#wickedsevent

[big-bad-ulf]

It’s All Fun and Games || Ulfric & Tasmyn

Timing: Sunday 28th of June Parties: @tasmyn-pearce, @big-bad-ulf Summary: Ulf and Taz go to the carnival. Strength is tested. Prizes are won. The mythical dog lion is found.  Warnings: None guys everything’s fine! 

Ulfric could hardly believe he had set foot on the carnival grounds again, but as he’d emerged through the ever-present fog and stepped across the threshold this time, he’d found the pressing desire to leave immediately that had come over him before wasn’t there. In fact, the flashing lights seemed less glaring and the screams of the patrons less grating than they had during his last visit, despite both his vision and hearing having sharpened since then with the waxing of the moon. A small part of that had to do with the fact he’d remembered to wear dark tinted glasses to help with the light problem, but he suspected the larger part of it had to do with the reason for this visit. Rather than attending out of obligation, like he had with Orobas, he was there this time by his own choice simply because he enjoyed Tasmyn’s company.

It had been so long since he’d gotten the chance to spend time with anyone for that reason that the occasion necessitated a special effort. Which was why he’d showered in an actual shower for the first time in weeks in preparation (though, he thought, in his own defense, when eyeballs had been trickling out of people's plumbing the mountain stream on his property had seemed the more hygienic option) and why he’d arrived early to purchase a greeting gift before he headed to their agreed-upon meeting spot. “It’s good to see you again, Tasmyn” He greeted her warmly when he got there, carrying a stick of cotton candy bigger than his head. “I must confess, I did already have to pay the carnival a visit, though purely for business reasons.” Or in the interest of the pack, anyway, which was close enough. “I used my familiarity with the venue to get you this though.” He offered the humongous confection cloud to her, almost in apology for not being able to enjoy this experience with her completely unspoiled, before adding as an explanation for its sheer volume, “The person at the stall insisted on giving me the ‘for two’ size when I said I’d be bringing it to someone else.”  

Tasmyn usually tried not to make friends when she moved to new places. She had no real intentions of staying in White Crest for long when she had first arrived, but between the fae presence and the constant strange occurrences, and well… the people, she’d come to enjoy living here in a very short amount of time. So what was supposed to be her first stop in America had turned into a place she wasn’t quite ready to leave. And while she didn’t really know the implications of it all just yet, Ulfric was a surprisingly big part of that desire to stay. Which is why she was so thrilled that he was willing to accompany her to the carnival. It had been ages since she had been to one. 

She was a little late to the meeting place they agreed on. Or maybe she was right on time? She couldn’t quite remember what they had agreed on. As Tasmyn saw Ulfric approaching, her eyes widened a bit - far more focused on the cotton candy in his hand than anything else. “Oh my goodness that thing is massive!” She exclaimed, a wide smile spreading across her face. Humans always did do the strangest things with food. “Oh, sorry. It’s really lovely to see you again too.” She said, turning her attention properly to Ulfric. “That’s okay! You can use your past visit to steer us away from things that aren’t worthwhile!” As she spoke, she reached over and pulled a clump of cotton candy from the stick, then began to eat it piece by piece. “Wow! This is fantastic. I’m glad the person gave you a ton of it.”

“It’s fine, that’s the response I was going for,” Ulfric laughed at Tasmyn’s reception towards the giant treat, surprised at how much his mood seemed to instantly improve in her presence. Maybe she wasn’t merely human after all, but some kind of… reverse empath? No, he was fairly certain such a thing didn’t exist, and it would’ve been foolish for him to hold out hope that she was more than human when she’d given him no concrete evidence to the contrary. Better to just enjoy this night for what it was instead of pondering what-ifs. Her request had him scratching his beard though, uncertain how to proceed, all of entertainment seemed worthwhile now if it meant prolonging their time together, but none of it had seemed so before. Well, except one thing, he remembered. “I never did find the dog lion. In fact, I’m beginning to think it’s just a myth they spread to lure people in here,” He informed her, caving to curiosity and trying some of the cotton candy himself. It was about as sugary as he expected, but he found himself liking it, nonetheless. For someone who was a natural carnivore, he had recently begun to develop an unexpected appreciation for sweet things. “But if you’re up for hunting a mythical creature,” Ulfric continued, carefully adhering to the human etiquette of swallowing his food before talking for her sake. “It might give us a chance to get to know each other better while we look for it?” 

Tasmyn laughed softly, remembering the dog-lion they had talked about earlier. “Well, I don’t know if I’d call a dog in a wig ‘mythical’, but should be a fun hunt regardless! Let’s do it.” Even having only been there for a few minutes, Tasmyn could already feel the energy and admittedly the chaos of the festivities pulsing through her. She could even catch the faintest reading of a fae, no multiple fae nearby. Unfortunately, she knew it wasn't Ulfric since she hadn’t sensed anything last time they were together. What a shame too- he’d be a great fae. After she grabbed another chunk of cotton candy, she started off in a random direction, not really sure where they would keep a dion? log? Dog-lion. “Get to know each other better, right, of course.” She echoed, trying to keep her enthusiastic tone despite the fact that the idea of opening up to someone else terrified her to her core. Especially when it was someone new and she didn’t know how they felt about fae, about spriggans. “So, uh, how long ago did you move to town?”

Ulfric immediately found himself regretting his suggestion as soon as he heard her question. His move and the events that had led him to it weren’t things he wanted to talk about, not if he couldn't be honest about it. Being inauthentic quickly became exhausting and he tended to say what he was thinking too quickly to be a very effective liar in person anyway. That was why he usually let his natural intimidation ward off curious humans and save him the trouble of having to deceive them, but she waited for his invitation to ask, so he’d try and give as honest an answer as he could. “Sixteen years ago, or thereabouts. I left Norway at 19 and traveled around Europe visiting a few family friends before I got my papers together to come in here. I’ve got a few —distant cousins in town,” the werewolf quickly caught himself before saying human cousins. “They assisted me in finding me my first job at a tattoo parlor.” He followed the trajectory in which Tasmyn took off until he spotted the familiar row of gaming stalls, remembering that the Museum of Monstrosities booth and other ‘attractions’ were supposed to be on the other side, a likely location for the elusive dog lion. “Let’s try this way,” He urged, gently grasping her elbow to steer her in that direction. “How about you? I don’t think I’ve ever asked what you do for work. It must be exciting if it took you all the way to Canada for—” At that moment, Ulfric was interrupted by an overeager hawker wearing what looked to be traditional ringleader garb. “Care to try the strength tester?” The young man waved a prop hammer in his face emphatically, gesturing towards an old-fashioned seeming game with a sign that read, ‘Find out what your strength is worth!’. “Prizes awaited only the most fortified among us,” the vendor continued, “And you look like a strong candidate, pun intended. It’s sure to impress your lady friend!” He looked between Ulfric and Tasmyn. Ulfric had only paused to avoid being hit with the flailing hammer, but the hawker’s insistence he replied, “I’m sure she’s impressed by much more worthwhile things,” meaning for that to be the end of it and resume his quest for the dog lion, but finding himself glancing over at her, unsure how she’d want to proceed. 

