millieteethewolf

[millieteethewolf]

who: open to all! when: throughout the evening up until midnight!

She skulks around the corner and presses her back against the wall as she watches a handful of Mariposas and at least one Kanoute Vampire run past. The Vampire could have probably sniffed her out if the room weren't so full of other wolves and more, and Millie's short stature comes in clutch again.

No matter though, because she's got the pretty little thing she swiped; a tiny little hair piece one of the Mariposas had been showing his friend. A piece of her feels, for the moment, reflexively bad for taking it, but, well, maybe this'll be enough of a grab to pay off that sexy Dracula woman.

She eyes the tines of the hairpin, and the intricate carving, and runs her fingers along the tiny thing for a moment, then, wonders if maybe she should give it to Jeanette.

Millie goes to scratch an itch on her face just then, only to find her shirt's... bigger than she remembers it being. She rolls the sleeve up, then rolls it up some more, then some more, then even more. "What the... oh fuuuuu—

And just like that, there's a weird siezing feeling in all of her muscles and bones, but it's squishy, squeamish, not like the twisting agony of the turn.

There's a whisp of smoke and spectral butterflies then, fluttering from over a pile of stylish clothes and cute bat boots.

'Should we?' A voice rings out. The Mariposa witches and their vampire friend arrive then, picking the little hairpin out of the wad of clothes, laughing to eachother as they go back to their table. 'Naw, she'll figure it out.'

There's a minute where she's not sure where she is, but it only takes a second to crawl out of the mound of her clothes and see herself reflected in the polish of her massive boot. "Oh, fuckoff!" she squeaks.

[millieteethewolf]

"Yeah!" Millie says, because she knew some of those words.

She nods, looking around, trying to figure out where Jeanette slipped off to. "Hell yeah! Let's fuck 'em up, witch lady!"

She sips on some sort of funky fizzy drink she'd swiped off a passing tray (something done with difficulty given how far she had to reach up) and nods. "Lets figure out how the Wyrmwoods graft kinetic runes without blowing half their shit up."

This was all about mingling right? All these monster big-wigs in town to be like 'hey look at us, we're monster big-wigs'.

"You are a witch yeah? You smell nice, but also like a witch, you know, like, witches smell funky? But not dead funky or dog funky."

She nods, like that was the most normal thing she could have said. "You think they got magic wands? I want a magic wand. Like the guy in the movie with the brooms. Oh shit! That'd make my job so easy."

who: open [0/4]

where: the conclave gala

Caitlin Siltshore glides through the gala with that barely leashed storm - energy she calls composure, eyes flashing like struck flint at every unfamiliar sigil and whispered alliance. Having Atlas Jay on her arm is both flex and a headache — he looks like a dream, but the man can’t order a rideshare to save his soul (see: Uber fiasco.) Whatever. Tonight she can forgive logistical sins; the room hums with fresh variables, and Cait is starving for substance.

Atlas Jay slips away toward the bar— leaving Cait to survey the ballroom’s constellation of coven colors. A quick pulse of witch-light from her fingertips tags another Garnett member across the floor: Signal if anything goes wrong. Fucking hate not having our phones on us. She breathes out, lets her shoulders drop. The night stretches ahead, wide-mouthed and glittering with possibility.

Surya Bhansali is holding court nearby—eternal night, vampiric supremacy, blah blah logistics—and Cait won’t waste perfectly good oxygen debating a plan that ignores basic circadian biology. Coven Mariposa’s leader, Lucho Miralles, flits past in an ambrosial blur; intriguing, but then, there—Fia Palmgren of Wyrmwood, rune-script glowing along the cuffs of their clothes.

Cait turns to the stranger beside her, angling her body like a blade poised to strike conversation.

"I’m dying to find out how Wyrmwood grafts kinetic runes without blowing half their pieces apart. Want to crash the conversation with me? Two brains are harder to brush off than one.”

The Garnett creed thrums in her chest: knowledge shared is knowledge multiplied.

[millieteethewolf]

Yes, she's wearing the flannel. And yes she's wearing the silly ass bat-boots she found clearing out the wreckage of her truck. She tops it all off with some snazzy specs because when you're a werewolf you totally can wear sunglasses at night.

MILLIE TOLLIVER arrives at the Gala alongside one @jeanbarclay, doting as they skip merrily into the venue as members of EVENTIDE PACK along with her fellows. She's a relative newcomer to Port Leiry, and isn't sure what all the fuss is about, but one thing's for sure, there are plenty of things here to draw and eye and a set of sticky fingers...

[millieteethewolf]

Mills nods along. This vampire's kinda easy to talk to, like they've got some sorta innate poor-people spider sense that puts them a little at ease around eachother, at least on her end. This ain't no sexy Dracula threatening to cut her hand off (kinda hot), but more like, Just-a-guy-cula smokin' a joint and talkin' shit on rich people.

