sntsryans

[sntsryans]

The pain is all constant ⸻ every tiny part of his body bears the burden of it, contracting under the shocks, tight and burning. He cannot escape it, can't turn his body or shift away from the bars. He hears a bone snapping ⸻ a dull throb in his wrist, where he tugged and twisted too strongly for his bones to bear. The pain of it hardly compares to the pain she is inflicting.

He is set on giving her nothing, no fangs and no threats, tells himself he will muster through without a sound. And then, she mentions Arte. His Alpha. His child. With their soft smile and kind eyes, all the hurt on their shoulders. Everything they already went through.

A sound fill the walls of the basement, loud and powerful enough to make it shake, and it takes a moment for Ael to notice it is him; roaring, growling. A parent poked with a burning stick. He jolts forward, enough strength to bend metal, make it sing. "You whore," dark voice, more animal than human, he laughs. "You will not touch them. I will kill you if you think about it again. You think yourself to powerful, so clever. Why don't you come closer, then? If you are so brave. Come closer!" His mouth snaps in a mock bite.

She lets her fingers free of the button, lets the currant die naturally and scoffs at his words. “You honestly think that would scare me? A mutt affixed to a wall, the scent of its flesh burning? You’re pathetic, but just like the rest, oh so easy to rile.” she hits the button again, this time lets her fingers linger longer. Watches in delight at the slight arcing as metal meets metal. Nose scrunching at the stench, it’s the only thing that makes her release her hold.

“Tell me, if I go long enough will you shed your disguise? Hmm?” She gives him a cruel grin, turning the knob up a couple notches. “You can’t keep quiet forever. Show me what a dog in pain sounds like.” And then she presses the button again, the humming louder as the electricity hits him. She needs to contain herself, can’t kill him, it would be useless if she did, though she does guess there are quite the numbers in this city. Plenty of test subjects.

Releasing the button she lets him settle some before grabbing his jaw, forcing it open to examine his teeth. Blunt, human. Clearly it’s going to take a while to get anywhere with results. Impatience can sometimes taint her judgements. She takes a deep breath and pulls her hand away, only for silver ringed knuckles to swipe across his cheek roughly.

“I was going for your alpha, they seem to be the littlest amongst the packs.” she taunts before gabbing his jaw again, nails digging into the flesh there. “Don’t worry though, I’m sure once I’m done with you that they’ll be easy enough to find.”

[sntsryans]

He chokes on the magic ⸻ stifling, dense, pricking his tongue and drying his throat when he swallows a mouthful of it. He must look like a fish out of water; parting his lips with words he dare not get out, wide eyes facing a terrifying reality, lungs unable to catch enough air. Had he been a different person, she a different woman, his arrogance would've gotten the best of him ⸻ emotions would be guarded and hidden, lips snarling instead of trembling.

But they are who they are, they share what they share, and Ael doesn't possess the capability of hiding from Ros. He thought only his emotions, but now ⸻

"I've escaped from the cage, you mean," voice shaky, open, gentle as a summer breeze. He is nothing but an obedient dog, looking his owner in the eyes with the tiredness of decades and old wounds. The fingers gripping the fur around him tightens, blood-cutting-white, in a desperate effort to keep himself unmoving. Like a good dog, every bone in his body urges him to move forward, fall on his knees and wrap himself around her waist. He won't give Ros the satisfaction.

Instead, he chuckles, "Why? Are you worried someone stole your job?" But he sighs. The hunter got him good, his skin still buzzing and sore despite the days of freedom and healing. He nods, once, in defeat. "Just a bitch who thought she could experiment on me. You know how hunters are." A barbed wire accusation. Why did you kill my family? He doesn't ask. His knowledge of the massacre is still murked, pieces of information he can't form a full picture with. Were the witches to blame? Were the hunters? Is there a difference?

Suddenly, he worries she is here to finish the job; hunt Arte down like an animal, kill them with little thought. His shoulders straightens and his lips tighten, knowing he will fight her before allowing her to hurt his pup.

Jumping off the hood, he stands a few feet away from her, too small in his coat after his time in the basement, too weak to pretend he is taller than she is, stronger, but defiant enough to hold his head high. "What do you want, Ros? What are you doing here?" Surely, she can't be here for him. To get him back. If that keeps her for hurting Arte, he will stay by her side like a mutt on a leash. But he doubts he is important enough for her to come all the way here.