Almost immediately Tasmyn could sense that her question had struck a nerve. She normally tried to avoid questions that dug in too deeply to someone's past, so maybe that wasn’t the right thing to be asking. But he did say that he wanted them to get to know each other better. Isn’t this how humans did that? Maybe she was wrong. As they moved about the carnival, Tasmyn listened to his story about moving here, nodding along and shoving the sweet cotton candy into her mouth. When she felt his hand on her shoulder, she was surprised at the fact that she didn’t tense up or recoil like she usually did when people she didn’t know very well touched her. She didn’t have much time to think about why that was as Ulfric turned the questions back to her now. It was not an easy question to answer. She had been up in Canada selling some names to a contact she had. But that had nothing to do with her actual job at The Codfather. A human could twist words into half-truths and lie their way out of the situation, but she was not graced with such an option. “Well, I work at The Codfather as a hostess.” Taking a moment to choose the right words she wanted to use, “The Canada thing was more like … a favor. For an old friend. More like running an errand, really.” She was thankful that their conversation got cut off by one of the over-enthusiastic carnies. Ulfric was right, she really wasn’t the type to be impressed by brute strength, but when she caught his eye she saw a bit of an opportunity to put a full-stop to this Canada/job conversation. “I dunno, it might be fun!” She said, looking at the prizes in the booth, pointing over to a strange-looking green creature, noticing that none of the prizes resembled real animals, “Besides, that thing’s kinda cute.” She added, looking over to him with a shrug and a smile, leaving it up to him but tipping the scales slightly to change the conversation at the very least. 

Ulfric wanted to ask her more about the fish restaurant, find out if she could maybe point him towards a wholesaler who could give him a discount on herring. It had been so long since he had spare to pickle with multiple plagues that had sullied the town’s waterways. But the vendor was still staring at them with urgency, and she hadn’t given him the easy out he’d expected. “Oh, well, sure, In that case…” he stalled for a moment, but hadn’t he said the goal of this outing was to make her happy? If taking a moment to play this game would achieve that, then he wouldn’t turn down the simple request. “Alright I’ll give it a shot,” He relented, giving Tasmyn a small smile but fixing the vendor with a glare as he passed him and slipped him a dollar to play. “You’ll be needing this,” the young man tapped him on the shoulder, waving the hammer at him again. The werewolf took what he offered, barely putting any effort into his swing as he brought it down on the target. Nonetheless, the indicator on the strength meter whizzed to the top with a flurry of lights and clanging bells. “Congratulations, we have a winner!” the vendor called out to the crowd over a megaphone, and despite the ringing in his ears and the ridiculousness of the situation, Ulfric’s inner competitive streak was satisfied with the victor and he broke into a genuine grin. “Here you go!” He plucked the stuffed ‘animal’ Tasmyn had wanted from the display, and presented it to her triumphantly. “I suppose it is sort of charming, in an unconventional way,” he said of the large, oddly shaped creature. It also felt surprisingly heavy, like they sewed a few weights inside it to prevent patrons who lost from running away with it, but he didn’t mention that part. 

For a moment, Tasmyn felt a pang of guilt for encouraging Ulfric to participate in this game. Especially since it was becoming apparent that most of the vendors were fae. Traveling fae in a traveling carnival probably meant trouble of some sort. But this was just a silly game, even with Ulfric being human, or at the very least non-fae, a few moments playing the game then moving on couldn’t be much trouble. Could it? Before she could change her mind and suggest they move on, Ulfric had the hammer in his hands and was slamming it down on the machine with a sort of ease. Her face lit up when all the bells and lights began and she instinctively clapped. See?, she thought to herself, harmless. A feeling of happiness swelled over her when she saw him smile - there was a good chance that was the happiest she had seen him look. “Unconventional charm is the best kind there is!” She stated as she accepted the strange green stuffed creature from him. “Thank you for this.” Tasmyn looked up at him with a smile, then leaned in and wrapped her arms around him in a quick hug. She’d never known a stranger to be this kind to her for no real reason. “So… off to find this mystical dog now, huh?” she asked as she started to make her way in the direction they were headed before they got distracted by the game. 

Ulfric was caught off guard by the unexpected hug. Physical affection had been fairly common amongst his old pack, wolves were social creatures by nature after all, but since he’d been forced into exile he had gotten used to being isolated in all ways. The only other person who’d hugged him in years was Ari, and he couldn’t remember ever allowing a human to come in such close contact with him outside of a fight, but he had to admit it wasn’t unwelcome. “Don’t mention it,” He shrugged, pulling back and hoping Tasmyn would interpret any hesitation from him as just the awkwardness of having to maneuver around both the giant stuffed animal and half-eaten cotton candy to return her embrace. “Yes, I will not be discouraged in my search this time,” He agreed, taking after her. They passed the Museum of Monstrosities with its display of various pickled specimens in jars, some possibly supernatural others clearly pieces of mundane animals sewn together. Eventually, he spotted a podium, with an attendant standing on top of it dressed as a lion tamer, complete with plastic whip and next to him was a golden retriever in a messy blonde wig.

“There you are!” The werewolf climbed the podium to pet the dog, which nuzzled into his hand eagerly, recognizing the kinship between them. “Uh, Sir? If you want a photo with our lion it’ll cost you five bucks,” the attendant protested half-heartedly, clearly reluctant to start a conflict with a man of his stature and determination. Ulfric had to tamp down on a small growl before it escaped his throat. The kid was only doing his job, but the exploitation of noble creatures for profit was one of the worst aspects of humanity. Instead, he leaned down quickly, looked the golden retriever in the eyes and stated, “I will make sure these people don’t mistreat you,” vowing to himself that he’d return to check on it before the carnival left town. “My apologies, humans don’t deserve dogs,” He said to Tasmyn as he jumped back down from the platform, huffing a little from the exertion. Which might have struck him as strange except, he couldn’t really think about much else in the presence of such a spectacular beast. “Isn’t he magnificent though? Thank you for indulging me.” 

Tasmyn was mystified by everything she was passing by on their search for the lion/dog. There was just so much energy radiating off of everyone around her. She had spent a lot of her time over the past few decades alone, but not really isolated. She was used to feeling alone while surrounded by crowds of people, and while she had convinced herself a long time ago that she preferred it that way, being here and enjoying these festivities with someone else was truly refreshing. “By the way,” Tasmyn started as she less-than-gracefully finished eating the last bit of the sugary treat Ulfric had given her, “What is this called again?” After spending years both hating and fearing humans, it was nice to be near one who she felt some sort of security around. 

