millieteethewolf

[millieteethewolf]

She's only shoved down buddy's shirt for long enough to realize she's someplace she ought not be before a set of rough hands are plucking her free of the pectoral prison; then she's squeezed between thumb and fingers and she feels like she's gonna pop for a second before the grip loosens and she's staring back at the smoochy-lady.

Her fingers, flop around fruitlessly, trying to unsquish herself and wriggle free, while they argue over who's gonna kiss who.

She can feel her little froggy legs cramping up, too. Who knew frogs could get charlie horses?

"Ey," it finally pops up out of her. "Ey you're crushin' me! I'ma pop! I ain't wanna pop!"

He was taking his sweet time, again. As if kicking him in the shin the first had little to no affect on that himbo. What was taking him so long? It was pathetic, really — the slowest she had ever seen a vampire move in all her centuries of fabulous existence.

Frankie’s fingers snapped — once, twice, thrice! —like a diva, sharp enough to draw looks from half the room. Her lips pursed into a perfect little pout of disdain. "Oh, mon vieux, is that arthritis catching up with you already?" a dangerous little singsong. "Hurrryy up!"

Her dark gaze remained riveted to the slimy little thing clutched in her hand, as though she was cradling a crown jewel and not some unfortunate amphibian. If she even blinked, the vampire was convinced this slippery little creature would seize its chance to wriggle free and ribbit ribbit its way straight into obscurity, robbing her of her moment.

And Frankie was nothing if not a woman of moments.

Fingers tightened just a little more, a little possessive squeeze that made its tiny heart drum even louder and a pitiful squeak croak out of it. "This could be a prince, or a princess, or — oh, imagine, like a marquis of the underworld, wouldn't that be exciting, babes?" if a single peck of her blood red lips on that poor green froggy mouth turned it into a two-legged meat stick with a crown, then she better damn well get to keep it.

"Hush now," almost offhand, a velvet command to Garrick without even looking at him. He wasn’t allowed an opinion tonight. He’d forfeited it when he showed up late and not in pink.

Then she dipped her head and pressed her lips to the slick, cold skin of the frog’s little crown. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. That pretty pout, the one Garrick knew too damn well, turned full force on him, disappointment curling her mouth downward. So she tried again. And again. And again, each kiss more insistent than the last, her little noises of irritation growing louder and more absurd until at last, the squishy little beast gave a mighty, desperate wiggle and popped right out of her hands.

It landed with a wet little flump straight into Garrick’s shirt.

Frankie doubled over, laughter spilling out of her, while she clutched her stomach and gasped for breath. The way its soft little belly had slapped his nose was chef’s kiss.

"Garrick—" she cried, between fits of cackling. "Froggy chose you! You’ve been chosen, babes! You gotta kiss it now! It must be true love! Come on, mon cœur, don’t leave your little frog hanging — kiss it!"

@garrickc @millieteethewolf

[millieteethewolf]

She's not gonna notice me, she thinks. All the people here and JB's not gonna notice me, she think, and she's not sure if frogs can cry, but she sure feels like she's about to as she calls after her.

At first, she hadn't really been sure how these little frog legs worked, but hopping ain't so different from running on all fours, she reckons, and she does that plenty, even if she doesn't remember doing it most of the time- just in dreams and half-thoughts. And so, threatened with losing Jeanette in the crowd, she redoubles her effort, hip-pop-hopalopping behind her, squeaking out desperate bids for her attention - in a lot of ways, it's like High School all over again, with like, 50% more chance of being squished under the foot of somebody taller.

But then the clouds part, and Jeanette turns around, and Millie tries to stop, doing a sort of accidental somersault as she tumbles unto her froggy butt, looking up to her. Can a frog smile? She's kind of trying. If that doesn't sell that she's who she is though, she lifts a little sticky paw and waves it. "They turnt me into a frog!"

It was a big night for her. Having all the supernatural elite in one place was a perfect opportunity to sell herself as an up-and-coming, soon to be alpha werewolf and gather all the connections that she would need to make that happen. She's focused, determined, charming when she needs to be, and tough when the situation calls for it. It was all business.

Still, whenever she had a break from all the socializing, Jeanette couldn't help but look around to try and find her date for the night. She and Millie had separated fairly early on in that night and she hadn't seen her since.