Like an artist signing their work, every curse has a signature.

It's a clasp, a promise, a calling card for the witches who weave their sinister spellwork. As base as a graffiti tag, "Great Power Was Here." There's a twisted beauty in watching the way your work goes forth into the world -- where it travels, how well it withstands the challenges of the world.

Proserpina is proud of her curses -- at least she can still control those. The same can't be said for her runaway daughter, though Anathema's magic still has a signature too.

Port Leiry is quaint -- a bit beneath Ros, but she can feel the pulse of many magic signatures here. None quite so powerful, she feels, as the strength of the Ironwood line, but very few could attain that level of discipline and planning (and sacrifice) needed to reach that strength. She can tell just by walking here as well that there are many other types of powerful creatures that stalk and prowl the city. Including, curiously, the signature of her life's second greatest work.

(Anathema, whether either woman likes it or not, is the first.)

Of course she couldn't forget the power she wove around the Ryan pack -- she'd spun it out of Ael's own fur, of course, a curse custom fitted. The softest cage she could muster. And she can feel the wolf clinging to it for succor, cut adrift and anchored by it all the same. The witch wanders through the woods, the tether of her magic bringing her back to the dog like a leash. Red hair is bright like a warning among the earthy tones of the trees. And she smiles as the fire leaves his face at the very sight of her.

"Ael, dearest. You've roamed so far from the cabin where I left you." Her voice is honey sweet, words slow from her tongue as she approaches his truck. Something like concern crosses Proserpina's brow -- there's the sign of someone else's work here. Less magical, more crude. Physical. "Someone's hurt you, haven't they?"

[sntsryans]

There are no nightmares ⸻ no angry shouts, no cabin in the woods, no bleeding fur and skinned beasts. He knows something is wrong before consciousness drags him from the darkness ⸻ There are always nightmares. He wishes to say it is a surprise to find his hands bound when he tugs, feeling the chains scrap against his skin. Pretend he isn't utterly familiar with being trapped.  

When eyes full of anger open, dry lips curl into a snarl that spits, "We digest bitches like you while we sleep." He isn't much of a threat, as he is; bound and naked, remnants of whatever sedative the hunter used in his system. He feels heavy and light, floating and sinking. He watches in silence, pays no mind to her words ⸻ They are as insignificant as she is, as he is, and he doubts she will share useful information.

When the shock comes, he tells himself prepared for it ⸻ instead, every muscle in his body is set aflame; every joint shakes; skin hums and burns, and Ael feels like he will puke his organs out a mouthful of blood and bile. Teeth dig deep into his lips, iron heavy on his tongue as he refuses, even now, to scream. He won't give her the satisfaction. He will, however, growl. Bark, when shock dies down. "I'm doing to kill you. I will eat you alive."

For : @sntsryans Location : Yet another basement

It’s dangerous, hunting a wolf in the night, but she does so with precision. Following the ruddy creature at a distance, clocking it while staying out of its path of sight. Not a sound. Masked by the scent of a wolf long dead, she’d need to restore her stock soon enough. And when the moon starts to wane she finally makes her move. Wolfsbane laced tranq bedding itself into the beast's side. She waits for the creature to fall before moving in completely, booted foot kicking at the now human side. They’re out cold. Perfect.

It’s not until later that they wake, chained to fencing affixed to the basement wall, the brunette checking over what looks like a battery set up on an old workbench like she doesn’t have, well, something resembling a human chained to a wall. Wires and clamps affixed to the edges of the metal grating.

“Good, you’re awake,” Taylor says absently. She’s a little embarrassed by the lack of professionalism in the setup. Hopes if she invites Lucian over he will be impressed by her ingenuity. “I wanted to see your reaction when we started. Never heard of your type doing much while you sleep.” she continues like this is all a normal occurrence. Clicking her tongue she fixes a loose wire.

“It’s a shame you weren’t clothed, but I suppose animals walking around in clothing is an even stranger sight.” she glances over. “Masquerading like you are anything less than a rabid mutt.” the last bit is nearly spat out in spite, a level of superiority coating her words. “We’re going to see just how long you can keep up the show before your true nature shows. Before you stop pretending. Acting like you’re human and not just a filthy animal, something unnatural that shouldn’t belong.”