He asks if the clouds fuck with the moon like they do with the sun, and she shrugs. "Naw, forreal, I don't think so," a beat, a laugh. "I think we gotta see the moon, or at least it's gotta see us. S'why it only makes us do it when it's full. That's my theory anyways. It's from a book, but like, you know, fuck it, werewolves, right? Shit shouldn't be real anyways."

She pinches the joint and takes another drag and passes it along. "Like you ever wonder which asshole it was took the very real bullshit of all this and made it stories that show up on TV and shit? How wrong they get it sometimes but also how right? S'wild. I was just tryna get some behind my friends house and boom-pow."

She pantomimes a one-two punch. "Shit's crazy, man. S'crazy. You super old? You ever see werewolves in London like in the song? Or Transylvania or whatever?"

She's new to town, too. He's not always one for signs, or none of that woo-woo shit but he does get an ache in his knees when he thinks the bad weather's trying to tell them something. Maybe it's telling them both to put eggs in their shoes and beat it to another port. Garrick's still splashing off remnants of water from his jacket, and his cargos, shaking a hand through the strands of wet hair.

"Ain't kidding on that," It seemed like if they'd had storms like this before, they're bad at being prepped. Port cities usually have better responses, he'd know. He's rousted enough of them. He'd seen the city turn up crazy in a matter of hours. Maybe he had been too (crazy), considering that he's agreed to ol' Frank's request to kick it with the fats in their castle.

He glances back towards the door, both to check his exit and to remind himself that the clouds overhead had been as thick as firesmoke, blocking out the light. Garrick hadn't imagined that'd been the rumour when he'd come to Port Leiry, thought there would be a different version of the solution for daywalking.

"Yeah, how 'bout that?"

She doesn't appear like she cares that the dead have invaded the wolf camp. But she's got a funny way of talking about it. Garrick puffs out of a breath, as though offput by the idea of a small wooden box. "Coffins are fer' the Ivy Leaguer's," the fancy, the fuckin' rich. Ain't nobody lying in coffins, but he knows she's talking about the being-dead thing. But that's not the point he's making. He'd nail a coffin shut and drop it to the bottom of the ocean, dare he caught anybody snoozin'. "Unmarked graves, doll. That's all we gets."

Then, to settle the bite, "Nah, I'm screwin'. Ain't no coffin, or coffin-boats. Jus' wet." a beat, for him to nod his head towards her. "Don't you lot like the rain? These clouds confuse the moon or anything, you get bitey in the day now?" He hopes the fuck not.

[millieteethewolf]

"Yeeeeah you will," she says through a wide smile, the smoke moving through her lungs and into her blood and then up through her veins and into the mind where it fogs away worry or fear. "Buddy boy I am already so fuckin' happy but this will indeed make me happier."

She passes it to him, dumb smile on her dumb face. "Trust me, it'll chill you out. It's acquired, that's all. Ain't even like, bad for you as long as you ain't doin' it every fuckin' five minutes, yeah? Ehehehehe."

She claps him on the back, cackling like wildfire when he takes a toke and inevitably coughs it out like somebody let an angry wildcat out in his lungs. "HEH HEH."

It's a sharp cackle, but a friendly one - like August has just done a rite of passage. "Burns, a lil right? Don't worry Aug-o the Dog-o, bout a minute or two you'll be laughin' bout this."

And the storm goes on, outside. And for the moment, it doesn't matter. And it's a hurricane, too, so she knows it'll get worse before it gets better, but life's like that sometimes. It's why friends are a thing.

He nods a little, even with the very real realization that he is cursed, he feels he deserves to still be locked up. His past transgressions haunting him. The people he has hurt and killed. The people he has almost killed. It's been years and still he can't get the taste of her blood out of his maw. Wolf blood, something other.

He laughs again at Millie's continued teasing, even clicking his tongue at her and calling her crazy in his native tongue. Because Millie is a little crazy, but he supposes he is too. He had traveled across the world to rid himself of pack, of family, and yet here he was. A pack. A family. Something Artemis was creating, even if they didn't realize it. He's proud of his friend.

"I hope she can too…it has been years since I've been able to run with others. Sometimes I wonder if that is part of his unrest. The isolation." He pulls his legs up to cross under himself and ends up laughing again as she waves the joint in his face teasingly. "I will take one smoke off your marijuana. If it'll make you happy." He says genuinely, honestly a little curious.

[millieteethewolf]

"The fuck you MEAN no witnesses?" She yips out, incredulous at the suggestion. "Whole place is a witness, Fahk!"