It was silly to say she knew this Millie as well as the Millie from her teenage years after so much time had passed. She couldn't say for sure that this new Millie would've definitely gotten herself in trouble, but her Millie, well...

She'd just started looking for her friend in earnest when she hears the noise — faint, a noise she wouldn't be able to hear as a human. Jeanette looks back and..... nothing. The noise persists and she looks through the crowd again until she sees it, almost staring at her as it hops towards her.

She laughs.

"Oh dear, tell me this is who I think it is," she tries to ignore the thought telling her how ridiculous this situation is. Had it been anyone else, she would think this is impossible, but Millie? Yeah, checks out. "Please tell me I'm not crazy right now."

[millieteethewolf]

@jeanbarclay

If the past three hours have taught her anything?

It ain't easy being green.

Millie's tired of this land of giants, she's tired of being scooped up and carried around and chased by psycho bible men and kissed by huge women (something that surprises her) and nearly being squished and all things considered it's just a whole lot that she doesn't appreciate, particularly.

The lady vampire's theory hadn't checked out so far, because she doesn't feel any less froggy. Moreso, in fact. She ate friggin' gnat earlier.

Blech.

But her search keeps getting waylaid - somebody as beautiful as Jeanette Barclay shouldn't be all that difficult to spot in a room full of people who just aren't as pretty or vibrant or wonderful as Jeanette Barclay, but it's been an endeavor.

Until it isn't.

"Jeanie!" She ribbits out, and then she hops after her, trying to follow her through the tumult. Something has happened, but fuck if she knows what, because she's got one priority right now. But she's too small and everyone's too loud, and she's trying to catch up. "JB!"

[millieteethewolf]

"Nah, I seent you around the hookah bar. You work with sexy dracula's people." She says, shaking her froggy head. "I'll do you a solid. When I'm taller I mean."

At least in here, she feels a little safer from the frog-eater. She sits on the edge of the chair and watches them turn to go. "I mean it!" She shouts as they vanish from view, but before the door can close, the intrepid were-frog leaps down, starting to figure out how to use these weird legs, and hippity-hoppities out of the room and back into the gala.

The question was ribbited out just as they reached the door of the powder room. “As I said someplace you can safely morph back.” Ha-Jeong walked in and cased the room for privacy.

When she was satisfied, they had no visitors she set the frog-girl down in the sitting room and laid her clothes over the lounging chair next to her before pulling the inciting item seemingly out of nowhere, completing the pile of the girl’s things.

“You don’t need to repay me,” she turned to leave the room. “Take your time. No one should come out this way.” She nodded satisfied with herself. “Try and keep yourself out of trouble. Maybe leave the item somewhere hidden until Mariposa has safely taken itself off.”

[millieteethewolf]

"These lil bitches!" She starts to answer, going to point to the Mariposa Witches who'd chased her down for yoinking the silly little hairpin. "Wait, where'd they go?"

Her froggy face sinks and she squints, looking into the crowd for the three of them. "Crap."

She turns back to Allie, and she wishes she weren't a frog because this girlie seems nice in that sort of I don't know what bein' mad is. way which is always a fun kind of person to talk to (as long as you ain't mad, which Millie usually ain't because bein' mad makes her sweat and she don't like it). But maybe she can help them figure this out.

"I don't see 'em!" She ribbits.

         despite her excitement, she understands it’s not very nice to be happy about something someone else is sad about. the magic on the frog tickles her hands, she can feel it’s there, knows it’s certainly not natural, what’s happened to her.

         allie bends, again, nodding her head empathetically to the frog’s frustration, pouting right along with her. but she pushes her little pile of clothes and her cute bat boots under a nearby table. that way, they stay safe, in case anyone wants to start turning left behind clothes into little froggies, too.  

       then she stands up, and means to stay that way, this time. allie looks around the room like the answer will come to her, that way. she thinks, maybe, it just might. hopes that she can help the little were-froggy. froggy-wolf? she keeps forgetting to ask her for her name- “ who turned you into a froggy? maybe if we ask them nicely, they’ll put you back! and then, you can wear your cutie bat boots again! ”

[millieteethewolf]

Big hands are comfortable, she realizes. She feels kinda safe, in a weird way, you know, despite being a frog. And the girl isn't a bummer, so that's nice too. "It's weird!" she calls out in response. "I don't like it!"