Her setup seems complete and she moves to the controls. “Let's begin, beast. I’m thinking a five should be a good starting threshold.” And without much warning, the knob is turned and the button held down, a sinister humming starting before the whole fence sparks and an electric current rushes straight into her victim's body.

[sntsryans]

proserpina mors, @morsmaledictio

He knows, realistically, there's no need for the coat in Port Liery. Ael hasn't grilled Arte too much about it; has no desire to overwhelm his pup with questions of magic the poor thing barely understands themself. Whatever the reasons, it should be freeing ⸻ That weight off his shoulders, the wet fur not bothering his nostrils. But truth be told, he feels completely out of his depths without being wrapped by the heavy magic and warm fur. His own fur. Naked, vulnerable. It should shame him, disgust him ⸻ A symbol of conquering a beast, skinning their armor for selfish luxuries. He should hate the stupid thing.

Yet, he finds himself gripping it tight in weak hands, letting the weight of it around his back soothe his worries and fears. The hunter had shaken him ⸻ reminded him why he can't be weak, mellow, friendly. He has yet to tell Arte about what happened, the torture he suffered during the week he spent chained in some crazy bitch's basement ⸻ But he can't do that to his pup. Not now, when he feels so weak and terrified. A roll of weed hangs loosely from his fingers, gotten from a kid speaking too fast for his tastes, filling his lungs in an attempt to distract his mind from the truth; he is not the once proud wolf he used to be.

Hasn't been for decades. This pathetic thing Ael has become is not what he dreamed, of when he was young and energetic. He wanted to be Alpha, wanted to be strong, and wanted a family he could love and be loved in return. His mother despised him, and his brother received all the praise and rewards. It wasn't fair, that the closest he ever got to his dreams was a cabin in the woods with a woman who pretended to enjoy his company. Even now, sitting on the hood of his truck, watching the wind pass through the trees, he can smell her; the scent of her magic, so heavy on his tongue. When he swallows, it fills his throat, and Ael blinks.

It feels too livid to be a memory, too ugly to be a dream. His heart begins hammering inside his chest, ears picking the sound of grass and leaves crunching, breaking ⸻ He looks over his shoulder, color draining from his face. "Proserpina?"

[sntsryans]

[ zzz ] ― how quickly after sex do they fall asleep? are they usually tired after or full of energy?

They are full of lazy energy - It doesn't last long. Enough to make sure his partner is okay, grab them some water, change the sheets if necessary, and then he crashes out.

[sntsryans]

What’s something that makes them laugh every single time? Be specific!

Almost anything can make Ael laugh, but he genuinely loses his shit with lame puns or dad jokes. What do you call a French man wearing sandals? Philipe Fallop or What do you call a sheep who can sing and dance? Lady Ba Ba. They get him the hardest.

[sntsryans]

[ oral ] ― do they prefer to give or receive oral? anything specific they enjoy / don't enjoy when it comes to oral?

Ael prefers to give oral. He is a giving lover, and can come from just watching his partner come undone under his tongue. He barely tires, even when his jaw is sore. He enjoys a good bush, sometimes.

[sntsryans]

"They have cheese?" He asks, body vibrating with a sudden excitement that would be making his tail wag, had he been shifted. Instead, his voice grows a bit higher, eyes scanning the room for the mentioned treat like a child in Christmas morning. He is not beating the dogs love lactose allegations, in the end. "Where?" What next? Will he spin in a circle trying to catch the tail of his own coat? A clear of his throat follows deep reddening cheeks, a sly shy smile thrown Morgan's way with a wave of his hand. "Sorry. Wolf brain and all."

He did catch her words before his attention was so viciously ripped away, and he hums, tapping his finger to the bottom of his chin. "Sounds like you and the artist have story." He won't pry, either way, but he smirks in an attempt to catch his footing in this place where he feels so utterly out of place. "Did she break your heart? I can eat her painting for you." I have a fast metabolism, is left unsaid.

