An explicitly NSFW blog following the saga of some really angsty werewolves.
Macheath - Werewolf
May - Werecat
Erza - Ordinary kid Get more info below. questions to the moon
Ghanee sat down with Jarvis on the oily garage floor as he tinkered with a large, old automobile. It looked valuable and vintage. Jarv was talking excitedly while Ghanee nodded politely and worked on the other axle.
Men and their cars. The obsession never made sense to her: was it necessary to produce multiple cars every year with a different name and engine and fiddly bits that all had extremely vague names, often combined with numbers. She could appreciate the engineering and the design, but the enthusiasm about it was beyond her. However, this was the best-paying job she could find. Ghanee learned to mask her confusion. Besides, she also got to work on the motorcycles.
Jarv had a side business in motorcycles. Easier to buy, sell, and to move around than cars, they had a good two dozen in the gravel back lot, behind the garage and used cars for sale. Jarv would buy old ones and fix them up, making them brand new to sell for cheap.
Ghanee secretly wanted one. She liked the idea of a motorcycle. She liked the mobility and the sleekness that cars were just lacking. Ghanee’s favourite was the dark black one that seemed to lean forwards, even while it was parked. She liked how it only seated one.
A ding-ding! alerted Ghanee to the presence of a customer. Waving to Jarv not to get up, Ghanee slid out from underneath the car to find this prospective client.
"Jarv’s Cars and Motorcycles, how can I help you?" she asked, with a smile.
"Er-" Erza drew back from the floor with a slight start, flushing. It'd been a cold day and he was wearing a rather larger jacket than usual, which he pulled up slightly to hide his face nervously,
"Just-- Just looking!" He stammered, and forced a nervous smile. He'd been coming in once a month for nearly six months now, though he'd forgotten around December-- And November-- And, well, October, too, if he was honest. He'd meant to come in, really.
But he'd walked by the windows enough, that was for sure, and it was still there. A nineteen eighty four, Honda Magna in well-faded candy maroon. Sure, it was missing the front wheel and they'd been working on it for as long as he could remember, and half of it was nearly scraped to death or completely off, but it shone in the low flickering light like a pulse and he'd been drawn to it. Even just glancing.
He swallowed and shifted his hands into his pockets, flickering a glance to the machine: It'd never happen. Not in a hundred years. Not if he left and drove a thousand miles from home.
But yet..He couldn't take his eyes off the damn thing.
"Yeah," he said, and grinned despite himself, cheeks still flushed and eyes still bright. On the television, the program about space ended and switched to commercial; he reached for the remote, offered it to May, and flipped to the guide, which he squinted at as he tried to make out the tiny digital letters,
"Oh, Pretty in Pink is on!" he said, and added, "I mean, I know it’s a kinda— silly move and all, but I like it." He switched channels and watched briefly as Molly Ringwald and Andrew McCarthy kissed in front of a dilapidated house.
Andie reminds me of you, he almost said, but bit down on the words. May was smarter than he was, she’d figure it out. And, Corin figured, if he’d had a worse haircut and clothes from the eighties and, well, functioning legs, he figured he’d be a pretty good stand-in for Blaine.
Yeah, life wasn’t exactly always a John Hughes film, not always. But sometimes it felt like one, just for a few minutes.
May leaned forward with a startled laugh and grinned-- For once, it seemed, they were almost on the same page.
"I've seen this one!" She announced, a little giddy with the knowledge. Maybe it'd been a long time, but she had seen it. She glanced to Corin and grinned,
"The one with the girl who-- Yeah! There she is." She nodded to the screen, and wiggled, trying to make herself comfortable. She could hear her heart in her ears and was trying not to watch him watch the movie, but it was hard to help and she pressed her palms down flat on the sides of her seat.
"Just for the record, it would make me feel better," he murmured, and popped open the front of the recorder to flip the cassette, only marked with the date. He pressed the square red button and the cassette whirled in its place, the tape moving as it recorded, for a moment, thin air passing between the bike racks and the sound of the volleyball players squealing in the background.
"May Forester, close to three PM on a Tuesday afternoon in March," he said, loudly and clearly, and set it in the space between them.
He bit the inside of his cheek as he searched for words and started without them,
"Okay, okay— wait, seriously, okay, I have an— explanation, or whatever, i guess— okay, seriously, I didn’t mean to. Like, honestly.” He punctuated ‘honestly’ with a nod and his eyes widened, as if honesty in him was hard to come by and he knew as much.
"I was with Kirin Pierce and Haley Bos— wait, no, switch that, Haley Pierce and Kirin Bos, at the coffee shop, right?" He didn’t wait for her confirmation. "And so I, okay, yeah, my fault— accidentally, like, slipped up. Told them, yeah, okay. Explained myself, too," he added, with a suspicious look to her.
"No clue what happened to it next," he said. "There were, yeah, okay, my fault again, like, tons of people there— but I told them to keep it down, okay? Honestly.”
He dropped his head to perch his chin on his fist and his elbow on his knee, tracing patterns in the dusty dirt with the toe of his shoe. “When you told me you didn’t— you know, kill him, I tore up all my notes and told the administration I had nothing. Figured you needed this place more than I do.” He shrugged.
"So, as it stands, you killing Chad Baxter and all is just a dumb rumor."