He jerks in a swift motion that she isn't really able to process save for by scent, bc she smells him in front of her, all the dead of him, before she sees him, or that's what it feels like.

Millie scrambles though, at his question, the fuck away, as one might, and dives to the floor, four-padding it through a crowd clamoring over eachother to get out. Some of 'em might have already, but whoever has the door open when she gets there, feels their grip slip as she useds tiny, mighty muscles to slap it shut, and snarl something out to get the rest of them to back off. It's a human sound, one that approximates something beastial, and normally, someone of her stature might simply serve as non consequence, but when she shoves an entire clod of people back, they seem to collectively get the hint.

But then she looks up, and sees something tear and her face goes slack. "What the fuck!" She says, but its only a peep in the sudden quiet.

Bail? When there's blood permeating the air and igniting senses; a pilot flame that's just had the gas fed into it. Hues slide in her direction, noting her concern like it's merely a suggestion. Reid looks past her, to the camera posted in the corner of the dive. There's a red light lit bright; might not be fake, might need smashing to fucking bits.

He'll consider that problem later.

The bar does them a favour by breaking out into a mess of fists, and targeted lunges. It's laughable. The two of them watch the struggle breakout: "What if there's no witnesses, Millie?"

What if there's a feast? He did work up an appetite.

He only has to take one step forwards, to be the thing between the shotgun barrel and Millie. He doesn't turn back to her, when he's staring down the bartender from across the bar. Reid doesn't raise his hands, just gauges the severity of the guy about to blow a hole in him. Halstead speaks quietly, because he's going to make a mess: "You quick, wolf?"

There will be a problem, if she isn't.

"Block the door."

And then, he moves as his own, more dangerous bullet. A fleeting shadow that flashes to the bartender at the same moment a gunshot explodes throughout the bar. There's a yell, and then a tear.

[millieteethewolf]

"You're a weird guy!" She says, but it's all laced up with a kind of affection - distant because who is this guy, you know, but there all the same. "Like the good kinda strange, yeah? You shouldn't have fleas though. That's weird. Shower more."

She's so stern when she says it, but then her features crack and one eye squints shut and her teeth come out in the sidelong toothy grin that means one thing and one thing only "Ehhh I'm fuckin' with you though!"

She snatches up Jasper's hand there, and then her face goes stony again when they cinch; "Seriously though, you ain't should have fleas, if you do got em, no judgement though, been there." A squint, then another joking grin as she pulls apart.

Millie backpedals. "Yeah we could fuck with that sometime, sure! Keep me posted. I hang out at the Alley, with uh, Eventide." She says, pointing vaguely as she remembers the name. "Bunch weirdos but they're cool. Down in the warehouse district."

She gives a genial nod then, spinning as she backs away and trundles off towards her truck, because she's gotta get to work.

And just like that, Jasper’s shoulders drop like someone just cut the tension wires. Light laugh. “I thought I’d accidentally outed myself to a very enthusiastic cryptid-fan club.” They scan the alley as if secret cameras might leap from the dumpsters, then flash her a conspiratorial grin.

“Okay, Millie—fellow wolf, certified cool person—this is enormous. I’ve literally been stress-googling ‘how to network when you shed’ for weeks. Avi’s great, but their vibe is ‘parties in vintage muscle cars,’ and Remi’s busy mentoring every feral pup in town.” Jasper’s foot still bounces, but now it looks more like excitement than terror. “So, friendship pact officially initiated! We can swap flea-shampoo recs and compare transformation playlists. Mine starts with Bowie, obviously.”

They rock back on their heels, eyes shining. “Also, if you ever want to tackle Into the Drowning Deep together, I make killer popcorn. You, me, murderous mermaids, unholy amounts of butter. Sound like a plan?”

[millieteethewolf]

Millie's burrito's gone well before Arte's reached the halfway point of their own, which is what the chips are for. Luckily, a handful of tortilla is a little easier to understand words around than a full-bore mouthful of a burrito so god-damned good it just sort of absorbs all the space and leaves little room for discussion.

"Packs are weird, man, they all got different rules and shit but like, ain't that what they're all about at the end? This shit sucks kinda. Like iono, maybe it's better for the ones that get born this way, 'cause more practice of some shit, Idunno, maybe it is, maybe it isn't."

She goes absolutely fucking nuts in the days before she turns, like everything's building up. And then its just a bunch of hurt. And then her brain's off until the morning after and she just wings it with Excedrin and a couple Five-Hours and a shit ton of junk-food. Then things are nice for a bit quiet. Everything she's ever remembered about a wolf is fits and starts, foggy memories and snapping, snarling dreams.

"But it's cool you got a pack that's not so fussed about little shit, that's cool. I can kick it with that. Yeah, fuck it, I'll kick it with y'all."