As they rounded a corner Tasmyn was so captivated by all the foods she was smelling that she almost didn’t realize Ulf run off towards the dog. It didn’t take her long to follow him over to the podium though, laughing heartily when she saw both how enthusiastic Ulfric was and how bewildered the attendant was. She was still smiling widely when he left the dog and came back over to her. However, she wasn’t too caught up in the moment to notice his phrasing. ‘Humans’ don’t deserve dogs. Was he … not human? That’d have to be a question for another day, perhaps. “Truly magnificent! I’m so glad we got to see him. He seemed to really like you, ya know humans say that if a dog likes you that means you're a good person.” 

“Do people say that?” Ulfric carefully used ‘people’ this time to counteract his earlier slip-up. Having to close the shop for the duration of the eyeball plague had left him sorely needing to brush up on his mundane conversational skills. “I don’t know how true that is,” he mulled over the statement. He’d always tried to follow the teachings of his pack elders and do what was right for his community, but he’d never really thought of himself as good, more as someone willing to make the hard decisions necessary to keep people better than he was safe. At times, he thought he was more shield than man… But now he’d remained silent for far too long after what was clearly just meant to be a polite compliment. “I’m glad I can at least do something good,” he shrugged and gave her a small smile, trying to dissolve the awkwardness. “Show you a good time.” At that, he stopped and turned back to her fully, suddenly unsure. “Are you having a good time?”

Tasmyn got a bit worried at his question, maybe they didn’t really say that? Maybe she just heard one human say it once and presumed it was a common saying? “That, uh, might just be an English saying.” She added, hoping that would cover her tracks. But his silence made her wary, maybe she had let too many weird things slip… maybe he was putting the pieces together. Finally, he spoke, and she relaxed slightly. His words made her blush ever so softly. She smiled softly and nodded, “I’m having a very good time so far. I got to eat a fluffy sweet candy, you won me this,” she continued, lifting the stuffed creature up a bit more prominently, “and you looked so happy when you got to see that dog! So a great time, really. Are you having a good time?” 

“Yes, surprisingly so,” Ulfric laughed as Tasmyn held up the odd stuffed creature again, before quickly adding, “not that I didn’t expect to…” in case she thought he meant he wasn’t expecting to have a good time with her. He had a wonderful time at their first meeting, even with the whole smoke monster debacle. The memory of it had been one of the few things to elicit a smile from him in the disastrous weeks that followed. “Good times have just been hard to come by lately.” He explained and then found himself asking without giving it too much thought, “Would you mind if I saw you again sometime now that you’re back in town? It would be nice to know I’ve got another good time waiting for me if I ever need it.” It was a small defiance of the natural cycles that guided his destiny, to try and line up another pleasant moment and keep it stashed away for a rainy day. But after weathering all the foul things the winds of fate had sent his way recently, he was willing to cop whatever punishment they’d dole out for the minor infraction if it meant he had something to look forward to. 

Tasmyn had been expecting to find a fae community in this new town, she had not been expecting to find such a sweet and lovely maybe-human though. Her smile widened and the soft flush on her cheeks reddened at his question. “I’m sorry you haven’t been having many good times recently… though admittedly I do know what that’s like.” For so much of her life, Tasmyn had needed to live from moment to moment. She rarely made plans because plans just make disappointments. However, here in the moment with him it felt foolish not to make plans. Save when she thought her husband was trying to kill them with a smoke monster - every moment spent talking with him and spending time had been the highlights of her time here in White Crest. “I’d love it if we could get to see each other again. The sooner the better in my book. You’re really my first… well, only friend in town. And I always seem to be smiling when we spend time together.” 

Her only friend. Ulfric could count the number of humans who genuinely considered him their friend on one hand, and all of them had ties to the mystical world in some way. He normally tried to keep a polite, civil distance from the rest of them as a species, partly because they just didn’t seem to get him and partly because his family would have objected. The former hadn’t proved a problem where Tasmyn was concerned so far, and the latter? Well, he’d finally made the long-overdue decision to stay and build his life in White Crest, hadn’t he? The half-finished cabin in the outskirts was a testament to that. Though his family’s approval still weighed heavily on his mind, earning his place back wasn’t his goal anymore, so it reasonably followed that he was no longer bound to follow their rules to the letter. “It’s a deal then. We’ll see each other soon,” He nodded, the affirmation a measured deliberate choice. There remained limits to how far this companionship could go, considering the danger both of them could be in if his true nature were revealed, but he didn’t see the harm in playing the part of this good man she thought he was, if it was bringing her joy as well. To that effect he added the caveat, “And as your friend, I give you permission to throw rocks at me again if I do anything to make you stop smiling.” 

Tasmyn grew up being told there was a hierarchy to the types of beings in the world. Spriggans, all other fae, witches, other supernatural beings, humans, then wardens dead last. But ever since she moved away from her village, she very quickly began to realize how untrue that all is. Spending time with Ulfric continued to prove that to her. He was kind, understanding, and gentle with her - things she used to think were impossible for humans. She laughed when he told her she could throw rocks at him. “I’ll keep that in mind. But I do seem to always be smiling when I’m talking with you.” She took a little look around, taking in the last few seconds of this evening. “Well, I look forward to seeing you again.” As she said that, she got on her tippie toes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. When she returned her feet firmly to the ground, she looked up to him and smiled before pivoting and making her way towards the exit.

[packsbeforesnacks]

You Wanna Ride It, My Mimercycle || Noah & Winn

TIMING: Monday, May 4th, 2020, Sunset LOCATION: The Veterinary Clinic PARTIES: @noah-kalani & @packsbeforesnacks SUMMARY: Local Wolf Man (and Friend) Caught Murdering Mimes, More at 11 (”Do you need a license to drive a mimercycle? Asking for a friend.”) WARNINGS: None.

Winn had been riding home when he’d heard the howl, stopping off near the turn to his cabin to message Ariana and Miles in a mild panic. And they’d both been fine, and Kaden wasn’t involved, and that should’ve been the end of it. But it wasn’t. Winn was still reeling over Miles having a secret (well, unknown to him) brother, and that brother being in trouble with fucking Hunters. This was why Winn hadn’t wanted to get close to wolves! (‘Course, the voice in the back of his head was quick to remind him, it was nice to have folks worth carin’ about again.) His mind drifted to Noah unbidden, still stuck on the other night — and the mornin’ after. 