May could hear the wind whipping around the corners of the school and the slow whirr of the tape recorder, her breath caught in the air, hanging like frost on a windowpane. She almost had to steady herself and her head spun, as she managed,
"Seriously?"
She wanted to yell at him and hit him and hug him simultaneously. On one hand, he was a fucking moron. On the other hand, the fucking moron had also risked-- And accepted-- expulsion on her behalf, or perhaps just on behalf of the truth: She wasn't ready to give herself too much, or frankly, any credit.
Instead, she shook her head and exhaled shakily, looking at Duncan with befuddlement:
"Jesus. Seriously? Seriously?" She laughed a little nervously, then a little louder, and her hands flew over her mouth, "Duncan! You idiot, I could fuckin' hug you!"
In that instant she didn't give a shit if Kirin or Haley thought she was-- Well-- A murderer. Whatever! They didn't have to believe it. She knew plenty about Bos that wasn't too great, either, just from the rumor mill. And Haley?
Well, she had a bit of firsthand knowledge on that particular subject. Besides, Pierce kept to herself and her skating, mostly: She wasn't the type to blab. So someone else heard and spread it?
Only a rumor.
Only a rumor now. Sure, there'd be lots of-- Damage control-- But what would the police believe? Evidence or rumors?
Something ticked in her gut, and it suggested a little too cooly that perhaps she still had plenty of reason to worry but... She'd figure that out later. She had time, for now.
"There’s plenty you don’t suck at, too," he murmured in undertone, and side-glanced to her; his eyes moved back to the television and he squinted, lips rubbing together to salvage whatever ChapStick he’d thought to put on earlier that afternoon as he tried to identify it from the other nameless sounds that seemed to make a soundtrack of his home.
"I think it’s about space travel," he said, a little doubtfully. Did’ja know, if two pieces of metal touch in space, they become permanently stuck together?" he added, and gestured to explain,
"No, really! Two pieces of metal without any coating on them will make a single piece in the vacuum. This doesn’t happen on earth— ‘cos the atmosphere puts a layer of oxidized material between the surfaces. ‘Course, you’d think it’d be a big problem on the space station but as most tools used there, are, you know, from earth, so they’e already coated with some kinda material."
He ducked his head and flushed. “Sorry, it’s dumb.”
May's brow lifted but she didn't say anything, listening quietly. Her face flickered into a smile, then a full on grin as he got excited, explaining far off concepts and distant realities--
He lit up and it made her heart lurch and her stomach tightened. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed that--- Or maybe she'd just been denying it. She swallowed and laughed a little,
"No! No, that's-- That's kinda neat, actually. I didn't know that. So, what, they just become one hunk of metal?"
She whistled, "Sounds intense. They just go THUNK and colide, just like that? And then they're one."
His phone bleated loudly in the moment it took for him to blink at her, and he reached for it without breaking eye-contant, his mouth bent in a sort of wry but vaguely panicky grin-turned-smirk as he read,
has she killed you yet
if she did just type back 1
wait
Duncan pressed his lips together to smother a grin and glanced back at May, but his repressed smile soon turned to a vaguely disgusted look of protest as he said, “I am not,” with as much gall as he could muster, but still he let his backpack slide from his shoulder onto his arm, and he set it down, instinctively reaching for something from the back pocket. He unzipped it and brought out a square, smooth plastic box with several buttons—
"Tape recorder," he said. "My hand was cramping up." He eyed her, and then dropped his gaze, "Okay, okay, I’ll put it away. Sheesh."
May's mouth flickered into a grin, feline and pointed, before fading with a snort, "Whatever you say."
She raised her brow, "Record away if it makes you feel better. I really don't care. I'm not here for recordings." She frowned and removed her hands, empty and threatless. She realized too late how suspicious she'd looked, and felt a little guilty--
But only a little. Shifting her weight she looked Duncan up and down. Kinda scrawny, definitely nerdy-- Probably faster than he looked. She could probably out run him, but she'd be winded, she figured.
Soooooo.
Right. Taking a deep breath, she met his eye and asked,
"Did you seriously fucking tell people you thought I murdered Chad? Because-- People are talking, and it's not a great position to be in, y'know?"
She squared her shoulders and continued, "I told you, look: I didn't like him, but I wouldn't murder him. I'm not stupid, nor that heartless. He still had a family, and maybe even a future if he hadn't fucked that up already. I wasn't involved in his personal life-- I don't know. But I wouldn't kill him, and it's pretty fucking shitty to hear from people who, by the way, I don't even know, that I did!"
Macheath seemed to need a moment to take this in, and Kirin shifted, nervously from one foot to another, waiting for him to respond beyond a muttered expletive.
At the mention of Thalia and Nik being ‘friends,’ Kirin couldn’t help but break into a huge grin. “Well, yeah.” she said, nearly bursting with giddy teen energy. “Thal has a crush on Nik—” She stopped herself, growing red. “Please— Don’t tell anyone I told you that, or she won’t trust me. I’m supposed to put in a good word for her.”
The giddiness faded quickly as she remembered the last moon. “I don’t think that electrical knowledge is gonna help him in wolf form. Unless you have your anchor, you’re not you. You’re just a wolf. A really scary one, but still.” Kirin bit her lip, picking up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. If Nik had been caught, she had no doubt that Gaius would do everything he could to get Nik back, but Gaius was only one person. He couldn’t do everything. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest.