She sees a really nice car pull in on the back of a tower through the window of the room, and some absolutely outrageous guy gets out, looking more annoyed than anything, and he's got really good hair, enough that she, lesbian that she is, even can't help but take notice of.

"I'll get him," she says, standing and three-pointering her wadded-up burrito and chip wrapper into the wastebasket in the corner. "I'll buy you a drink or some shit after the shift. Eat alla that though, or I will."

It's delivered with the stalwart missive of a king, and then she's out of the room and back to work.

Arte tenses at the mention of hunters, and they look at Millie a little closer. They can see it. Under the easy-going sass, there's the mark of someone who has been hunted, who has spent time running for their life.

It's not exactly like Arte's story, but similar enough that they can recognize the tiredness Millie talks about. They lose some of the words through the bite of a burrito, but they try to follow along as best as they can. The way she talks about the city is familiar, a lot like how Arte thought about Port Leiry when they first arrived. "I'm... yeah?"

Millie continues on as though Arte hadn't answered her question, but they find that they're not put off by it. The chatter is nice, a lot like the way the other guys at the shop seemed to keep a steady flow of conversation, only Millie didn't need anyone else. She didn't seem to expect Arte to participate either, so they take another slow bite of the burrito and begin to chew.

When there's finally a lull, Arte tries to cut in jerkily. "I- the pack is... safe. We pr-protect each other. Don't h-hurt each other. Everything e-else, we just figure out." They look at Millie, wondering if that's a problem for her though they don't think it will be. "All wolves h-have a place with us. We d-don't want trouble."

[millieteethewolf]

Millie turns, the weird little gnome scared off until he backs into a table and nearly falls over it before going to try and pick one of his friends up.

She turns to Jacket-Guy then, who's just shanked a motherfucker with a busted pool cue, and she realizes that maybe this is bad, and that maybe there will be cops. And if Millie hates one thing more than mouthy, likely racist booze hounds who like to throw hits at women, it's cops. Because cops are all that, plus cops.

"Uhhh... I think maybe we oughta bail, Brett." She says, looking around at all the waylaid devastation. "I think maybe we might be legally culpatatable here."

There's a scramble then; the scuffle turning into a right proper brawl and sending people away like little ants, and then she hears a shicka-clack and there's a dude behind the bar with a shot gun pointed at both of them. Millie can't speak for Jacket-Guy, of course, but guns aren't good for her, so her hands go up. "Uh... he started it." She points at one of the downed guys with an un-tied work boot so she don't have to put her hands down.

Reid doesn't care who swung first. Because the state of them on the floor now speaks volumes about the only important swing. But Millie's little scene is cute.

And then she's moving again, and Reid's twirling half a broken cue between his fingers mindlessly as he watches. She's got a good shot, for a wolf. And it soon becomes comical when the cue thwacks faces and noses. Reid's head tips sideways when she howls. Barking, like it's not disturbing and instead terrifying.

She seems to get the message through, and if she doesn't, one guy has attempted to sneak up behind Reid. He jams the pool cue backwards sharply, feels it burrow into flesh before he spins and slams the guys face into the pool table. The legs quake with the force, and red soaks the green felt.

"You really don't know how to listen, do you?" Reid throws him off the table and to the floor with the rest of them. He tries not to laugh at Millie's insults as she rolls them off easily.

One of them might die, as Reid looks at the slick cue in his hand, halfway covered in blood. Did it go all the way through? Damn. Maybe he should have taken the mercy earlier. That's on them. He tosses the piece of wood onto the bloodied felt and smiles at the aftermath of the scene. Millie's up front: "Careful, dude, she bites harder than I do. You should run off now."

[millieteethewolf]

Mill's fingers snap out of her mouth and her face snaps back into shape, where she rubs her jaw because maybe she'd sold the show a bit too hard, but it's like pulling on an old glove here, the way Jeanette slides off of it so easylike, and she cocks a sideways grin and has to practically force herself not to kick her foot like a bashful teen with a crush, and it only gets harder when she just broadcasts all that energy into the room. "Damn straight," she echoes.

But then comes talk of wolf folk and Millie does wonder, in a rare moment of serious thought, whether there is a future for people like her and Jeanette and even Z and Berto, if they're still out there. Like yeah, there's a living for a werewolf, but it's all on the fringes of everything. Nobody cares if a janitor vanishes every full moon, even though they should. Everybody'd notice if their favorite celeberity scooted off every thirty days.

Millie nods enthusiastically at Jeanette's story, the shoves her hands into her back pockets in that 'oh ya know' type-a way when Jeanette asks after her; "You know me, doin' my thing," she says, trailing a bit. "Lil bitta this, lil bit'o that. I got a job at an cleanin' company, and then another one at an auto-shop. That's where I met my new crew's big cheese, fella named Arte. They're cool, lil uh, you know... in need of a hype man, but they got a good head I think." She sets herself down again, not on a theatre seat the right way, but on top of the back of one, using her legs to push the folding cushion of it up and down bc she's gotta do something' with the nervous energy.