The butterfly girl makes her leer, makes her wonder whats happening right now. Is she with the other butterfly guys? The ones she stole the hairpin from? Gosh.

Then the boots come up and she feels her attention peel away from the real situation. "Oh, hell yeah! I gottem at a thrift store. It's like, you know, vampires, right? Like bats? Get it? Haha."

She puts a froggy hand to her froggy chest. "Not that I'm a vampire. I'm a werewolf. You know, usually."

         she nods, empathetically, though a little confused, she feels her entirely. “ you don’t like it? ”  the frog’s very frustrated, but allie’s optimism is like sunlight through a curtain, it’s never really gone, and it’s peeking through, now.  “ oh, i wish i was a frog. ”

         but her hands are still cradling the frog, allie straightens up to her feet from where she was crouched down on her heels. her brows pinch together, she brushes a gentle, comforting finger along the head of the frog.  “ but i guess, if you weren’t expecting it, that would be, like, really scary. ”  probably, anyways. allie can find the whimsy in anything. she glances down to her feet, to the boots opposition her own golden, strappy shoes. butterflies, and bats, isn’t that sweet?  “ i like your boots! the bitty bats are, like, totes’ cute, i’m sorry you can’t fit into them anymore. but, maybe you could live in it, like a lil’ house! ”

[millieteethewolf]

"Aight, Queenie," she says as she clings to the outside of the boot before climbing onto the offered hand. The reassurance that this probably isn't permanent is temporary relief; "Man I hope so if this is forever I'm gonna have to figure out how to cry."

She scans the room while the witch talks - a good witch, she notes. She ain't never known a witch before, just known about 'em. Good thing there's good and bad apparently, but Irene's last comment especially hits her, and she looks up to her, as much as a frog can look up to somebody.

"Oh you got no idea, this dude earlier said he was gonna eat me. I shook him though. Came back here to see if maybe I could find somebody but she's gone, well not gone just... not here."

She climbs around her hand, clinging to a finger as eyes the crowd again. "We're lookin' for Jeanette Barclay. She's the prettiest girl here," she looks back, "no offense," and then turns back to her search. "She'll be able to help. I just know it."

Irene didn’t laugh. But it was a near thing.

Her mouth twitched — just once — like the muscles had considered it, then decided better. She reached forward, plucking up the boot by the little bat charm like she was holding something fragile and mildly cursed.

“Well, you’re not slimy,” she said, dry. “That’s something.”

She tilted her head, watching the girl tumble with all the grace of a stunned duckling. The sight was absurd — hilarious, really — but there was something sharp flickering behind Irene’s eyes now. A scan of the room. The floor. The air itself. If someone had thrown a curse like this in a place as tightly warded as this gala, it meant they’d either been invited… or were reckless enough not to care.

“Alright, frog girl, someone either hit you with glamour backlash, or there’s a hex still clinging. Either way, you’re not cursed-cursed. Your speech is intact. Motor function’s mostly fine.” A pause. “Unless you always hop like that.”

Irene flicked a glance toward the crowd again, senses tugging at something off-balance.

“We’re gonna stand up, take the boot, and you’re gonna hold it like it’s a security blanket until we find a witch you can ask for a favor,” she said, tone brisk now. “Preferably one who doesn’t do experimental magic or drink moonlight like it’s a mixer.”

Then, gentler — but only just.

“You’re gonna be fine. Just… maybe keep the vampire stuff to yourself ‘til the legs come back properly. Last thing we need is a confused bloodsucker getting ideas.” She offered a hand. “C’mon. Let’s un-frog you.”

[millieteethewolf]

Emphatically no, she is not alright down there.

"Man I don't know what all that means but I'm a damn frog." She says, as if its like she stepped in dog poo or tripped on a shoe lace, looking up. "Oh gosh, I'm naked." She hops around in a circle trying to get out of the mound of clothes until she tumbles down the hill of cotton and fabric.

"How do I undo this I can't be a frog, this is an outrage, or somethin'!"

"Oh yeah, save my boots, do you see the lil bats? I got them because vampires are into bats and there's a- well, nevermind."

Sexy Dracula doesn't matter right now. She has to figure this frog stuff out.