Nevertheless, she smiled. “Yeah, he would. We can check up with Thal and him just in case
Mac's brows raised and he blinked in confusion. Well, that at least cleared up some worries-- some really, really, apparently stupid worries. He flushed slightly and nodded,
"Uh. Got it! Right." He paused then balked, "Do I look like I'd talk to Thalia? She's nice an all but I'm pretty sure I scare her--"
His tongue ran over the scars inside his mouth, and the bitter tang of healing flesh reminded him, that yes, he could be frightening. He flushed further, hands curling at his sides: Could be? Are.
His brow knit slightly, trying to process. He'd heard rumblings of anchors, but frankly, he'd dismissed the idea. What kind of anchor could a guy like him have, anyway? He didn't like people or things, and people and things don't like him much, except Polly, but she doesn't count-- He scared her, too.
"Er... I guess we could give it a shot. I think 'we; would work better, I mean, like you said."
"Scary wolf. Grr." He flexed his hands in vague paw-like motions and lifted his brows. "Woof."
"Hey," he said, and bit the inside of his cheek, wary of going on. Another moment of reflection brought words to the feeling and he started, slowly,
"Are you— r’you saying that because." He brushed his palm over his cheek and momentarily pinched the bridge of his nose. "Because you want to— think that, I guess? I mean," he started, and clarified, "because you want to think that I don’t wanna— be there, or…" He shrugged, stiffly, the bandages around his chest limiting motion.
"Because," he said, and looked away. “‘cause then— you’re dead wrong." There was something large and colorful playing on the television and he stared at it without seeing it.
"I don’t know much about independence," he added, almost as an afterthought. "But— there’s a lot to be said for all or nothing," he murmured, and glanced at her. His right hand moved to brush at the back of his neck, "and a lot to be said for sucking at things, I guess."
He shrugged. “You suck at being independent. I suck at walking. Darcy sucks at— I don’t know, a lot.”
May looked slightly startled as she looked up, face uncomfortably warm. She reached for her hair but it was already tucked back, and sighed heavily, biting down on a smile.
"...You're right. Not even probably right, just-- Right. Thanks. I mean," She glanced to him holding his nose and tried to not smile but failed at it and felt stupid and aloof, and muttered, "Thanks for not being what I thought you mighta' been. You're a nice surprise."
She shrugged, "And Darc' may suck at... A lot. But she's got her good points. And there's plenty you don't suck at," She nudged him, and in doing so, moved slightly closer.
The television was distracting. She blinked, then asked, "Hey, what show is this?"
There was a lingering pause and she said, almost embarrassed, "Sorry, I don't- Er-- watch a lot of TV. Is that a squirrel in a space suit..?"
"Right," he said, softly, trying to muster up some look of relief, some casual grin, but the muscles had been rendered foreign to him and he only felt as if there were a mass of lead sinking through his chest.
"I asked you for a reason,” he added, quietly. “And you would’t give me one— okay, okay, I’m going,” he said, and raised his hands in the ‘don’t shoot’ signal, though it seemed aggressive and half-assed.
He moved down the hall backwards for a short time and turned, almost tripped over his own feet and rightened himself, flushing badly, but kept his lowered as he jogged down the empty halls.
—
"Dunc’, buddy, what’re you going to do?" Marvin Melvin said and turned in his seat in Chemistry to look pleadingly at Duncan, as if there was something he could do. Duncan sighed,
"Cut it out, will you? I’m trying to learn." He sighed, propped his chin on his fist, and underlined a portion of the text without knowing if it was useful or not.
"Yeah, okay," Marvin said, doubtful, and turned back. A moment passed, and he turned and said, "I think you should fake thick. Go home."
"I’m not scared of her," Duncan said, and watched the clock tick from 2:18 to 2:19. "And I didn’t tell you so you could be scared of her, either."
"Yeah, okay," Marvin said again. there was another moment of relative silence. "I’m just thayin’, and all, for your wellbeing."
"Gotcha." Duncan chewed the end of his pen.
"Because, man, you really don’t want to get in a fight with a— well, you know," he said, and looked nervous. After a beat, he dropped his voice, and murmured,
"You know— a killer.”
"She didn’t kill anyone," Duncan said, and dropped his fist to rest his cheek on his desk.
"That’s what you thaid," Marvin said.
"Woah, woah, woah, I was the one on the case," Duncan said, and raised his head. "Look, okay, I made— a mistake. I did. Got it? Okay, okay. Whatever. I made a mistake because it all added up and I let it out to the whole school and now— and now Forester’s probably going to kick my ass at the bike racks. You win some, you lose some."
"But you’re lothing it all. You just got ecthpelled, man!"
"Thanks, Marv. I can always count on you to cheer me up."
The teacher shushed them, loudly, and both Marvin and Duncan fell silent; Marvin was the only person Duncan knew who actually paid attention to the announcements, and so he busied himself with making spitballs and sticking them to the back of Marvin’s head.
When the bell rang, Marvin stood up and frowned. “Is there thomething on the back of my head?”