Partner though? She shrugs at that. "No partner, not that's like, you know, that-that." She gets suddenly a tiny bit self conscious, wonders about Jeanette. Wonders if she's got a partner. "I mean I've had, you know... girl's got her needs and all, but no, nobody special, you know..." It hangs a little, so she repeats it. "...yanno."

Then she throws her hand out towards Jeanette, like it's gotta come blurtin' out sometime. "You know, I am available, yuh? Both schedulistically and emotionally, yanno, forreal."

Of all the times Jeanette imagined meeting Millie again, not once it was like this. She pictured the four of them together again, but jaded, changed by a decade-long hunt. They'd tell stories of triumph and terror, the weird places they spent countless nights on, they'd be almost unrecognizable. Millie's missing teeth draws a laugh from her, and she wonders if she's still the same in her old friend's eyes, or if she herself was the one who changed as much as she thought the others would. "That's cute, you can rock it."

It's not a surprise that Millie doesn't have any news from the others either — honestly it would be a shock if anyone did, but there was still a part of her that hope that while she ran one way, the other three ran together the other. It was comforting imagining they could've protected one another when she couldn't, and when she had no one watching over her. Knowing that town, though, it felt like a matter of time before another one of them showed up with his own stories to tell.

"I'm the best damn actress in this whole wide country, and trust me, I've been everywhere, I would know," she jokes and smiles, "but nobody knows it yet. Big secret. Gotta figure out how to get the Hollywood execs to hire us wolf folk first." And Jeanette did try. Hollywood, Atlanta, New York... she knew she had the talent, it was just the wolf holding her back for the most part. "For now, I just make people pretty and make sure they know they owe me one," she speaks with the confidence of a well-thought plan that is still yet to work out in her favor. "And you? Other than the tooth, I mean. Job? Pack? Partner? I wanna know everything."

[millieteethewolf]

Millie sits across from Kali like a kid what got in trouble at school. It's not shame on her face, so much as a little bit of introspective disappointment. The lady - who looks like some crazy character out of one of her books, looms. Like, actual looming. "Haha, not bold just stupid, I think we can both agree, ahaha."

The laugh's nervous not happy.

When she looks at the Funyuns, Millie makes a face. Like maybe she should offer her captor some Funyuns. Is an onion like garlic? Is the garlic thing real? She eyes the picture of Jeanette as it slides across the table; that's the one thing she doesn't wanna lose.

"I ain't no racoon," she says, like she's offended. "...Ma'am.", she adds.

She shakes her head with nervous energy when Kali continues, suddenly a little panicky. "Oh shit! That's hardcore!" She says, eyes gone big, genuinely surprised at the threat, promise? "I uh, I don't know, I ain't had plan, it was pretty. Sometimes I just... I just gotta, you know. It's uh, like that uh, what's it called. Uh... uhhh... Verklemptamania or whatever it's called." Wait, that ain't the word.

Kali laughs.

Sudden, but not loudly, not cruelly. A sort of private delight. "How fortunate I am," she says, voice soft. "To be reminded that even the smallest creatures can be so very bold." Bold enough to attempt theft under Kali's roof. It's impressive. But not fearless necessarily, because this little thing doesn't know where she's stepped into, does she? Still, Kali is intrigued.

She reaches out, sweeps the wrapped trinket towards herself across the desk. Just a pair of anklets she'd been meaning to take to Kore for repair, sat on her desk as a reminder to have someone deliver it accordingly.

Her eyes flit over to the bag of Funyuns, and there's a spark of amusement in her gaze. Then the soda bottle. Then the picture of a beauty. She slides that towards herself, flips it over to take a closer look.

"You're a little raccoon, aren't you? You even packed a lunch for the getaway. That's adorable." Picture placed face down on the desk, she then leans forward, elbow to the desk, chin on her knuckles, a gentle smile curling her lips.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood. Now what was your plan, exactly? Sell it? I'll give you a chance to be honest, Miss Tolliver. Whether your hand remains attached to your body depends entirely on how cute I find your answer."

[millieteethewolf]

"That's where the join comes in," she laughs, smoke streaming from her nose like she's some tiny baby dragon. "If it doesn't we won't give a shit."

She laughs, because laughing feels better than sitting and staring at a far or wondering what happens when they gotta put the fires out and the warehouse goes dark and full of the sounds of wind and thunder and rain. Millie's not scared of the dark or anything, but with sounds like that, the way the air feels? Maybe she could be.