"I would love to have these tits hanging in my home," crude, but true. He doesn't know who they belong to, but part of him would love to find out. The other moves closer to Morgan, with a shrug. "Sadly my car doesn't have enough hanging space." He smiles. "I'm here to keep an eye out for my child. They are - Out here, somewhere. Would you like to walk around? Maybe get away from -" he waves his hand in the direction of the tits, a stupid grin on his face.

She feels silly, for ever thinking Laure's interest in her was anything more than a truly morbid fascination, the way someone's intrigued by a train wreck or worms under a microscope. Morgan knows she's nothing truly special -- though Bradley's voice in her head quickly and loudly begs to differ. But she understands that when you've met the love of your life, nothing quite shines as brightly. That doesn't mean others can't bring their own light into the darkness, though.

Morgan laughs at Ael's question -- it reminds her of the way Bradley would flirt with her in college (and even just last year, if she's being honest). Awkward, a bit rhetorical, but still funny. But the redhead's second question has her face flushing with warmth. The truth hurts, but what's the point in anything else?

"I, uhm... Yeah, I know the artist. Kind of. We... yes, I know her. But I didn't know she was an artist -- I think this is... it's mean to be a portrait of her wife," she says, finishing her awkward response with a sip of the wine, begging it to calm her nerves. Why does she feel guilty for staring? Is it because she does know the artist? Knows the sentiment behind it, and the subject too? Should Morgan have been making art in honor of Brad instead of pouring whiskey on his grave and crying on the couch watching their home movies on VHS?

"How about you? Are you here to support the local arts scene, buy something for your wall, or just nod at the paintings while scarfing the cheese and crackers? No judgment any which way," she laughs, glad for the distraction from Kiri's tits towering over her. Morgan inches closer to Ael, ready to anchor to someone friendly and familiar for a change.

[sntsryans]

Her heart breaks seeing her pup, the child she has loved even before they were born. Her little Artemis. All the anger leaves her body in a gasp, eyes filled with tears watching the alpha with nothing but love, empathy. "Come here, pup." Ael is careful to not hold them too close, too tight - She knows the signs of a hurt dog well enough to know when not to press and probe.

Still, she can't help the maternal instincts taking over. It's been so long since she last held Arte. They've gone through so much, she guesses. She presses a kiss to the side of their head, rubs their back with a gentle hand. She can't take all the hurt, all the pain and the scars from them. Fuck. "I'm so sorry, baby. I should've been there. I should have protected you." Apologies won't change the past, nor will heal Artemis. But she needs to say them, anyway.

"I'm so proud of you." They survived. They have their own pack. They are a leader to many lost strays that need it. Ael will follow Arte to the dark, undoubtedly. "I should have never left. You were my child, I shouldn't have let them have you." Mad ramblings from an angry woman, but if there is one thing Ael knows is that, "I will never let them hurt you again. I promise you this, I will keep you safe."

They know the signs of the shift and shrinks back against their seat. Not out of fear that Ael might hurt them, but immediate shame for having said anything in the first place. Just saying it out loud hurts her, and that is not what they want. The scars that decorate their face and body are proof enough of the harm they went through.

They were terrified. Even when their memories have done what they can to shield them from the worst of it, snippets come back at unexpected times. The dam that keeps those traumas at bay is decorated in fine cracks that show how delicate the balance is. Ael speaks of another curse and their heart jumps to their throat.

Blue eye flickers to the coat bunched up around her. They want to ask, apologize for taking up the time when she has gone through so much herself. They open their mouth to do that but their jaw falls slack at the request. A hug? They had been dancing with Flick just a few hours ago, and that seemed kind of the same. "If... if you want to," they stammer out, every muscle tense as though bracing themself for a blow.

[sntsryans]

Hands inside his pockets, Ael picks at the skin around his nails for something to do. He promised himself no alcohol tonight - not in his first official outing as an uncle, member of a pack, straight up hottie, a young girl had said. It gets harder the more he spends inside this stifling room with pretentious neck biters and potential hunters. With witches. Magic flows heavily in the air - so thick he chokes on it in a deep breath, and the hairs on his body raises on alert whenever one passes him by. He tries not to be judgemental, has been trying to be better for Arte's sake, but since seeing his pup chatting with a strangely familiar face, Ael has been on edge. Not a single sip of wine, he tells himself, bouncing back on the balls of his feet.