"Nope," Duncan said, and slung his back over his shoulder. It felt heavier than usual as he passed by the front entrance and down the hall where the vending machines were but didn’t work, and he pushed open the door into the alley and was vaguely disappointed that the fire alarm didn’t sound (it was broken, Duncan knew, and had been for two or three years) even though he knew it wouldn’t.
He hefted his backpack up on his shoulder and moved out of the alley and to the side of the gym. Girl’s volleyball was having practice; he was only a little interested.
The bike rack loomed ahead and he rolled his eyes at himself. Get over yourself, Cox. This isn’t a mystery novel and you aren’t a prize detective.
May was seated on the concrete barrier beside the bike rack, hood pulled up, toying with rolling papers. She didn't have anything to roll, but the feeling was a momentary distraction. At the sound of distant, albiet hesitant footsteps, she slipped the papers into her pocket and stood, legs apart, shoulders wide and chin up, frowning over her nose down the way from which they came.
At Duncan's approach she tossed her head, the hood falling back, and exhaled:
"Fuck, Detective. I thought you'd bailed. Glad to see you've got some stones."
She glanced to the gym behind her and frowned, "They're a racket, huh?"
She'd had some time to calm, to mellow out. Rehearsal wasn't until five, and the ability to escape the rather dramatic and idiotic notions of her pressing reality was enough to make her relax slightly. Sure, she was still hell-bent on wanting to punch Duncan's face in, but she considered that a pretty normal reflex to...Well, Duncan.
"Ever see one of them fall?" She lifted a brow, "It's like magic, I swear to god. They squeal and then -- It's like two water balloons hitting plywood. Then they bounce back up and start again. Fucking amazing."
She snorted lowly, "But I'm distracting you. Seriously- Have a seat or something, you look like you're about to shit yourself."
He sighed through his nose and attempted to pull her back aside, dropping his voice as he rushed out;
"Okay, okay, whatever, lower your voice, c’mon, Forester—" but he came to the realization that if everyone knew (damn you, Pierce, damn you, Bos) there was little he could do in terms of voice-lowering or not.
"Okay, okay, can we do this— okay," he said, and wilted a little under her gaze, but plowed on steadfast, "You’re reasonable, May, I know you are— you’re a reasonable girl, right?"
He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Okay, yeah, so how about we do this—” He motioned to himself and her and then down the hall, “like, after school— okay, hear me out, or something— ‘cos I’m already in trouble for skipping yesterday and— okay, I know, given the.. Circumstances, that doesn’t— sound like much, I guess, to you, but— okay, hear me out,” he ended in a plea.
"Reasonable?! Sure! Reasonable! I reasonably murdered someone, apparently! Full of goddamn reason!"
She scowled fiercely and turned to glare down the hall, her hair whipping her face as she turned-- There was a skirt of movement, but it wasn't the truancy officer or anything. Just a door shutting and her shoulders sagged, but she turned back to Duncan with fire in her eyes
"Fine. I don't see what the difference it makes, but fine. After, by the bike rack by the North Gym. If you're not there I will find you."
She held up one finger and prodded him in the chest, "No later than fifteen minutes after, Duncan."
With that, she turned and stalked off, her bag bouncing on her back, looking for all the world like a cat who'd had it's tail stepped on.
She had things to say-- But now she had time to figure out how to say them.
---
The bell rang at 2:36 each afternoon, the announcements ten minutes prior, and chaos thirty seconds prior to announcements. Due to Eli's absence, though, Marcy whatshername was filling in-- And her voice was nervous and half-stumbling over each message as May drummed her fingers on her desk, head pounding:
"And, uhm! The Spanish club will be meeting at Two...Forty five. Sal-oo-dos!
Uh.
Our Principal would like to remind everyone that-"
"Excuse me," A voice cut in in the background. May frowned as Erza cut through, "I have an additional note for Four H-"
"Oh! Uh. Go ahead."
"Thanks, uh- Four H meeting this week has been cancelled due to precedence of Junior Counsel about Junior Prom! This years theme is Giving and Caring! Half proceeds for tickets are going to the Baxter memorial scholarship fund, set up by..Junior Coucil. Thanks! And, uh, gracias por la club de Español!"
"Thanks Roo-weeze!"
"Er, it's-"
"AND THAT'S ALL THANK YOU! GO WITH SAFETY!"
The bell rang, cutting her off. May couldn't believe she was missing Etheridge's voice, but his dry sense of humor-- She couldn't tell really if it was funny or just alarming sometimes--and his no-nonsense approach was infinitely preferable to step-in guests and Marcy's dragging things on. Throwing her bag over her back, she moved out the classroom quickly, with determination in her step.
He wasn’t all sure what that meant and chewed thoughtfully— or would’ve chewed thoughtfully, but his head was an incessant buzz and he couldn’t see past the two visible dimensions of her words.
'I think falling in love for the first time is such a transcendent feeling, you know? It’s like eating pizza flavored ice cream. Your brain can’t even process that level of joy. I really feel like our whole lives no matter how low our self esteem gets there is some part of us that thinks, I have a secret special skill that no one knows about, and eventually we meet someone who’s like “you have a secret special skill” and you’re like “I know, so do you, let’s eat pizza flavored ice cream together.”
And that’s love. It’s a mountain of pizza flavored ice cream and… delusion.’