Irene didn’t usually take detours to the quieter corners of these sorts of nights —not unless someone was bleeding or about to be —but the air had shifted again. A weird tug, like static over salt, like something wrong just brushed the edge of her ward. So she followed it.

She didn’t expect a squeak.

Didn’t expect a boot, either —half her size, absurdly cute, and next to what looked like a very tiny, very pissed-off person crawling out of a pile of gala clothes like she’d lost a bar fight with a cursed jewelry box.

Irene stared. Blinked once. Then crouched, slow.

“...You alright down there?” she asked, voice steady, like this was just another part of the evening’s entertainment. Which, knowing the Mariposas, it probably was.

She flicked a glance at the direction those witches had gone, then back at the girl. Her eyes narrowed slightly. Not unkind —just calculating.

“Stolen glamour? Enchanted trinket? Or did you insult someone's familiar without realizing it?"

She sighed.

“…Do you want the boot back, or should I carry you in it?”

[millieteethewolf]

It's reassuring that the giant woman seems to think this isn't like, a Tiana scenario, though that does make a lightbulb pop on in her head. Gotta find Big Jeanette.

"Where we going?" She asks, crawling around, walkin around on two weird wobbly frog legs. Oh god, she's never gonna be able to eat frog legs again. It'll be too weird.

"Oh, fuck yeah? For real?" She says as she gets carted around. "Cool, I can get you like, I can get you somethin'. For a trade." She says, losing sight that there are bigger priorities at play.

Ha-Jeong did not speak frog.

Though some had accussed her of being amphibious.

But as some popular media stated, “Dead bones told no tales.”

The Frog squeaked at her and while it wasn’t fully coherent, she found it made sense enough, “It is not forever, illusory magic usually runs on some sort of time table. Only very powerful witches could make something last forever, power which your bullies did not have or would dare spare for you.”

She continued weaving around the Center, the bathroom would do well but halls such as this often had VIP powder rooms near the box seats.

“It should not matter, but I also retrieved your treasure for when you smell more of dog and less of amphibian again.” Ha-Jeong gave an imperceptible nod towards her completely flat pocket. “Though I would not let them know until the event comes to a close.”

[millieteethewolf]

Can she talk? She tries to and it sounds like she's talking, but she's not sure if anybody can understand her. That is until she's confronted by the palms of a pair of soft hands that smell like a flower field. That's nice, she thinks, and not trying to eat her, she also thinks, so she climbs aboard, because if anything, it's a ride.

"Those lil bitches turned me into a frog!" She profanes without effort. Turning back to her clothes, she nods, and then swells up in a big ribbit, which is involuntary and she can't help but feel embarassed by.

         it’s the point in the night where allie’s had just enough to drink and now welcomes the overwhelming nature of the gala, and she’s completely, and utterly lost. she figures she’ll run into someone she knows, or make it outside, eventually. so, really, it doesn’t really matter what she does, or where she goes, now. at the same time, it matters infinitely.

         somehow, the nearly imperceptible details of a squeak where it doesn’t belong, is louder than any other voice she hears and is so stark from the music that it stops her, whatever path she had been following through the room completely lost. the unsteadiness only stays for a moment, before allie finds her footing on the tips of high heels and looks for that little fleeting wild breeze that had caught her for all of a moment.

         allie’s gaze lands near her feet, settling on a little green glimpse against polished, gleaming tile. she stands out, the frog. allie doesn’t need to crouch to the floor with a small squeal, but the excitement seizes her like a wild rush of wind, she’s swept up in it.  “ oh my gosh, look at you! ”  she holds out a gentle palm for the frog to climb onto, if she’d wanted, but mostly to get a curious touch closer.  “ are you lost, too? maybe we can help each other here. ”  it occurs to her that the frog is half hidden by boots and flannel, her head tips to side as she picks up one boot, setting it down where it’s no longer a wall between her and her new teeny, tiny friend.  “ are these your clothes? or are you just watching them, for someone? ”

[millieteethewolf]

If nothing else, she has learned quite quickly that a frog at a party is not one left easily ignored. At least she seemed to have scooted out of the way of the giant creepy frog munched. But next thing she's getting scooped up, again.

