@tenderrage-remi Yuisa's home
It's not untrue or unkind to say she had used Warwick. Yuisa has known that and while it's one of a few things she might still deny, it's true.
What you won't find her saying is that it was pure selfishness - werewolves turned by bite are lesser, in control and pedigree. It is the magic in the blood of a witch that tempers the beast - it is blood born into a wolf conceived that makes them their own masters. The bite is a poison, a venom that drives everyone victim to it crazy, robs them of control, and makes life miserable for everyone else.
So she still counts herself a convenient scapegoat. Maybe it will fade after she ditches this place. Maybe it won't. Warwick is big, a big enough pack that she can vanish into some other splinter, maybe in Mexico, maybe on the other side of the planet in London. But the Warwick here, in Port Leiry? She's burned that bridge, no matter what Anish says in all his doofish hopeful optimism. It'll only be a matter of time before Harford or Cerberus is calling for her head.
But first - the workhorse of the whole endeavor needs it's TLC after months of disuse in a cold garage that has found itself open to warm summer air.
Working on her bike used to be her moment of zen for a given day - tightening things up, making sure nothing was breaking down or out of place.
It has now become an intense reminder of her failures.
Yuisa's face darkens at the sight of an unwanted vehicle in her driveway and then darkens even further at the shape of one of those failures swaggering up the concrete.
She stands, a little shocked despite her nonplussed expression at the view of Remi Felix. Bold. She'd respect it if it weren't so fucking annoying. The knuckles of her fist go pale with the tightening of her grip, the wrench going from tool to weapon in her mind. She plays dumb, or flippant, or coy - anything but pensive. "Here to gloat or..."