But he couldn’t tell her that— for fear she’d run, like she was wont to do, for fear he’d cry, for fear he’d break something. Get angry. He didn’t like being angry— he’d always delegated it as a job to Darcy. He was sure she was angry enough for the both of them— at what? At May? But she’d been angry before May and she’d be angry after May.
At Corin? It seemed possible. It seemed more than likely. He didn’t want to think it, so he didn’t. In psychology, he remembered from a class, that’s called repression, and eventually neurotic behavior occurs when repression develops under the influence of the superego, and the internalized feelings of anxiety, in ways leading to behavior that is illogical, self-destructive, or anti-social.
He frowned at his cereal. A superego. It was a few letters away from a superhero and seemed more probable of existing anywhere near him.
"Sure it is," he said, slowly, unsure of what his words were even as he spoke them. "Useful, yeah, I guess," he murmured around a bite of cereal, covering his mouth with one hand;
"I ‘unno," he said, after a while. "No people are good, too."
Because since he’d been in a chair it was people, people, people— and maybe he needed them only because they were there. There had been Darcy and his parents and his teachers and physical therapists and strangers on the street who couldn’t keep their mouths to themselves, the bastards…
"Yeah," he agreed, and when the cereal was gone chewed on the inside of his cheek until it was raw. "I kinda wish I wasn’t, if it makes you feel any better."
May set the bowl down with a hollow sort of clunk and wiped her mouth on her sleeve, running her hands through her hair. She shut her eyes briefly and nodded, then mumbled,
"There's no inbetween and it's kinda shit on both sides, huh?"
She considered this thought and nodded. "Yep. Can't live with them, can't live without them."
She swallowed and added, very carefully, "Sorry I've been one of the can't-do-with-either people. Sorry. I just-- It's.. Kinda new." Her hands twisted around each other, as she struggled to explain without explaining... Everything.
"It's not that the Ruiz' aren't good people to depend on, but they're always there, and it's like... Such a shift from independence. Miserable, cold, stupid, proud independence, which is great until you nearly fucking freeze to death or you need someone and you realize you fucked everything over."
Her exhale was shaky, "And before that, it was like-- I lived with.. This foster family. And they were all there for each other and me and when.. I needed them it was good. And then-"
Her voice caught, fluttering in the room, a moth of sound and memory, of lights and torches, of low puddles, the smell of oil, forced hands, water rising in her throat, into her nose, bubbles, a dark surface--
Waking up alone. Again.
"It ended." She swallowed and shrugged. "Nothing I could do. So I decided I could do fine by myself and-"
She laughed bitterly, "Clearly I suck at that."
Her nerves jangled slightly as she mumbled, "But- Thanks. For being one of those people I can need. Sorry about that-- I know sometimes you don't wanna be that person. Believe me."
"Hey, hey, hey— no, look, I promise, okay— I swear, honest to God, okay, I promise, cross my heart ‘n hope to die, stick a needle in my eye, real, no-nonsense promisin’, here— promise I’ll — okay, swear I won’t even think ‘bout— like, anythin’— okay, y’know, like anything like that— like, even ‘bout tryin’ to do any sorta stupid— thing, I guess, s’what I’m tryin’ to say, or somethin’— I mean, and let’s be honest, I was trying. Swear! I was. I was talkin’ to people and makin’ friends— okay, okay, whatever, yeah, but I had coffee with— Pierce, Haley Pierce and Kirin— Bos, yeah, two girls. Real nice girls, too— like, on sports teams and clubs ‘n everythin’, and they don’t even think ‘bout doin’— I dunno, y’know, whatever it is that— y’know, you’re all— you don’t like, or whatever, drugs, drinkin’, whatever, not that I do any of those things, ‘cos it was purely on a technicality that I got kicked out, y’have to understand…"
Duncan sighed and shut his locker, and his reflection in the two-inch mirror stuck to the back of the door promptly disappeared, and with that his resolve to tell his mother about getting expelled— no doubt the letter was already in the mail but he’d been fortunate enough; a thunderstorm, and for whatever reason the mail hadn’t gone out the day after that, too, with the roads being icy and wet— Duncan had to note that the whole ‘rain nor sleet nor hail’ bit was a hundred-percent fib.
Not like Duncan was judging or anything, either— sure, he’d fibbed just as much, too, but he tended to think that being a national organization and all, they might have a little more tact about their promises and deliverances. He supposed that he ought to have delivered when his mother dropped him off at school the morning previous, but he’d skipped on that, so in reality, he wasn’t much different from the United States Postal Service, which, he thought, said a little something about his character— or, maybe, that official kinds of services shouldn’t act like sixteen-year-old boys, if he was going the opposite way about it, and that way suited him all right, too.
It was just that he hadn’t been looking forward to it all, he reasoned, and besides, everyone needed a day off. Elias Etheridge had sure taken all the days he wanted— but even now Duncan could only summon up some vague curiosity over what had happened to their student government vice president.
It seemed that Seacrest wasn’t much interested in him. So he wasn’t much interested in Seacrest.
After a moment, he realized, frustrated, that he’d slammed his locker shut out of frustration with the right words for explaining to his mother refusing to come— and forgotten to get his books. He frowned and unzipped his jacket, shrugging it off as he prepared to put it away—
"Oh, hey. May Forester, girl of the hour," he said. "Did y’hear? I’m expelled." He laughed weakly and chewed his lower lip.