But before he could interrogate his feelings on the other man, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, an unfamiliar scent blowing into his face. Or, more accurately, an intimately familiar scent. There was a black-and-white blur ahead of him on the deserted road. Aw, fuck. Not now. Havin’ to think about his stalker was already bad, and now the fuckin’ mime was showin’ up at the worst possible time. He wasn’t anywhere near the station yet, this part of town only vaguely familiar to him. Winn revved his bike, pulling forward. And to his horror, Winn discovered his stalker wasn’t alone. Oh no. That would be too kind of the Universe. Instead, Winn’s mime was, oh God, riding other mimes? The unholy blob beneath Winn’s mime-self was the twisted, mottled form of a bike, the naked hands and feet of two faceless mimes pedaling it along like the worst Flintstones special. The seat and handles were… Oh, for fuck’s sake. Winn would recognize those dimples anywhere. But why was Noah’s mime-self here?

To say it had been a bit of a rough day at the clinic for one Noah Kalani might be a bit of an understatement. From the computer error that mixed up appointment reminders (No Mrs. Seawol, Alfred was not scheduled to get snip sniped today, that text was a mistake) to one very very heartbreaking euthanasia (yes he broke down and cried once the owner left) he had been put through the wringer in more ways that one, so much so that the Dr Choi took one look at him at the reception desk –silently munching on the lunch he almost forgot to eat– and sent him outside to get some air and some sunshine on his face. Sitting there on the bench next to the parking lot though Noah couldn’t help but fidget in his scrubs. It was almost 5pm.  He just had to make it till then and he could go home, take a shower, cuddle with his own pup, and not agonize over the weird Winn situation of the other night.. But of course like always the universe had other plans, and they were unfolding right before his very eyes.

Winn’s brain had scarcely put together a joke about riding Noah when it all went to Hell. Ricky had warned him. “More aggressive,” he’d said. And the, what, demons were exactly that. The mime-motorcycle (mimercycle, ugh) seemed bent on runnin’ him off the road, as silently as possible. It rammed into the side of Winn’s bike, Winn’s tires skidding on the road as he tried to avoid going down in a blaze of gore-y. His phone flew out of his hand where he’d half-composed a text to Ariana and onto the pavement at a crisp sixty miles an hour. (Don’t text and drive, he guessed.) Fuck, why wasn’t there anyone out, it was, like, five! They were headin’ towards a more populated town, he knew. Given the mimes’ dislike of a public stage, that meant that, soon, he’d either be dead or the mimes were about to make the evenin’ news. And Winn still hadn’t figured out why Noah’s mime wa— Aw, goddammit. He knew that scent, mixed with the scent of a dozen or more other animals, but still distinctly Noah. 

Way Winn saw it, he had two options now. Keep drivin’ towards the other man, riskin’ both their lives or… well, actually, he didn’t have much of a choice. The mimercycle caught up to him again, ramming him from the back and almost pitchin’ Winn off his bike. He slammed on the brakes, just enough that he heard the crunch of at least one of the mimes’ bones as it made contact with the metal. He abandoned the bike, running the rest of the way up to the veterinary clinic to greet his friend. “Hey, uh, take this, but do not touch the blade” he said, pullin’ his silver knife out its sheath and pressing it gently into Noah’s hands. “Silent-but-deadly is about to catch up to us. And, like, maybe focus on them instead of me if you don’t want to see my ass again.” Winn kicked off his boots and threw his jacket towards the clinic. This wasn’t how Winn wanted Noah to see the wolf for the first time, but there wasn’t any other choice. He couldn’t — wouldn’t — let Noah get hurt because he was scared. Never again.

Watching as the nightmarish scene played out before his very eyes, Noah couldn’t exactly figure out where to look first. Because in front of him was now a very sweaty looking Winn, his motorcycle, a terrifying mishmash of limbs dressed in black and white stripes, and oh, hey guess what. Looks like those are mimes. Fantastic. Just what he needed. The cherry on top of the perfectly fucked up day. Figuring it was better to roll with the metaphorical punches White Crest was dolling out than even try to question it (because mimes? really?), Noah sprung into action, closing the last few feet between him and Winn (oh hey hello Winn, nice to see you too, next time bring liquor, not not a shitshow of mimes) the wolf inside of him already relishing the possibility of a fight. Taking a split second, however, he looked over Winn, hoping that the other man wasn’t injured or anything, because that would make whatever this was going to turn into just that much harder. But just as soon as Noah finished his visual assessment on the man in front of him, Winn was pressing a blade into his hands, a silver knife to be exact. The thought making Noah’s skin already start to itch. “Wait, Winn, what the hell—” Noah started before Winn simply transformed.

It was near the Moon, a fact that Winn’s wolf was fully and completely aware of. He had time, just barely, to bark out a “Kill your own mime or it’ll come back.” It came out half as a growl, Winn’s teeth and jaw already warping into his lupine form. It was a little painful tonight, Winn noticed. But maybe the wolf was just eager to get its claws into a victim. He flung himself forward, knocking off his own mime, the clusterfuck of the mimercycle speeding along comically and crashing into a trash can sitting outside of the veterinary clinic. Uh-oh. They didn’t look very happy. Fortunately, neither did Noah. The other man was tense — hell, if he were a full wolf, Winn was almost sure he’d have burst into fur already. 

He didn’t have much time to wonder how Noah’s day had been, though, when his own mime slammed back into him, still in human form, just barely knocking the breath out of Winn. Maybe Winn would get lucky. Maybe his mime wasn’t a werewolf-mime, just a really-strong-human-ish-mime. He growled, clawing at the asphalt beneath his paws, rearing up on his leg. Was it too much to ask for his mime to get scared off? Apparently so. The mime grinned, all teeth, but without Winn’s trademark mirth. It was unnerving. And then, it started miming. It was… loading something? Into a… gun? No. Not a gun. A crossbo— Oh, fuck no, not this shit again. Winn’s reaction time, thank fuck, was great as a wolf when he wasn’t drunk as piss, and he rolled out of the way just in time. He heard the “bolt” thunk into something, it slowly fading into corporeality, the contours of the object becoming real. He whined in Noah’s general direction, trying to warn him that these assholes meant business. Why’d his mime get the cool toys?

“Kill your own mime or it’ll come back.” Those were the last words Winn spoke before he turned, body morphing into a full beast. He was hauntingly beautiful like this, Noah would have to give him that. But now was not the time to contemplate just how beautiful your wolf friend was in his other form, or how badly part of your heart ached to join him. Turning toward the mess that was currently trying to excavate itself from behind the dumpster, Noah noticed someone familiar, his trademark dimples somehow menacing on his painted face. Fucking hell, this mime looked like him, this mime looked like HIM. What the actual fuck. But Noah had no time to really contemplate this horrific being in front of him, because as soon as it stood up it was miming something. What, Noah had no clue and no time to find out. Fuckity fuck fuck. Focusing his energy, Noah lunged, trying to put what little knife training he had into practice, but not before the mime swung at him, some sort of invisible weapon tearing at the sleeve of his scrubs and ripping into the flesh of his forearm. Shit. The mime was miming a fucking invisible weapon. Noah’s eyes widened a little bit, fear now clouding his eyes, especially as the other two mimes flailed in the background. Okay, Kalani. Focus. You brought a knife to a mime fight and you are woefully outnumbered. 