"It's only s'posed to get worse though, so if you're seriously gonna be heading back out, be careful. Shit's crazy out there."

Small world, Avi showing up here. Even smaller, now she knows who Avi is just beyond a fellow wolfman with nice curls. She seems to scrunch up even tighter after a peel of thunder. "You scared of storms?"

Avi shrugs off his soaked jacket, drops down by the fire. His hair's damp, curls stuck to his forehead, his shoulders sit a little tense from his thing with Romy. This is only a pit-stop on his way home, his family home. He'd left his poor Biladi with mama dearest, and he figures if either of them eats the other during this storm, he should probably be there to see it go down. Besides, he might just want to check in on the woman that's been taking care of his poor puppy for him while he bounces from house to house, couch to couch. But if he's gonna be home, he's gonna need to relax first, so when Millie passes the joint, the decision has already been made before he gets his fingers on it.

He takes a drag. Then another, then a pass. "So this is what you band of weirdos managed to scrounge together, huh? Respect." A crooked little smile. "Think it'll hold up tonight?"

[millieteethewolf]

This guy's wilding out and she's just like, staring because his whole shit goes on a journey right in front of her that leaves her a little stunned. Confused. Jaw slacked. Flabbers ghasted.

"Buddy, chill, so high strung!" She says after a beat, and when he goes into like, actually talking she untenses again. Oh shit, she knows Avi, that's the car dude. Good hair. She doesn't know Remi, but he talks about they and they sound cool too. "Hell yeah! I donno know Remi but we fuck with Remi, hell yeah, for real."

"Hell yeah, I'm friendly. I'm cool." She shoots a hand out. "I'm Millie." She leans in, says it real quiet, but like, at a stage whisper, which is a word for whispering loudly that Jeanette taught her. "Also a werewolf," she hints out the corner of her mouth, like it's supposed to be a secret at this point.

Jasper lights up when she brings up Into the Drowning Deep, eyes going round as moons. “Wait—I’ve heard of that one! It looks so cool! Evil mermaids, right? Deep-sea horror, lots of blood and teeth? I saw the cover and was like, that’s gonna ruin my ability to shower in peace for a month and I’m a werewolf!”

Wait.

Suddenly, they can’t remember a single detail of their conversation—had they both been talking about packs in the metaphorical sense, or had she actually said something real? Had they said something real? Had they bonded over being Not Entirely Human, or did Jasper just take a wild conversational leap off a cliff like a golden retriever chasing a frisbee into traffic? Oh no. Oh no. Did they say it out loud? They definitely said it out loud. And I’m a werewolf. Just like that. Just out there. Like they were announcing a favorite seasonal latte and not violating centuries of supernatural discretion. What if she wasn’t even talking about actual packs? What if she meant friendship packs? Or, gods forbid, wolf-themed roller derby teams? What if she thinks they’re a furry now? Not that there’s anything wrong with furries! Furries are delightful. But that’s a whole other disclosure and Jasper does not have the emotional bandwidth to unpack two identities in one conversation. Avi’s gonna chew them out. Remi’s gonna give them The Look. Is there a secret werewolf Slack they’re about to get banned from? They’re gonna get exiled, probably. Sent to live in the woods with nothing but squirrels and shame for company. Great job, Jasper. Just phenomenal work.

They laugh—a short, barking sound that comes out a little too sharp, a little too loud, like a balloon popped too close to the mic. Then, like they can smooth it over with charm alone, they flash a grin and tilt their head thoughtfully, casually, as if they hadn’t just tripped over their own species declaration. “Right, who I hang with,” they say, all breezy confidence now, like they haven’t just internally detonated. Their foot bounces once, betrays them, and they shove their hands into their pockets like maybe that’ll keep the nerves from leaking out their sleeves. “Yeah, I’ve got people. Pack people. People-people. Totally normal. Very chill. Avi’s... cool, yeah, but like cool cool. Leather jacket cool. Sunglasses indoors cool. Not exactly throwing barbecues and telling me their deepest thoughts or whatever. They’ve got that mysterious lone-wolf thing on lock.”

They shrug. “But Remi? Remi’s my older sib. They’re my person. You’d like them. They’re a little prickly sometimes, but they mean well. Taught me all my transformation tricks. Also taught me how to flirt terribly, so you can blame them for any disasters you witness.” Jasper grins, then falters.

“Do I have... friends?” They blink, then count on their fingers. “Uh. My mailman? The barista at the coffeeshop knows my order? That one ghost that haunts the fifth stall in the community center bathroom? We have a rapport.” They snort at themself. “Okay, okay, I’m working on it. Friendship is a growth area.”

Then they brighten again. “But hey—you just said we can hang. So maybe I’ve got one now?”