"Oh! Good!" The false cheeriness in her voice only served to fuel her anger as she stepped forward, moving closer as her voice lowered,
"That means they won't mind if I decide to ask you what the fuck you think you're doing, telling people you think I fucking murdered CHAD FUCKING BAXTER."
The bell rang and she glanced to the classrooms. She had English to get too but it wasn't a priority. The hall officer would be rounding the corner soon, however, and that was important-
"Come on."
She took him by the sleeve-- Choking him with his shirt collar had been appealing, but she needed him to speak, after all-- and moved him forcibly down the hallway. "You and I," she announced, "Are going to have to have a bit of a chat."
The play was in a little less than two weeks. Rehearsals had halted. Dress rehearsals were looming like winter storms, full-force.
Curtains would be up for family-viewings in a week and everything else seemed pretty well settled-- Except for...Everything in May's life outside of that.
Her backpack was slung over her shoulder and she stepped-- Well, hurried from Ruiz's van with a quick wave and a pull of her hood up over her head. Tensions had been uneasy as hell at the Ruiz house, but those would pass. Crop was leaving again-- leaving. The idea was almost stunning but more of a relief- At least he was leaving with less than he'd come home with. She hadn't found the words yet to say goodbye, and wasn't sure she even wanted too.
It's not like he was talking to her. That seemed to be a trend, recently: People were avoiding her and nervous around her, like stepping around hot coals she found a path cleared in every hallway, a desk with at least two vacancies around it in every class. It was just as well, she preferred it that way in general, but this time there were words behind it:
Murderer.
May had spent a long time avoiding the spotlight, avoiding people, avoiding association and now here it was! Fresh with a new label and a new blacklisting, the pariahship she dreamed for. A thing of spectacular and remote horrors! A thing at the hand of--
No. We're not going to think about that. It's not his fault-- Or her fault-- They were in a tight spot. They can't afford to--
Well, you can't afford too, either, but...
May groaned and leaned against her locker, head pounding. All of this and a script to memorize! She was lucky that Auger- Mr. Auger? - hadn't asked her to step down from her part in the production. She wondered if he'd even heard? She'd be more surprised if he hadn't; the rumor flew thick and fast.
That girl killed Chad.
They wouldn't be rumors if someone wasn't spreading them, but as far as she could tell only three people knew, and two she had personally absolved of their crime. They had a reason-- The third didn't.
All he had was a broken promise of secrecy and a notepad he never stopped scribbling in. May caught sight of Duncan down the hall and hefted her bag up sharply, all thoughts clearing to one thing:
"HEY!" Her vision seemed to focus only on him as she strode forward, calling loudly down the hall with an edge to her voice, reflected in the sharpness of her eyes and the hardness of her words:
"You! Duncan."
She slammed her hand into the metal nearest him, glad for the noise, as she scowled and snarled,
"You and I, kid? We need to have a little chat."
Her eyes fluttered downwards and then up tightly, "And no notebooks this time."
Corin’s hand moved ver his bowl and cupped the edge to keep it from falling over the counter and onto his lap; lips pursed as though in concentration, he nudged it and gauged the maximum distance the lip of the bowl could lean over the edge before it toppled over. Abandoning his brief game, he moved his eyes to May and then quickly back again.
What did she mean? She was the 500 piece puzzle he left with Darcy for days scattered over the living room floor, and by the time they’d had it together every corner was tattered and the image scratched— but they’d known it was a good picture before they’d put it together and it even if it wasn’t as bright as before it was still.. Special.
And even if it wasn’t hung up on the wall and if he’d never seen it again and had given it to the toy drive two Christmases ago it still— meant something.
And he was sure she meant something to, but it was always the same with May; whatever she meant escaped him and he knew— he thought he knew she intended it that way but there was nothing else to do beside add more milk to his bowl and listen to the clink of metal on bowl as he set his spoon down,
"Who, me? I’m a trooper." He gave her a look that was muddled grin and wariness, and glanced back to his cereal— he wasn’t hungry anymore. Least not for grains. "Sure I need people," he said frankly, after a moment, and glanced to her, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he thought, "And— I mean, I figure I’m kinda lucky to have people all so near," he added, and raised his chin to the ceiling.
May's shoulders fell back and she felt a slight wave of relief. Flickering her gaze over to him, she studied him for a moment-- All pajamas and cereal, the portrait of stained innocence. Tossing her hair slightly she bit back on a smile, but it whispered through anyway and she relaxed visibly, moving her half-empty bowl beside her on the counter as she tucked her bangs back,
"Good." She smiled relentlessly and looked over to him in full now, "I'm glad to hear you are."
There was a cracked pause and she found her hands fluttering to themselves. Sure, I need people-- But what sort of people? Was she one of them? She probably wasn't the sort of person a person needed-- Not like air or water or light. Maybe someone that you'd see now and again, but not someone for whom you'd feel the pangs of loss if they vanished for weeks at a time.
When she came back it might be a relief, but it'd be brief. She wasn't the sort of people a person needed. Her lips thinned, and she almost missed the last half-
I'm kinda lucky.
She nodded and her expression neutralized. She hoped his luck held out.