This time it's by another hottie, but not the hottest she's looking for, and her words are big and thus hard for such a tiny frog to process, but they become somewhat clearer when the lady's lips are getting closer and closer and... smooch!

Oh. Process later.

'True love? Buy me dinner!', she starts to croak out but then she's being smooched and shown off- that's when she recognizes who she's being shown off to.

'Hey! Hey! guy from the storm!!'

Maybe they can help her find Jeanette, she wages, becoming all happy with the prospect of rescue.

But all her squirming makes slippy work, and she pops out of Frankies hand, sailing towards Garrick landing squarely on his face before she bounces off and falls flump down the front of his shirt.

There was a frog. A literal, slimy, pissed off looking frog, sitting squat in a pile of abandoned couture in all its ribbit ribbit glory. It looked at Frankie with its big, wattery eyes.

The vampire blinked dramatically.

Ribbit.

So did the frog.

Ribbit.

They stared at each other.

Ribbit.

And then, those blood red lips stretched slow, so slow, into a grin too wide for her delicate face. "Come here, froggy froggy, I can help you." She extended two graceful, definitely-not-sinister hands toward the tiny creature like she was offering salvation. "You look so lost and so cute. It’s gonna be okay, you’re mine now."

Its little frog heart was thundering like a drum, but there was no escape. Frankie’s grip was delicate but firm, fingers curled just a little too tightly, just enough to say: you’re not going anywhere, miss froggy.

She didn't have to yell, her best friend's ears could pick up whispers from a mile away, but Frankie liked the attention. "Garrick," she called, peaking loud enough to turn heads, "Garrick, I found a lost froggy!"

Last she saw him, he was speaking to nobody by the bar. This was so much better.

Oh, what if it was enchanted?

Her grin was somehow even wider; all sharp, pearly whites. Dark gaze dropped back to the frog in her palms, "Are you a lost prince? Or a princess? Do you need the kiss of true love?”

@garrickc @millieteethewolf

[millieteethewolf]

Millie's froggy little limbs are plucking at her froggy little face as she shakes off the willies that the whole shift had given her - not bad like when she turns into a wolf, but there's a springy, indescribably gross feeling to shake off as the spell settles into her. She doesn't really have a whole lot of time to adjust, tumbling down the hill of her outfit only to look up and see a huge man looming before her.

"Little? Boy you're YUGE."

Can a frog sweat? Because the way dude's talkin, she feels like maybe she oughtta be sweating.

And then he drops the penny like the plot twist in one of her bad novels.

He eats frogs.

And now he's gonna eat her.

"Oh my GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!!" It should be a room filling, blood curdling scream, but she's a tiny frog, so it's really way quieter as she takes off, hippity hoppiting across the floor because HOLY SHIT.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?", Vincent clicks his tongue with a smirk as he approached. "Pobre Ranita~"

Poor Little Frog. That's what she gets for associating herself too closely with unholy witchcraft. "There's no princesa to kiss you better here. Just little ol' me."

Of course Vincent saw the entire fiasco during his patrol across the venue. How could he not? Its hard to miss a large smoke explosion in what was literally advertised as a black-tie event. And of course Vincent didn't intervene. He thought it was funny; the entire magic show gave Vincent a good chuckle. Though, Vincent wasn't sure which was funnier: the three brujas' cartoonish cackling amongst themselves or the pathetic amphibian's squeal of terror at her plight.

"You know, I've always had a soft spot for frogs." Vincent can't help but monologue as he crouches down, leaning in to level his face and stare into her beady eyes. "I use to play with frogs as a boy. Trap frogs. Throw frogs. Dissect frogs. But I am grown now. I have matured, learned better..."

"I would never make the mistake of wasting perfectly good food." There's a dangerous, hungry glint to the vampire's eye. "Especially not once in a life time delicacies." Like magic-spiced wolf frog legs.

Vincent lightheartedly shrugs.

Run.

[millieteethewolf]

"What the!" She exclaims as she climbs over the mound of her clothes. "Oh shit! I'm tiny!" Oh cool she can still talk. Can't unyap a yapper, it seems.

She looks at herself then, as best as a frog can look at itself - which isn't all the well. "Fuck awf, for REAL?"

Is this forever? She can't be a frog forever.