Perhaps he's been standing in front of this particular piece for some time - enough that another button of his shirt has been undone, freckled skin exposed to any who dared look. He tells himself it's not lust - And it isn't. There are truly beautiful pieces on the walls, unsettling ones too, but this one calls to him. It helps some witches seem to be scared of approaching it, too. He won't bite a nipple on the - He won't bite a hot bullet. He coughs, clearing his throat and hoping that is enough to hide the blush flushing up his neck. Nods. "It sure is tasteful." It is something, at least. He almost can feel the emotions painted on canvas, nearly flooded by it. It's not a horny piece of art, that is for sure.

Eyes turn to the familiar brunette as his lips tug into a smile, smug and confident and everything he doesn't feel much of right now. "What's a pretty woman like you doing in a place like this?" Enjoying art, dumbass. His smile trembles, but thankfully doesn't falter. "I mean, do you know the artist?"

closed starter for @sntsryans where/when: nouveau grand opening

She's been nursing one of the free glasses of wine for a little while now -- Morgan doesn't really like this particular wine, but it seems classy to have something in hand as she walks around the gallery. It's something to do with her hands, a reminder to keep away from the precious art. Her choice of a white shirt feels even more like tempting fate than standing in front of Laure Stephens' contributions to the gallery. Hers and Aria's are the only names she recognizes among the featured notables.

Morgan feels unmoored, adrift at a social event this upscale without Bradley beside her. No longer under Laure's control, and yet she finds herself still drawn to her works. Pointillism feels very apropos for a vampire -- delicate, restrained, hundreds of little tiny pricks becoming something greater. And while she doesn't have the sharpest mind for art analysis of this caliber, the freckles on the canvas coalesce into something clearer. Something that finds warmth catching in Morgan's cheeks and heat in her throat; they're Kiri. There's half a gorgeous profile that she recognizes despite the darkness of the memory, but the woman can also surmise the likeness of the naked breasts is just another piece of the puzzle that was the no-longer-late wife she'd heard so much about, and seen so terrifyingly (but maybe mercifully) little of. Morgan has to check over her shoulder every few minutes just to make sure the woman isn't looming...

She turns her head, though, and spots a familiar redhead nearby. Mo sips her wine delicately and then offers, "I was thinking this was one of those Magic Eye pictures for a while, but now all I can see is the... well, it's a tasteful nude, right?"

[sntsryans]

AEL RYANS at the NOUVEAU GRAND OPENING

The scene is not one the she-wolf enjoys. But after the last time, Ael is not missing a single event in Port Liery. Besides, there will be plenty of women she plans on flirting with.

[sntsryans]

He nods, tapping the canteen hooked to his belt to remind himself he did, in fact, brought his own water. It's been long years since he last hiked on his human legs, with his human body, needing to carry extra weight for survival. It's easier, as the wolf ⸻ any puddle and river is a source of water, no need for an extra set of jacket or a backpack with snacks. It's freeing.

But he supposes after many years forced to be an animal, this is true freedom. He can't complain, really. "It's beautiful out here," he agrees. "Never been to the Smokies, but I will take your word for it, kid." He smiles. "This is certainly more forest than we had in Chicago. Hopefully, there are no bears. Or coyotes. God, I hate coyotes." He opens his canteen, takes a big swing, and points in the vague direction of an old scar on his neck. "Got into a fight with a pack once. Really annoying."

closed starter for: @sntsryans

Codie slung her backpack from over her shoulders - a tired, ratty thing - and dug around for her water bottle. As much as she wanted to say she could tough it out on the hike, she knew better. "Y'brought your water, too, right? I can spare some."

It was just a hike, but Codie was always on high alert in the forests surrounding Port Leiry - something she just chalks up to not being familiar with it. Plus, there's no telling what could lurk in the woods. Bears, maybe. Hunters, more likely. She takes a swig of water and gestures out towards the mountains towering up in the distance.

"Way bigger than the Smokies, y'know. Wild to see."

[sntsryans]

Her fingers curl inwards, nails digging half-moons into her palm as Ael tries to control the wolf. It begs to be let out, canines burning under the pressure of shifting and turning, skin itchy and hot. She doesn't want to turn, not now, not in front of Arte. But the pup's words bring a rage inside of her that makes her eyes glow, ribcage trembling with the power of a low growling she can't stop. How dare they hurt her pup? She will kill them. Every last one, Ael vows.