"It is--" She struggled for words briefly, then decided, "Useful." No, that made them sound like commodities--
"I mean, not useful like..Useful, but. It's good. To-- Have people you can have near you when you..Need people. I dunno." She ran her fingers over the knuckles of her left hand nervously,
"I'm not really used to being in that position. Sorry-" She blurted, realizing it sounded like blame, "I'm just-- It's my fault. Shit, that was a stupid question. I'm sorry."
How had she handled herself so well upstairs when all she did with Corin, it seemed, was to come back to the same old thing, to fuck everything over? Her confidence with him rose and fell in waves- She wore down and rose up unpredictably and it bothered her, but certainly not as much as it bothered him. One minute she was aloof and fine and he didn't need to know anything and then she wanted to tell him anyway.
What the fuck, May? You hate burdening people-- But it's all you seem to do anyway.
She grabbed her bowl hastily, and began eating again. Fuck it. Better not to talk.
Though the atmosphere was grim, Kirin couldn’t help but smirk at the comment about the pants, but it quickly turned into fondness when Mac meantioned his sister. It had been ages since she’d seen the tiny youth. “I’m glad she’s coming. O-oh— Nik?”
Kirin frowned, trying to remember if she’d seen Nik since the incident. She shook her head. “No, I haven’t… He wasn’t at the house when Gaius and I met there the next day, so he must have followed me out of the building when we were let out. Shit!”
The uncertainty of Nik’s whereabouts suddenly weighed down on her mind heavily— How could she let herself be so careless? Stupid, stupid, stupid! This wasn’t the sort of thing she should be doing. “Yeah, that’s a good idea… I’ll ask Thalia, see if she knows anything…” She bit her lip, her fingernails digging into the palm of her hands. “I hope he’s okay. I’d hate for anyone in the pack to— to get.. caught.”
Mac ran his hand through his hair nervously and shifted his weight with a shrug. His shirt bunched around his shoulders and it felt tighter in the neck-- Or maybe he was just nervous and stupid and should stop, like, flexing. His arms fell down immediately as he looked up from the floor, chewing his lip, voice low;
"Shit," He agreed, and shut his eyes. His hands clenched at his side and he counted his breaths uneasily, but stopped after about five seconds too long of uneasy silence, and peered one eye open at Kirin, as if testing the waters. Mac cleared his throat,
"She.. Would, right? They're like, friends?" He wondered if he sounded clueless. He felt clueless. Stupid, stupid!
"I don't think he'd be that-- Reckless. I mean, guy works with electricity and shit, right? He knows how to play with fire. Uh. Metaphorically speaking and all." Frowning, he added,
"If anything happened, I'm sure Gaius can-- could-- would handle it, right?"
The question hung in the air, almost uneasily. He wasn't sure why he wanted confirmation, but he did. He studied Kirin's shoes for a moment, before trying to meet her eye-
If she said yes, things would be fine. Things would be fine, totally, completely, we're-all-fucked sort of fine.
Just a Quaint and Quiet Country Town || Spaws + Baly + FBI Peeps
"We're just a normal, every-day sort've town."
"Really? Fascinating. Usually every-day kinda towns have lower murder rates, but what do I know? I'm just from Federal. So, Charley-"
Charley forced a smile. This strange woman and her equally strange partner had shown up only after a brief meeting with the Chief of Police; The department had been informed there were people coming from "higher up" to help investigate his cases, and Charley was--
Well. He was uncomfortable. He and Emory had been able to successfully deter the flow of information regarding the suspected attacks-- Hospitalizations had been monitored, and when the attacked persons had been determined to be non-threatening, reports were also altered. However, three attacks were routinely coming up-- And for those, they'd had no answers.
Charley frowned at his computer screen-- He'd pulled up the briefing documents, the ones they'd used in the departmental meeting during late November when they'd turned to the unsolved cases. Charley had been asked to draw them up, and had obliged with care...
He had, after all, a vested interest in the cases. Not one he'd let on, but all the same, the screen blinked:
Sawyer Pierce -- Suspected animal attack or homicide.
Second to third degree burns, multiple lacerations-- Look into.
Chad Baxter -- Suspected homicide.
Wounds appear to have occurred due to severe blunt force trauma, as well as indications of multiple lacerations due to blunt and edged weaponry. Location same as Pierce. Look into.
Haley Pierce -- Recovered from animal attack; reports from victim alleges no attacker but possible woodland animal. Animal control has been called to the area; evidence of animals prominent.
Rangers are on the lookout for any incidences of rabies within local animal population; Farmers and hikers have been warned. Signs posted throughout forest, deeper areas have been blocked off.
Department is looking into motion-activated cameras; presently unable to levy funds. Requests have been put in to Governor.
Loraine glanced at the screen behind him and he felt his shoulders stiffen slightly as he closed the window. She sipped at her coffee, and the dark lipstick she wore marred the plastic lid- Charley glanced away from her to his files, and shuffled them as she continued,
"You know Burlington well, huh?"
"Yeah-- Grew up here. Left for a bit, but we're back now. Never turn your back on home, 's what I always said."
Lorainne smiled slightly, glancing to the files on the desk. She nodded gently, "That's not a bad saying. Sure seems like home needs you now."
Charley didn't say anything, but nodded, lips thin. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, then muttered, "Sure does. Nothin' ever stays the way you want it too."
