* / 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐄.
TIME: March 16th, 7:34 PM LOCATION: Buckshot Bar & Grill STATUS: Open, @shiverstarters
Every time the temperature got warmer and Maite went from being on four legs to being on two, there was this underlying frustration that that was her reality; the moment Maite began sporting her human from, each passing second, she missed her dark furred being. That meant that, for a little while, her patience would be less prone to actually survive through a day without being recharged by means of a punch to anyone’s face. It didn’t help that she had a shift at Buckshot so close to being back to being the worst version of herself.
More often than not, Maite can’t help but wonder why on earth she got herself a job as a server. Basic (and pleasant) human interaction was sort of the bare minimum, along with an uncanny ability to be treated as less than. So, after a long day, the moment someone tried to flirt with her as she cleaned a table was enough to set her off (not that much was needed).
“If you don’t shut up and walk away,” her voice was more like a growl, loud enough for the person and those around her to hear, “I will bite your ear off and feed it to you.” Maite looked at the person, her voice was venomous.
“Got it?”
Trying to readjust to her life, her other life, was a tiresome task. Being on two legs in itself was exhausting, let alone trying to remember habits and routines. After she shifted back, there were always a few moments where she was two beings in one. A human and wolf, the fingers of a girl, and the hunger of an Alpha. It was brief, but it was her favorite part of the shift.
It lingers still, the rage and bite of the wolf, so it’s something she recognizes easily in others. Sometimes it’s the wolf, but sometime’s not even the wolf can be blamed. With Maite, Will can hardly tell. With Peyton it’s easy, she is more wolf than woman. It’s simple and straightforward. Maite is wrapped in mystery. Will cannot decipher between the two, never has been able to. It sets her on edge.
She’s helping clean the tables, even though her responsibility is the kitchen and that has been clean for an hour, because she doesn’t want to go home yet. She’s wiping a table down near Maite when she hears her spitting venom. Will watches silently as the man slinks away in shame. “He was gross,” she acknowledges, refocusing on her task. “But dial it back at work.”