"You were scared," she says, because it's the only thing she can. Swallowing back her rage is a difficult task; Ael is a woman of hot temper and short patience, taking delight in the snap of her bones and flesh between her maw. She is trying to be better. She has to be, for Arte.

She sighs. "I was cursed too. A witch had me locked in her cabin, and I couldn't shift." She doesn't want to get into details, not now, because Ael doesn't really want to remember the woman. "I could only be human if she wished. This stupid thing," she grips her fur coat, chuckling bitter, "is enchanted to stop me from shifting back. If I take it off, well." The wolf takes over. Although Arte mentioning they could shift here makes her curious to see if she too could, without the coat. Without the magic of a woman she hates. That's not important now. Her pup is. "Can I hug you?"

They wonder if Ael thinks that 'kind' is a bad thing. Kindness could be a sign of weakness, a signal that others could take advantage of you. It was a lesson Arte had difficulty learning even as a child, much to their father's dismay. They can't imagine a world where they could exile their own family, but the wolf insists that it was deserved. For what? For loving the wrong person?

The next question falls between them like a rock and Arte struggles to find what words they should use. They don't want to worry her, this stranger turned family, and don't want her to feel badly for a broken creature. Arte hasn't even asked if she is staying, or if she has a life to get back to now that she knows Arte was the only survivor. The silence stretches on, even as they open and close their mouth a few times to stop and start.

"I- After... umm, well-" The younger wolf squirms in their seat, and again, there is the urge to throw open the door and run into the night. They look outside the window, even as their mind takes them back years past. "Hunters- they... well they found m-me... I was, hm," they let out a broken little chuckle. "I was c-crying too loud and they found and took me." Their tormenters had loved to remind them of that fact, words they repeated over and over until even their feral brain could process it.

They breathe in and out in short, quick pants as their heart begins to race, and the fingers on their left hand dig into their thigh. "They tested... stuff on me. On my wolf, so they could use it against other wolves." They feel sick, thinking about how many packs may have been hurt because of the weapons the hunters developed using them. "When I... after th-three years? I got out but I was still cursed." Arte's voice is strained, and they shake their hair in front of their face like a curtain. "I came he-here, to Port Leiry and I could shift back... I still don't know why. But that's why I stayed. Stay." Among other reasons.

[sntsryans]

They are apologizing to her. Ael can't help but chuckle at the irony of it. "You are kind, aren't you?" She whispers, fondness dripping from her tone as she smiles, watching the young alpha. They are so different from her, from their father ⸻ their grandfather, may the worms be torturing him. Ael knows it's a good thing; it has to be, no? For if Arte is different, gentle, then perhaps they can change their family history and break off the cycle of violence the Ryans seems to be stuck in.

Still, she wishes she was there to watch them grow, help them with their homework, their first date, their first drink. "Don't be sorry. Your father did what he had to do." The only other option other than killing her. He was kind, then, too. She sighs.

"What happened to you, after?" It's a heavy question, Ael knows. But she needs to know if Arte was safe, if they were loved. They don't want to make them remember that horrible night, but it's been so long.

The car pulls off to the side of the road and Arte thinks for a moment about flinging open the door and fleeing into the night. They think they might be able to get enough distance between them to lose her in the woods, to leave behind all of the awful memories that are being dragged up. They pick at their cuticles nervously, feeling like there is something unsaid, but they don't know how to broach the topic. Their aunt. Their father's sister. They suddenly have a memory of their father staring at them so intensely one time. It looked like he was crying, but Arte had put it out of their mind because their father never cries. Now, they wonder if maybe he hadn't been looking at them at all.

Their chest feels tight as she recounts the story of their birth. They hadn't known their father wasn't there, had never asked. Just always assumed that he would have been, because where else would he be? The image in their mind's eye shifts to include this new stranger, crowded around the bed and their mother. "Oh." That's all they can think to say. It's all too much, between the explosive end of the masquerade, to this sudden introduction to the only family they had left.

Arte has so many questions, so many things they want to hear about, but each time they open their mouth to ask, nothing comes out. "I'm sorry too," they say finally. "I'm sorry that... that my, that you got exiled. But I'm... kind of happy for that too 'cause then you didn't d-die that night."