Three suspicious incidents too many. Chad was the only one he and Emory hadn't entirely ruled out-- The rest were just kids, doing stupid, stupid kid shit.
Everything else-- All the other incidents, were thusfar purely coincidental. There had been one incident recently, but-- He'd been ruled out, on suspicions of psychosis. Emory had expressed sympathy, but Charley reasoned you need to leave that sort of thing to itself. No need to get involved. There were other things to do.
The woman's voice-- Loraine Connors, she'd said? -- came back to him as she tilted a picture back on his desk, one of him and Emory they'd taken some years before, before El Paso, before Emory's--- Emory's break, he supposed. They'd beens smiling in front of some bar, someplace, Charley in sunglasses and Emory holding up a souvenir license plate with "BEST BROTHERS" on it. He didn't even remember who'd taken the photo.
Loraine set the picture back and shifted her weight, clearing her throat. Charley snapped back to immediate attention, and she smiled at him in such a friendly manner that it made him uneasy.
"I understand you took some time off the force-"
"Yeah," Charley pushed his chair back and stood, clearing his throat. "Personal reasons. My brother wasn't doing too well."
"Oh! I'm terribly sorry. That's him, huh? Looks like a nice guy." She paused, then asked gently, "Is he alright now?"
"Sure is. Employed and everything, keeping to his medication." Charley smiled, a little grimly at Loraine's hesitant nod, the way her hand gripped her cup a little tighter as the recognition of a topic she shouldn't approach crossed her face. Charley continued, hoping to steer her from the cases, if just for a moment;
"It's good for him to be back familiar, back to a schedule an' all, you know?"
"That's nice." Loraine gave him a warm smile that reassured him for a moment that-- Maybe it was nice. It wasn't entirely a lie-- Emory had been doing better after the El Paso incident. He'd just wanted to come home, settle down--
And if that was their cover, that was their cover. No reason to lead anyone to believe that they were tracking anyone or anything. Not to such a quaint place as this.
Loraine turned and mused over the set of folders on the desk, each detailing the three incidents of suspicion. Charley had been asked to bring the full folders out, as the briefings hand't been quite as much information as she and her partner had been looking for, and had done so with reluctance; he watched her, noting how Loraine tucked her coffee cup under one arm, and then turned back to her partner, calling,
"Hey! Come 'ere. Have you had a look at these files on the Baxter and Pierce cases...?"
Charley's smile faded and he felt his chest tighten. He shifted his weight, and cleared his throat,
"Department's still looking at those-- Can't seem to, er, get a handle on all the.. Similarities. Awful strange."
"Not for long," Loraine muttered, flipping through the pages. She frowned slightly, "Awful grim thing to happen to kids-"
"--Yeah, we're still trying too-"
Loraine looked up, and there was something in the steel of her eyes that stopped him speaking. She set the coffee cup down not taking her eyes off of Charley as she said, carefully,
"Don't worry about it. We're professionals. We can handle this, Mr. Spaw."
"Yes-- Yes of course."
Lorainne took the files and tucked them under her arm, walking back to her partner with a slightly quickened pace. Charley sank into his chair, then quickly removed his phone and placed it under his desk, sending a text out:
To: Balast, Emory (ICE)
Subject:
Priority: High (!)
hey
we've got trouble
feds
He hit send just as Loraine turned to glance back at him in puzzlement. He gave a quick smile, but the quirk of her brow didn't go unnoticed, and he began to sweat slightly.
If they got involved, all their hard work, all their hunting--
Everything could be revealed.
They had to be stopped.
Kirin listened, quietly, nodding. “Yeah, definitely stupid..” she half-laughed under her breath. “But..” Kirin took a deep breath and smiled at Macheath. ”Thank you. We.. we need Gaius, maybe s-some more than others-“
She swallowed, lips pulling thin before she continued, “But… Things are getting worse and if Gaius isn’t here then we d-don’t stand a chance.”
They really didn’t, did they? None of them knew any real control yet, although- Kirin touched a small pouch on her necklace, next to her pendant- they were perhaps starting that journey. But two nights a month was too short a time to learn anything and it was too long a time to run around without control.
"You don’t have t—-" Kirin started to say, but blushed faintly. "Er— Yeah. I-I should g-go too. Unless you have anything to add to the costume, that is…" She muttered.
Mac took a deep breath and nodded, fussing with the strap over his shoulder,
"Yeah- Yeah. Uhm- No, I think I'm good. Just," He glanced around, and cleared his throat, "Maybe not so tight- Er- Around the back of the pants?" He flushed and muttered,
"My little sister's gonna come see this thing... She's really excited."
He cleared his throat, and a thought occured to him. Brow knitting, his moved his hand off the door handle and asked suddenly,
"Hey- Have you seen Nik..? Like, recently? After we- I mean we didn't go back to the house, so I don't know if he was there or anything-- It kinda got.. Chaotic. And I haven't seen him sense. D'you think...?"
He trailed off, and his chest tightened. God. He hoped he hadn't been caught. He hoped Nik had the sense he was born with to get out and to evade, but there was no way he could have known that--
No way he could've--
He forced himself to stop thinking about it, and swallowed hard. He managed, carefully,
"He's-- He's probably... Probably fine. BUt I'm gonna ask the tech crew anyway."
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