Watching as the other two mimes started slowly resembling something more like humanoid beings and less like a collection of limbs, Noah knew what he had to do. And so he did it. He sprinted headfirst towards the obvious danger, throwing the knife as forcefully as he could, body already getting low and bracing for impact. Tackling. He was made for full contact, that much was evident as he rolled through the impact. Luckily the knife had caught in the mime in his shoulder before it had time to swing the invisible weapon at him, knocking it off balance and giving Noah just enough time to tackle. Excellent. Now get out of here and re-group, he urged himself as he scrambled away from, well, himself, hoping he wasn’t about to get jumped by the two other mimes while he was on the ground. 

But luckily, his getaway was smoother than expected, eyes focusing on one thing and one thing only, getting away from the mimes. But not before he saw something manifest next to the pile of mime limbs. It was comical almost how horrifying the manifestation was, jagged nails sticking out of a long bat shaped piece of wood. Yeah, it figured his own mime would conjure up something athletic. Scrambling as fast as he could,Noah grabbed his new weapon, hoping that Winn would forgive him for the change. Because yeah, he wasn’t really good with knives, but he sure as hell could swing a bat. And it was a good thing too, because as he straightened up into a standing position so did the other two mimes.

Winn had about had it with this mime fuckery, and the fight hadn’t even been going on that long. He saw pieces of Noah’s fight, flickering across his eyes as he avoided bolt after bolt, trying to get close to his own mime to get it out of the way. Just for a second, just long enough to help Noah. Three mime demons on one human was not a fair fight, and Winn could get rid of the other two easily enough. He just needed to get there. Winn saw Noah knife the Noah-mime (score one for Kalani), the smell of human blood lighting up his senses as the wind told him of Noah’s injury (ugh, score one for mimes). Damn it. Another bolt thunked into a nearby tree, and Winn decided to focus on his own mime. Noah’s mime was crumpled, momentarily, a few feet away. Winn’s mime had murder in its eyes, the smile gone from its face. Clearly, its memory of the incident with Kaden had left out some key details. Did it really think Winn was an easy target? As if. 

Winn rushed it, snarling and gnashing his teeth. He really hated to do this, but… He dove under one of the bolts as it launched, and latched his teeth into his mime’s leg. There was a flicker of hesitation in his heart, half-sure that biting the mime would hurt him. But fortunately, no such horror happened. He reared up on his hind-legs, spinning in a half circle and launching his mime into Noah’s, both of them rolling in an unholy tangle down the street just enough to (hopefully) give him time. And time he needed. Noah had, somehow, a bat straight off of The Walking Dead, and that motherfucker was currently being swung in the direction of the two minion-mimes. He grunted, landing beside Noah. Time to even the odds. 

Winn feinted at the left mime, the muted fear leading the mime to open its mouth in a silent scream as a hulking wolf-man headed its way, but at the last second he, and his outstretched claws, dove for the mime on the right. It was a close thing, and Winn hoped Noah could deal with the mime-that-who-pissed-itself, but Winn’s claws sank true and deep into the mime’s gut. He stuck his other paw out and into the mime’s stomach, yanking as hard as this form could, and the mime exploded into a puff of black-and-white smoke. One down, three to— Fuck. 

Something slammed into Winn’s side, hard. He rolled, rolled, and stopped, panting. And before him stood himself. Only this time, there was no easy smile, no mimed crossbow. Oh no. The mime had decided to get serious. And that meant Winn staring into his own eyes… as the wolf. A monster, hulking, as warped as Winn was elegant. It was a facsimile, the copy not quite right. Mutilated, likely, by the times it had been thrown around. Its fur was the worst part, striped as all mimes were, lines drawn across its powerful body like a warning. Danger. Where was a Hunter when you needed one?

Finally upright, Noah hardly had any time to take in his surroundings, or address the slippery trickle of blood he could feel slowly sliding down his arm, before a mass of black and white was hurtling toward his menacing imposter, knocking the mime down once again. Winn. He’d forgotten momentarily about the other man — correction, wolf — he was fighting alongside, but he was grateful for the assist nevertheless, especially as the two mime demons started their slow creep towards him, hands already shaping invisible items. Watching Winn out of the corner of his eyes, Noah was determined to bat cleanup (all puns intended) and swung with all his might at the mime Winn had left, resulting in a perfect headshot. And just like that, the demon vanished in a puff of smoke, marking their kill count as two. 

Using this split second of time to catch his breath, Noah looked around, hoping they were somehow winning? That's when he saw it. The grotesque caricature of a werewolf, one might say, striped, lumbering, its back to him, its eyes focused on one thing and one thing only. Winn. It was safe to say Noah didn’t know much about mimes, nor did he know much about werewolves, or the terrifying hybrid of both (yeah, he was going to have nightmares for YEARS). But watching his mime counterpart starting to stand again, hands clawing desperately at his wound, black sludge oozing, no, sizzling slowly out of the edges he knew one thing for sure. He actually did need that knife. Letting go of the bat, Noah dove low towards his own likeness again, bracing for another impact and using his momentum to carry him through. Tackling like this was infinitely harder without pads, but the adrenaline coursing through him refused to let him forget his years of muscle memory as he crashed yet again to the ground on top of 200 pounds of mime. 

Scrambling to get into a sitting position before an all too familiar pair of arms wrapped around him, Noah swung a couple of punches, channeling his own wolfy brute force and aggression to make them count. “Stay DOWN, you fucking MOTHER. FUCKER!” he screamed into his own face, the irony of the moment definitely not lost on him. But, of course, Noah had bigger fish to fry than to think about how much therapy he was going to need after this. Hoping his mime was stunned enough, Noah grabbed the knife and wrenched it out, hands, feet, and legs somehow clambering out of one special hell and into another. But not before he cocked his arm and aimed the already blackened, bloody knife into the meaty striped back of monstrous mime-wolf.

There were things that Winn knew about himself which, considering the crossbow situation, he had to assume that maybe this cursed thing knew too. For example, since the incident with Kaden, he was, ever-so-slightly, weaker on one side. Winn had learned to compensate, and knew that, soon, the Moon would undo the last of the damage the silver had done. The mime, though, wasn’t actually a wolf, and Winn could tell. It was in the way that it moved, the way that it seemed on-edge, even in its pure aggression. Winn, however, was intimately aware of his furrier half. And that was the edge he needed. The wolf inside (outside?) of him was howling, urging him onward to kill, kill, kill. 