[sntsryans]

The glasses gives his restless hands something to do ⸻ instead of picking the skin of his fingers, Ael carefully piles a glass atop another, making a fragile but surprisingly sturdy tower. There aren't enough clients for it to be a problem ⸻ even when the bell above the door chimes, he spare a glance to the single person entering, sighing in relief. He doesn't mind rush hours, but wolves can get finicky when coped up together ⸻ words are thrown to offend, tempers rising, and well, Ael's jaw is still sore from the last fight he had to break apart.

He chuckles, deftly placing the last glass on top, and turns his attention to the woman with a bright smile. "There's always a reserved glass for pretty women," he says, winking. His hands lay flat on top of the counter, body leaning forward slightly as his eyes take the nearly empty bar with a nod. "More like slow night. Think the wolves in town are recharging after whatever mess happened."

Or they are simply too busy doing what wolves do nowadays ⸻ Ael haven't figured what, exactly, but he has little interest in knowing. He feels younger than his old bones allow him to be, and time taught him not to push when the walls are cracking. His back pops when he gets out of the bed, he has no business hanging around the younger wolves to know what the fuck they are doing.

"What can I get you, princess?"

closed starter for @sntsryans where/when: the heron club, late one night

The Heron Club was a welcome respite from the world of decidedly human justice, wherein Arleen had to be mighty careful about the things she said and the things she did to help solve crimes and close cases. Her keen sense of smell wasn't really admissible evidence, nor was her super sense of hearing. And muttering about damn mutts wasn't exactly seen as polite nor sane in the line of reasoning about all these 'animal attacks'.

It was nice to find a place where wolves could go to unwind for the evening, even if more often than not she was jockeying for space with raucous turned wolves who couldn't properly vent their pressure -- or they leaned too much into the power of the beast, all sloppy and no discipline. But Arleen bit her tongue with that talk, knowing the owner was one of those types. Gorgeous woman, shame about the whole mongrel thing. But there were other wolves, gainfully employed, working hard for the community. Everything in its place, right? The later it got, the busier things were. Tonight, Arleen needed a drink without all the pomp and circumstance of actually being at a crowded bar.

"Slow opening?" The bartop itself was a little high up for her, but Arleen craned her neck and tilted her chin at the bartender -- a redhead like herself, though a different red. A distinct red. With the scent of a born wolf on him, and a keen hunter's focus in his eyes -- as he stacked glasses in a precarious tower. Arleen laughed, relieved to be in good company.

"Thinkin' you can spare me a drink in one of those, or is every glass in the joint already spoken for?"

[sntsryans]

Her fingers drum against the counter, watching the woman with shining eyes. "Kids will be kids, huh?" And if anything like the Ryan Bunch ⸻ mad competitive with a sharp tongue to match. The perks of living with enough cousins to fill a bus, Ael supposes; you learn how to curse in five different way, a new unique language, and with your eyes alone. Of course, she will not be mean to kids, but she knows they will not hold back on their words. It is the fun about Arcades, isn't it? How completely free you could be inside the retro walls.

"Used to," she sighs, trying to keep any hurt or longing from her tone. By the time she was put inside the cabin like a pet in a cage, Ael had stopped going to Arcades as much already. She regrets it now ⸻ misses the sounds of the machines, the smell of the carpet, how washed out everything looks. She misses her cousins ⸻ their bikes riding furiously through the streets to see who would make it to the arcade first. Ael even misses the scowls of her mother, on the rare times the woman would drop them off. Above all else, she misses ⸻ "With my brother. When we were kids, we would hit the arcade every single weekend. If we had enough bribe money from our cousins, we would go after school too."

Things were simple, back then. No burden or responsibilities on their shoulders. They were each other's best friends. "He wasn't very good at Mortal Kombat, but he had a mean finger for Mario. I never quite got the hang of it." She leans closer, curious about the pretty woman behind the counter. "Do you play a lot? I imagine working here gives you plenty of opportunity to hit the tracks, doesn’t it?"