[millieteethewolf]

"Dog run? Boy if you don't stop bein' silly." She swats at him, gently, on the shoulder. "Next you're gonna be askin' for a lead and then it's gonna be me gotta take you on walks and shit. I ain't followin nobody around with one of them lil thin bags, nuh-uh."

She fidgets a bit, and the joint makes its away around the fire slowly.

"I hope Cham does tho, ain't nobody should be cooped up the way you are. Ain't fair, or right."

She kinda wants to ask how it happened, or what happened, but she don't know if he knows or what he knows or if he wants to talk about it like that. She's got her no-goes too, she supposes, everyone's entitled to that, so she figures he'll bring it up if and when he wants. "Hope she will, man, you deserve at least that."

The joint hits her again and she takes another drag, letting the smoke make the fog in her head and chill her nerves about all this damn bad weather, then she passes it over to him again. "Camaaawn. Peer pressure. Peer pressure." Pinching it, waving it in the space between them. "Ah? Ahyah? Aw,'m just fuckin' with ya."

The laugh is big, bigger than her, bigger than the room. For someone so small, Millie is filling. Like the food she brings him when he has been locked away in his apartment after a bad night. Always with a different flavor of Mountain Dew from the garages vending machine, set on teaching him Americana. It's all so sugary, but he drinks them anyway and listens to her ramble, because he finds her fascinating. And more times than not, finds himself smiling. She may not be a born wolf, but his father had been wrong, it doesn't make her less. He can smell the wolf on her, same as anyone else. He can feel it sometimes too, maybe not always as strong as Arte or Flick, but it was there same as any born wolf he has met.

He wonders briefly if their wolves will ever get to meet. If he will ever be safe enough to be fully involved in the pack. At her explanation of the joint being soggy he laughs himself, it feels foreign on his tongue, but it also feels good. "Maybe we should get one of those…shoot, what is the words…uhm, dog runs? Yeah, a dog run." He adds to the joke before smiling a bit bashfully. "It isn't safe to have me around too often. I'm too unwell. But maybe I can try more if Cham can figure out what is wrong with me."

[millieteethewolf]

Some guy happens in - he's not the first; they've left this little squat open to people who might need a port in the storm, as it were. It might be a little volatile, because werewolves is volatile, right, but past a few initial side-eyes when a few of the more diligent among them get that subtle subtext of death tugged out from under the wet asphalt and petrichor, most people don't take much notice. Millie passes it off and smacks her hands against her thighs to chase away any lingering chill and let the firepit's warmth creep in. It's probably a bad idea, burning shit inside, but its cold with the rain and its just a handful of tiny burn barrels; they can put them out if it gets weird.

"Not like this I don't think," she says shaking her head, curling up to watch the stone-age television, its flickering show glinting in her eyes. "Sure its been bad before though. I just moved here so I don't know."

She scrunches her nose up while she looks him over. "Sky so dark it's got everybody out to see, huh." She smiles under the question. She looks about, its really only other wolves around the fire. "Or'd your coffin turn into a boat. You got a coffin? Is that real?"

Is that an okay question? She doesn't know! He can ask her about wolf stuff if he's figured it out, she don't care.

It's pissing it down with rain, and all day he's heard about a hurricane coming. All sudden and about to knock the feet out from under folk. Frankie's got him convinced to head her way, to the damn archaeic manor to hang out with those goofs older than he is. And he's got sidetracked with dinner on route, then a little turned around in the rain; soaked through, like he's a man overboard. He's a notorious swimmer and has sailed through plenty of bad weather.

Sunk once, but he hadn't been at the helm.

He's given up holding the hood of his jacket as he gets beaten by the elements, boots splashing water up old, ripped cargos. It's all grey clouds, and torrential rain that slaps him in the face. He's had to muscle through wind that wants to have him skidding along the gravel.

He's not sure if he's more impressed with himself or the storm. Garrick thinks he needs a moment to assess where he's ended up, and drags himself through the door to a warehouse? Shack? Something that's got a bunch'a people inside, and a fire too.

He ignores the eyes that dart his way, ruffling a hand through his hair. Dog-like in the way water sprays every which way. The wind howls, and the sudden force that is no longer pressing through him sends him a little out of whack on his feet. He's gone from balancing at sea to solid land, and it takes him a second to orient himself.

Then, there's a smoke in his face, and he doesn't even question it. Plucks the lit bone out of her hand and props it between his lips.

Still drenched, he can't help but jut a thumb back towards the door he just walked himself through: "It's a bit choppy out there," he laughs as he pulls, and then hands it back to the stranger. Realises what he's smoking, where he is, and the distinct scent that's mixed in with the salt air a little too late. Garrick immediately wonders what hour it is, because the greyed-out sky has him out of sync. "I do gotta be somewhere..." Not a lie, he does. But he can take a moment to pre-party. "You get many storms out 'ere?"