Winn clawed once, twice, quickly swiping at the mime. He wasn’t trying to hit it, just throw it off-balance. Wolves were strong, he wouldn’t be able to just tear open its chest. But if he could get it on its back, he could tear out its throat. The soft skin was the weakest point he could think of, and he didn’t have the dagger on him (and he shuddered to think what it might do to him in this form). They went back-and-forth like that, as Winn heard Noah shout at his own double. He couldn’t make it out, too focused, but he could feel the fury from Noah. He wanted to howl in pride. The mime hesitated, hearing the fight behind it (and, oh God, did they care about each other?), and Winn saw his opportunity, sweeping his claws low at the side that Kaden had injured. As he made contact, he felt the mime-wolf tense — not from him, but from a knife to its back. He and Noah had gotten lucky, or maybe they were just in-sync, because the silver dagger sank true. (And Winn shuddered, for just a moment, remembering how the dagger had felt in his own back.) 

But this was his chance. He followed through, tripping the mime up and shoving it hard, on its back. Its mouth opened in a silent scream as the silver jammed deeper into its back, its neck exposed. And Winn went for the kill, snarling as he ripped its throat out, the body fading in striped waves as the mime choked on its own tar. But this wasn’t over, not yet. He needed to help Noah. The dagger laid in front of him, messy and black, and Winn took a chance. Winn made an angry, barking sound, trying to get Noah’s attention, before picking up the knife in his mouth (barely missing the silver of the blade) and flinging it in a high arc through the air. Alright, football boy. Fetch.

Letting the knife quite literally slip out of his hands from all of the mime blood it was drenched in, Noah hoped he had helped in some capacity, the wound in the mime-wolf’s back already bubbling out thick, viscous black sludge. It was almost as if the skin was boiling off, and Noah couldn’t help the shiver that went down his spine. Was this really what happened when real wolves came in contact with silver knives? Because if so, then that was the real scary stuff right there. Bringing his focus back to the task at hand Noah made sure to wipe what he could off his hands on his scrubs, his wolf healing not fast enough to really seal the wound, but just fast enough to keep him from feeling the effects of his blood loss. 

Looking around for the bat from hell, Noah stared in horror as it dawned on him. In his haste to help Winn he’d accidentally thrown the bat towards his mime, not away from him. Fuck his life. Because yeah, he was left weaponless, watching helplessly as his mime-self did not fucking stay down like he had been so kindly asked to do. Hearing the bark from behind him, though, Noah turned just in time to see Winn’s wolf form pitch forward, something silver hurtling in an upward arc towards him. Wait, was that the knife? Oh thank heavens, the flying thing was the knife. Wait… no, no, no, the knife was flying, spinning like an unwieldy bullet, and, oh God, who did Winn think he was? Tom Brady? Because he was most definitely not Tom Brady. No, Noah was trained to go crash crash boom boom, not spinny twirly jumpy catchy. 

But seeing as how the wolf gave him no choice, up Noah went, praying to all that was holy that he could manage to catch the knife on the butt end. It took a second, maybe less before the younger boy completed his jump, hand luckily catching the knife with only minimal damage to the palm of his hand. Readjusting his grip, Noah twisted back toward his own mimesona, its dimples still pulled in that menacing smile. Holding the knife as tightly as he could, Noah sprinted forward, using his own body as a battering ram of sorts before he plunged the knife into the heart of the mime, pitching them backwards and onto the concrete for the third and last time. And just like that, it was over, a pile of oozing black goo where his own grizzly persona had once stood.

Fucking… hell. “I hate mimes,” Winn said — or, well, tried to say. It came out as a whiny, half-growl, the lupine mouth trying to create sounds it was simply incapable of. The wolf was… happy. More or less. Noah wasn’t badly injured, Winn and Noah had defeated their mimes, and Winn’s bike was still in working condition. Winn’s clothes, however, had not survived the experience. And though mime magic (maybe?) had kept the town clear, Winn doubted that his luck would last for much longer. He needed to get inside, and he needed to get inside now. If he were a born wolf, he could transform further, pretend to be… a really big dog? Noah could lie. Hopefully. Maybe. Winn went over to the other man, sniffing at his injury and whining in the back of his throat. It was healing. Not as fast as Winn would heal, in the same situation, but it would be fine. He could tell. Noah was covered in mime goop, though even that was fading into puffs of striped smoke. 

He huffed out a noise, taking Noah into his arms and hugging him as the wolf, careful not to let his claws hurt Noah. He dwarfed the man, in this form, but he could already feel the adrenaline running out of his body. The wolf was tired, and that meant, well, Winn had two options. He could hope that Noah forgave him for yet another incident involving Winn’s dick, or he could run away. Winn knew what he had to do. He picked up Noah quickly, carrying them over to the alleyway beside the clinic, obscured, just barely, by the dumpster that had been shoved in the fight, and turned back, still embracing the other man. He was glad, so glad, that he was okay. He… didn’t know what he would have done if Noah had been hurt. He didn’t know what Noah would have done if Winn hadn’t been there to help fend off the mimes. 

Winn leaned his head into Noah’s shoulder. He smelled, he knew, pretty bad, the mime gunk leaving a stench from the places it had congealed in his fur. If that smell didn’t come out, Winn would have to stand in the rain for the next week. Wet dog was better than dead mime. “So,” he said, after holding Noah for a long moment, “I’m naked, and gross. Do y’all have a shower and, uh, can I borrow your scrubs? Don’t want to ruin a nicer pair of clothes, since those seem not long for this world. I can, uh, I can stay here until it’s all clear. Just bring me, uh, a towel or somethin’?” He was rambling. Winn pulled back from the hug, looking into Noah’s eyes, and feeling that same pull he’d been trying to forget about. Sober, Winn resisted, a half-smile forming on his face. “We kinda kicked ass, huh?”

Even covered in the stupid mime goop, that was already starting to evaporate into oddly striped smoke, Noah couldn’t help but smile. He did it. They did it. How? He didn’t have the slightest clue, but that wasn’t what mattered, in this moment anyway. No what mattered was Winn. As if on cue, Noah felt the wolf’s arms wrap around him, a weird feeling of comfort washing over him. “Hey bud,” he whispered softly, hand reaching up to intertwine into the course fur surrounding Winn’s muzzle. “Really glad you’re okay.” Because he honestly was glad that Winn was okay, relieved even. Because if Winn had… No. He wasn’t going to think about that. He didn’t need to think about that. What he really needed to think about was why in the world he was being lifted into the air?! 

“Holy shit!” Noah exclaimed, clearly not expecting Winn’s wolf to heft him up like a small child, arms and legs flailing (only slightly) out from underneath him. “Winn, what the hell,” he grunted out as he was deposited behind the dirty mime dumpster, somehow now hugging a naked man. Typical Winn Woods. Sighing, the younger man ran a hand though the dirty mop of hair now resting on his shoulder, somehow finding it hard to care too much about the awkward predicament Winn was putting him through right now. It was just nice to be hugged after all, and nice to know they were both not going to be mime dinner. “Yeah, I can find you something to wear, just give me a few seconds to breathe,” he murmured in response to Winn’s plea for clothes, not really wanting this moment to end. But all good moments did have to end sooner or later. 