The beauty of the arcade is that it attracts all types of people. There are those who grew up with the games and remember all the little quirks and tricks of the machines. There are kids who have a genuine respect for the past, and even still there are those who are curious about or amused by things that seemed so old, so out of date when compared to the modern graphics of today's games. But the games -- the games made everyone equal. High score tables didn't ask your age, just your initials. How you wanted to be remembered for your 8-bit achievement.

Despite that, it's not often Morgan has someone about her age walking in here seeming not to be fetching a kid who couldn't drive yet, who was dropped off for a few hours of what was essentially babysitting. But a lot more fun. And admittedly, the redhead's choice of fur coat is a unique one, even for Port Leiry. Still, the woman behind the register offers the stranger an easy smile.

"Well, we do have a pretty strict 'no name-calling' policy, but a win's a win. You can put your name on the high score table and brag about it all night long," Morgan says with a laugh. She's restocking a few things on the prize shelf, looking over her shoulder. "We also try to encourage the kids not to be sore losers, but..." She shrugs.

After finishing the restock she turns back around and puts an elbow down on the counter to match the other woman's energy. "You play much?"

[sntsryans]

Her hand grips the wheel until her fingers are blood-cutting white, tongue wishing to spill how she truly views herself. I'm your mother. Other mother, she wants to say. I'm your father. I'm your parent. I loved you since you were the size of a bean. She doesn't. She can't. Her brother is dead ⸻ she won't dare to ruin his memory. He may have exiled her ⸻ a punishment worse than death to pack animals ⸻ but it was his only choice. She loved him, and she knows he loved her until the end, too. "I'm your aunt," she finishes for Artemis, hoping the pup doesn't pick on the bitterness faintly in her voice.

Whatever resentment filled the air in her car seconds ago is replaced by regret ⸻ punched out of her lungs in a shaky gasp at Artemis's words. Her hands begin to trembe, and Ael does the only sensible thing her brain can think of right now ⸻ she stops the car somewhere isolated, quiet and dark. Her leg bounces, hand covering her mouth as she stares into the darkness surrounding them. It was a hunting night. The assholes attacked after hunting night.

She doesn't know why she didn't think of it before. Of course they knew what the hunt meant to them ⸻ how could they not, when she told that bitch everything?

She looks at Artemis. Watches them. Wonders how painful that memory must be. She sighs. "You know," her voice is shaky, and she sniffles. "I was there when you were born. Your dad couldn't make it, he was ⸻" too busy drinking himself silly ⸻ "making a deal with another pack from New York, I think. He wanted to be there so badly. You were the smallest thing I've ever seen. The loudest, too." She chuckles, smiling. "I knew then that I would die to protect you. Kill for you." And she failed, didn't she? Her greed and her jealousy destroyed their family. It's her fault. "I'm sorry, pup. I'm so sorry."

They wait for her to talk, letting silence fill the car until she is ready. They are used to waiting. Arte eyes the fur cloak that is bunched around her, even though it's still warm and muggy from the end of summer heat. Questions rattle around in their mind, but each idea is more absurd than the last so they hang onto every word that the older wolf speaks.

Exile. A punishment worse than death, or so they had been raised to believe. A lesson from long ago, and they only faintly remember the somber timbre of their father's voice when he explained. They are pack animals, meant to work in community with each other. Death was hard, but it was an ending after a life well-lived. Exile was unnatural, and wolves weren't meant to be alone. That lesson had stayed with Arte for years, as they wandered across the land, in search of a pack that could make sense of the curse on them.

"So you're m-my..." Their head spins at the thought and their fingers clench into fists unconsciously. The light of the nearly-full moon that filters in through the window seems to mock them. How long have they wished for their family back, but it seemed that the universe had a funny way of giving people what they wanted. But it's not that they don't want this wolf, who seemingly knows them, who knew their parents. And in a flash, they wonder how disappointed she must be. To have come all this way just to find Arte.

"I remember," they say slowly, throat bobbing as they swallow. Their fists clench tighter as they always do when the flashes of memory come. And now, knowing their father's killer resides in the city too, there's a hoarse growl at the very edge of their words. "We were hunting. M-my first.... first hunt with the pack." They remember the first shift, not their very first, but still a wholly new experience. Their mother coached them through the pain as their bones shifted and regrew until they were running alongside the rest of them. The freedom they felt. "And then... in, in the mo-morning, we didn't... d-didn't change back and they were waiting f-for us."