And just then there's an absolutely massive hand in front of her - it's crazy how you don't see shit sneaking up on you when its like a thousand times your size. The ladie's voice is big too, and and sideeyes her for a second, again, as best as a frog possibly could (also not well), but, really, without much else in the way of choice, she hops into her hand. "This is embarassin'; I just wanted to look at a thing, and they all got mad."

At least she ain't craving bugs. That'd be worse somehow.

‘It wasn’t her fight.’ Ha-Jeong thought to herself as she watched the three young things corner the lone wolf.

But she despised bullying. Had seen enough of it in her time. In the pit, in war, in occupation. She was familiar with Mariposa, had run with a couple of their witches in Venezuela in the 80s. The coven was strong, but they had a foundation of respect, one this little group wasn’t following.

Her eyes trailed back over to her assignment, who was conveniently comfortably ensconced in a conversation with some short brunette witch over at the bar. She wouldn’t be moving anytime soon. So she pushed off the wall, unwrapped herself from her shadow just in time to…

“Oh excuse me.” A complete monotone as she bumped into the leader of the Mariposa bullies. The girl looked up like she wanted to say something more. But her words caught in her throat. While they might look the same age, Ha-Jeong had always given off the air of an old being. An ancient force just waiting to be unleashed, and they were from a coven taught to respect age. Respect the vanity of a face well kept, and thanks to her breathless nature. Ha-Jeong’s skin had always remained flawless.

She didn’t bother to remain to hear the girls spluttering as she pushed forward. She took a brief circle around the room, losing the girls as she rubbed the pin that was now ensconced in her palm. Such a silly thing to almost cause an incident over. As she circled back to the pile of clothes, she found a small frog in the place of the small girl.

Jeong extended a hand that had never shook. “Come with me little one. We will gather your clothes and bring you to a place where you can return to your natural state.”

[millieteethewolf]

"Oh no, I'm a werewolf."

That's wild, that she can just say that here. Fun. A little freeing. "S'why I can smell ya." She winks, like it's a deep secret she's trusting her with.

Amplifier, she wonders - like for music? What's that got to do with it? Focus? Never knew her, neither. She nods, and has a joyful little smile on her face even though this very nice witch might as well be speaking latin. The thought pops into her head, though. Do witches do latin? Is it like, latin only? Can there be a witch that casts spells in Creole? Aw snap, is it like, any word? Like if she learned Klingon or Elvish could she cast magic with it? Like a fuckin' wizard? Oh shit.

"Oh a lot'f 'em. I work on cars and stuff, just. Poof. Filter clean. Or like, I do cleaning at night too. Clogged toilet? Begone w'tye't'the'poo dimension!" She pantomimes casting a spell, and then wonders if that's offensive here, so she also stops. "You tellin' me you don't want a magic wand?"

Cait tilts her head, replaying the stranger’s rush of enthusiasm and trying to gauge whether it’s bravado, mischief, or plain sincerity. The person’s eyes are clear, her grin unforced — genuine, she decides, bewilderingly so.

“ ‘Fuck them up’ might spark a diplomatic incident,” she says slow, mouth tilting into a wry curve, “but I can’t fault the spirit. Very much my speed.”

Her question about witches still hangs between them. Cait inhales, catching her own signature mix of clove and incense — the smell of spellwork half-finished. “Yes, witch—” she says, choosing her words carefully. “Mid-glow-up. If you will.” The warlock revelation can wait; Mara and Estela deserve to hear first. Even so, there’s a flicker of delight at how easily this stranger coaxes honesty from her. She laughs, low. “For the record, I’ll take ‘not dead dog’ as a compliment. Necromancers get worse.”

Technically necromancer-adjacent now. Something else entirely. Semantics. Caitlin tests the air around Millie, sensing no familiar pull of coven magic. “You, on the other hand, definitely aren’t a witch — interesting.”

Her gaze follows Millie’s toward the Wyrmwood contingent, all runic steel and restless innovation. “About the wand,” Cait muses, slipping back into lecture mode, a tone she takes all too often with Jaya. “If you need a simple amplifier, they can manage that. A fully self-contained focus anyone can use? That’s trickier, but not impossible.” She angles her body, curiosity piqued. “So tell me — what job of yours gets easier with a wand?” She wonders if this person, with all their... energy... should even have a wand.

[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...