As Winn pulled away from the hug, another one of Noah’s worst nightmares unfolded before his eyes. “Hello employee, and strange man hugging said employee.” The almost monotone timber and dry cadence rippled through the alleyway, sending chills rippling down Noah’s spine. Dr. Choi. Freezing on the spot, Noah gulped involuntarily, not knowing whether to jump on top of Winn (to cover his nakedness, of course) or to scramble away from him. Shit. “Noah, I’m guessing you’d like a spare pair of scrubs for your guest here, and possibly for yourself?” she continued as she raised a small, thin eyebrow eyebrow in the pair’s direction, apparently unphased by him covered in blood hugging a naked man behind a dumpster. “Uh, yes please.” Looking at Winn and then back to Dr. Choi and then back at Winn again, Noah could feel his brain start to literally malfunction. His mouth was devoid of words, incapable of forming even the smallest sentence so he just nodded instead, hoping that would be enough. “I’ll leave them on the counter next to the dog tub, then,” she replied nonchalantly before turning on her heel and walking back inside the clinic.

“Y’know,” Winn said as Noah led his naked ass into the clinic, “you’re handling my furrier half pretty well.” Hell, Noah had touched him — let Winn touch him — while in that form. Winn felt the warmth from Noah’s hand, still recent on his cheeks, and smiled like a goof. And Noah was havin’ far less of a freakout over Winn’s naked body than the other night. (Though, it likely helped that they’d both just nearly died, that everyone was sober, and that there was no morning wood afterwards this time.) The vet seemed chill in a way that Winn could appreciate… though, almost too chill? He sniffed the air, trying to smell anything odd, but all he could for his trouble was the tarry smell of the mimes. Yuck. 

Winn spotted the dog tub, making a beeline. He’d showered with a hose in the middle of nowhere before, this wasn’t all that different. Out of the corner of his eye, Winn saw Noah about to leave the room, to give him some privacy and whined. Wait, no, human form. Words. “Hey, um… Please don’t leave. I mean, don’t have to scrub my back or nothin’, but, um… Just need to make sure you’re safe. It’s a wolf thing. Kinda. And don’t you want to get a little cleaner, too, bro?” Winn winced, turning on the water and bracing himself against the cold, scrubbing at the occasional scrape that the mimes had torn into his skin, trying to make sure that, at least, the dirt was all out of it before it healed up. He reached over the edge of the tub to swipe some pup shampoo, figuring it was… mostly the same, right? “So, uh, I’m bushed,” Winn said, running his hands through his hair to get whatever remaining muck out. “But I need to borrow your phone for a sec. Mine’s back on the pavement somewhere, and there’s some shit goin’ down, and I need to make sure that everythin’ is alright? I’ll explain, promise.” Clean enough, Winn grabbed the huge towel that the good vet had left for them, knowing that he prolly smelled like a wet dog. Hot. Super great. Good thing Noah was used to the smell. 

He shook his hair out, before drying it off like, y’know, a human, and slipped into the scrubs, back turned to the tub. They were about his size, prolly a spare pair of Noah’s, though the lack of underwear didn’t do any favors for him in the, uh, cling department. Alright, first home, take Noah with him, get them both fed. Provide. Wait, no. He shushed the wolf, even as his stomach growled loudly. Miles, Ariana, and… Ulf, whoever-the-fuck-that-was, were on the case, and Winn knew he’d be next-to-useless now, as beat up as he was. He’d check in with Miles, ASAP, and be there for him and his brother. Like a good packma— Winn paused. Like a good friend. Speaking of friends, though… He turned around.��

Noah’s eyes were closed, and Winn took the opportunity to take in the sight before him for just a moment. The other man was built, he’d known that much, but Winn wasn’t prepared for the curves and edges of the other man’s body. He averted his eyes from Noah’s dangly bits, not wantin’ to be a creep, and his eyes landed on a scar on the Noah’s hip. Old, Winn could tell. From the transplant, then. He felt a flare of anger at Noah’s donor. Saving his life, but dooming him to pain, was irresponsible. Noah should’ve gotten a choice — someone should’ve given him the Bite. Winn needed to bring it up, somehow. But, for now, he threw the towel at the other man. “Dinner time,” he said, a wolfish (ha) grin on his face. “My treat. Make up for all of the, uh, nudity. Unless,” Winn added, before he could stop himself, “ya liked it, that is.” And with a wink, Winn turned around to go find his jacket and boots, and lock up his bike for the night, satisfied by the simple joy of being alive.

“Winn, I just killed a Stephen King-inspired Halloween costume version of myself with my own bare hands,” Noah huffed out, grateful that none of the other techs were poking around to watch him lead a very naked man into the backroom. “Your furry little problem is the least of mine right now.” Because yeah, the grand mindfuckery of a situation that was happening — Winn’s wolf form, as well as his dick being out (again) — was really just turning into a normal day in the life of one Noah Kalani. Well almost. The wolf thing did spark a lot of questions, but one crisis at a time. 

Turning on the faucet in the tub, Noah backed away, despite the small wolfy part of his mind screaming at him not to let his friend out of his sight. But apparently this nice human-focused gesture wasn’t needed. “It's a wolf thing.” Winn explained almost nonchalantly, and Noah hadn't even realized those were the words he had been searching for until they were hanging in the air between them. It's a wolf thing. The idea itself wasn't strange, no. Noah had been using that as an excuse for years, but it was strange to have something that usually only existed inside his own mind uttered back to him, and by someone so casually. 

Glancing over at Winn as he scrubbed himself down, Noah allowed himself a lingering glance, something about this more raw encounter different than all the other times he’d seen Winn. And maybe that was because Noah was finally truly seeing. Seeing the possibilities, as well as vulnerabilities of Winn Woods, the other man’s body in various stages of healing, and an angry bite scar maring the skin of his right hip. A small blush that colored Noah’s cheeks. Winn was actually really beautiful in his human form. But he’d also been beautiful as a wolf, that much was true. 

Pushing this new strange dichotomy out of his mind, Noah gingerly stripped off his scrubs, intent on ridding himself of any and all lingering mime. Handing Winn his phone he’d retrieved from the bench before they’d gone inside, Noah jumped into the tub that Winn had so graciously vacated, trying to make his time in the dog shower as quick as possible. Catching the towel that was thrown at him, Noah dried, giving Winn a playful eye roll as he did. “Your nudity is about as welcome to me as those mimes were,” he lied, jumping into his new pair of scrubs and following the other man out of the door with a grin. It had been a rough day but, somehow, it was starting to look better.