[millieteethewolf]

"Girl talk?" She scoffs. "Maaan nothin' but trouble, that's your girl talk." She laughs, hops down from her seat and stands there, one foot resting up on the stool behind her while she sways left to right to stretch out a kink in her back.

"It's good hair, man I just calls it like I sees it, you know, forreal."

She knows he didn't. Nobody's bed head looks good you gotta care too much to look like you don't care that much.

Pack talk, that makes her face tighten then loosen and then there's this big smile too because now they're cookin' with the good gas, she sits back down and decides to waste a bit more company time like God intended. "Man pack drama, I get you. Been in so man. In another one now but they're chill, real friendly."

She wipes a knuckle across her nose because it's twitching with the stink of burnt 10W-40 and crusty air filters that lingers around the oil-change pit. "Gotta be some nerd though they wanna put sugar in your engine, bitch move, man, what'd the car do, right?" She looks at the car, pets it, gentle like. "It's ok, baby girl I'll fix you up."

She turns back to him. "Alight, deal. Eight hundred and we can chit chat. Still gonna be a bit though."

She hollers 'AY PALMER' back into the office and there's some crazy nonsensical almost words that come back. She barks something else nonsensical and almost words in return, and then nods over to some chairs. "I gotchoo. You wanna soda or a water or somethin'? While you wait? Need me to call you a uber?"

She's a chipper little thing. Fun, too, and the amused grin on his face doesn't falter between any of it.

Her scent's sharper up close. Not born-wolf. Good. Yuisa can keep her paws off this one. Still, it's a shame she's clearly in Eventide. She'd be such a joy to have in Harford, but he's not looking to make enemies with Arte -- not that he thinks they'd do anything about it.

But a friend is good. A friend is an ally.

"How about I pay the fair price of $800 and we have some good old fashioned girl talk?" His mother, infamous for her haggling despite being rich as balls, would slap him if she knew he was giving up such a hefty discount. "You did, after all, compliment my hair. Thank you, by the way. I woke up like this." He didn't. He spends at least 30 minutes making sure the one curl falls just right on his forehead.

"And no, I didn't piss of a soccer mom. At least, I don't think so. Pretty sure this is..." She smells the wolf on him, he smells it on her. She works here for fucks sake. No time or patience for pretenses. "...the work of someone from my old pack or a scorned lover. Currently accepting bets on which."

[millieteethewolf]

Millie catches it with reflexes that even here, over ten years into this crazy so-called life, sort of catch her off guard, shaking the other hand out, all pins and needles with the damn shock of the cueball that just rocked other guy's jaw. He's on the floor like the dumbass he is, trying to pick up teeth that she's sure he's seeing twice.

"Ok so like, he swung on me first, you all saw it." She says to like, literally everyone else in the bar. "Or like, he totally was gonna swing on me first, I just decided to swing second first. Or whatever."

Jacket-Guy (Brett upgrade?) drops someone fast and loose like a potato sack and then Millie, she ducks because she can smell the guys other friend from a mile away, or hear him, and she turns and smacks his hand real hard with the broken pool cue. "Okay bro chill? You see this dude? He's gotta get dentures now. You see that?" She motions to him." He tries to grab at the stick and she bap bap baps him. Hand, wrist, forehead and he falls backwards, catching himself on a table. Millie's lip bunches up, pushes the top one up into her nose. "AWOO ROOF ROOF" She bursts out, barking at him, puffing up. It's comical probably, but he seems plenty scared. "Back the fuck awf, Pee-Wee Herman lookin' ass."

Brows knit together when Millie begins to play bold defender, talks about his jacket and his intellect — has his tongue poking the corner of his lip, eyes off the others for a moment to shoot the wolf something akin to aporetic.

But Reid does know what she's doing because he's seen that wandering hand wrap digits around resin. "That right?" Play along with a quick glance at the felt, then towards the pocket. Hunger crawls up his throat like he's barely trying to contain it. He's going to ram the cue through the guy's head he swears. He's in the middle of a game.

There's a flash first, red on red. Pieces of bone burst out of a mouth.

Reid's impressed.

Doesn't look like the rest of them are, though.

"She did warn you." It's a casual sigh, accompanied by a shrug. It comes right before he darts forward to intercept the next swing at the wolf. It's another stranger who wants to knock Millie sideways. There's a chuckle, a broken set of knuckles and a slap of a body groaning on the ground when a pool cue smacks the side of a guy's head. It breaks in two, and Reid glances at the sharp of the wood pieces like he didn't expect it to falter so easily to his strength.

He tosses one at Millie, winks. "Your shot."