket’s pocket. He flicks the corner of the page and tilts the book to show Atlas.

“You wrote this part?” His voice sounds timid, maybe even *vulnerable*. Atlas nods and scratches at his wrist nervously.

“It sounded like it was nearing the end and I can’t stand sad endings.” Blaise looks at Atlas openly and tries, again, to solve the enigma wrapped in a puzzle. And, again, he can’t do it.