[streetharmacist]

Alright, I had a misunderstanding with one of those lanky clown ass looking mothers and they crawled off with my stuff. I'd like it back. You see something weird, let your pal Felix know, alright? Much appreciated.

[bountybossier]

Tu es Mon Soleil | PotW Solo

Nicodemus’s everything hurt like a son of a bitch. His head, the slash running from shoulder to hip, the curtain of blood that covered his face from the smallest cut along his hairline. He looked like a war-zone made flesh and bone, shuffling towards his hotel room like it would actually offer him some respite. The other guy? The other guy, the werewolf, was fucking dead and he wasn’t. Their organs would pay for some rich fuck’s interest. As much as he hurt and bled, he still got paid in the end, and that was enough to make ends meet. It was enough to justify existence. And the coins he gathered on the way back? The client didn’t need to know about that. That was payment he took for himself.

The hotel room was dyed red when he shoved his way in and linked it closed behind him. His heart was running raw and ragged in his chest. Any adrenaline he carried back with him faded as he looked at his unmade bed and the empty whiskey bottles beside it. Fuck. It was too late to grab some more. Slowly, painfully, his body would stitch itself back together. Add another scar. Scars didn’t mean much to him. He lived. He chased the dawn. His pockets grew heavy. Grandpa Bossier couldn’t bitch about that. Couldn’t bitch about much these days. 

No one cared to listen anymore.

The hunter heavy-footed his way to the shower and threw his ruined clothing in the direction of the black trash bag he kept for such reasons. Every day, it bulged wider than the day before. The water pressure at the traveler was fucking garbage and he knew that intimately. The water creaked and sputtered to life as he stood under it, the water frigid against his skin. The way he bled and bled others, he’d need stronger soap. He stared at the shower drain until red turned pink turned clear. Until he saw color and not just rage. He kept the shower door open as he showered, steam eventually conquering the chill as cold turned to warm turned to boiling.

He stepped out, towel around his waist, and stared into the mirror. Exhaustion tapped at his neck, his eyes, his knees. He needed to sleep. One blink. He stared into the steamed mirror, stared at the shadow of himself. Two blinks. He stared at the condensation that ran like tears, stared at the shadow of someone else. His grip tightened on the flimsy ceramic sink as he quick-turned to look behind him. No one was there. He was alone. As he expected. He turned back to the mirror. In the clear rivulets that slashed across his reflection like a mortal wound, long dark hair spread across his shoulder like blood from a bullet wound. Like someone had put their head on his shoulder.

A low hum started. A song he didn’t recognize but the universe compelled him to. A smile grew in the mirrored mist, just to the right of his jaw. His breath picked up, his heart quickened in tandem. The ceramic sink cracked under his grip.

“Who the fuck are you?”

His voice came out quieter, like a stranger in a room on a different world. It wasn’t fear that latched onto his skin. It was anger. Who the fuck decided to bother him? He held onto that thought as he stared into the mirror. The fog continued to dissipate as he huffed heavy breaths. The humming grew louder. He knew that tune. What the hell was it? His fist clenched.

Crack.

The cheap hotel mirror shattered under his hand. The glass in his knuckles didn’t phase him, nor did the rose red that colored his hand and his wrist like something victorious. Something warlike. 

“Tu es mon rayon de soleil…” A voice sang, low and distorted. An old record broken into pieces and forgotten. Nicodemus’s fist cut glass and glass cut fist. “Mon seul rayon de soleil…”

He staggered away from the mirror and shook out his hand. The mirror was gone, glass and blood swirling with the water from the ever-dripping faucet.

“This is bullshit. You’re bullshit,” he grunted, brown eyes blown black with wide pupils. He spat old blood into the sink. “Leave me be. You don’t want me. I don’t want you.”

His roar was quiet, yet guttural. Indignant. A boy made of rage and confusion’s demand. He turned away from the mirror and went to his bed. Wrapped his hand in a damp towel and threw the sheets over his body. He kept his back to the shattered mirror, to the shattered memory of something he didn’t know. In the blood dripping down the mirror, a word formed.

Mother.

A word faded into red and then to grey.

“Tu me rends heureux quand les cieux sont gris…”

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Here We Go Again || Solo

"Any fucking minute now, huh?" Kaden grumbled to his dog who insisted on making the last walk of the night as long as humanly possible. God forbid he just take a shit in any spot. No, had to find just the right one. He sighed and flipped the coin in his hand a few more times. He'd grabbed off the beach after clearing off one of the last straggling karkinoids. It made such a satisfying clink as he flipped it in the air.

Still, only so many times he could do that until it got boring. And the dog still wasn't done. Merde. He sighed again, this time putting the coin back in his coat pocket and pulling out his pack of smokes and a light. Seemed like he was going to be out here a while, might as well.

"You really shouldn't smoke so much. It'll kill you someday," a woman behind him said as he lit the cigarette and let out the first cloud of smoke.

"I don't remember asking your opin--" Hold on. She'd spoken French. And he was replying in French. Weird. His brows furrowed. Was that Evelyn? It didn't really sound like her. Couldn't be.

"Not unlike that poor performance with the camazotz the other day. What were you thinking?" she continued before he had the chance to turn and take a look at who was speaking. His heart stopped a moment and his eyes grew wide. He didn't need to turn to know that voice. Hell, he'd know that anywhere. Even though it'd been years. Now

But that was impossible.

Putain de merde, was he going crazy? Hearing the voice of his dead mother, that wasn't-- he couldn't.

Kaden shook his head and took another draw of his cigarette. "Ici, let's go, Abel." He didn't make it two steps when the voice chimed back in.

"You know better, I taught you better. Never go for the head without first taking off at least one talon or slashing a wing, it nearly sliced you in two." Kaden was ignoring whatever fucking delusion he was having. He heard that voice in his head all the time, that's all  it was. Just him manifesting his parent's teachings in his head. A little more visceral than normal, sure, but that was it.

"If I hadn't thrown that rock to distract it a second before it cut you clear through the chest, you would be dead by now but I'm not sure why I bother if you're going to insist on killing yourself with cigarettes," she continued.

"Fuck off," he mumbled around the filter in his mouth, rolling his eyes. "You and dad smoked all the time. Hypocrites, merde."

"Kaden Arthur Langely. Don't you dare walk away from me or take that tone of voice with me when I'm talking to you."

Kaden froze. Abel gave a small yelp. He must have jerked the leash when he stopped. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. But that tone, it was so-- he would never imagine that. His heart was racing a mile a minute. He didn't want to admit to himself but truth was, he was scared to look behind him. Had been the whole time. As much as he wanted this to just be in his mind, he was pretty sure Blanche's fucking ghost theory was coming back to bite him.

Deep breath. He closed his eyes a moment. Abel tugged on the leash, hunting for new places to sniff, but the hunter ignored his dog, as much as he didn't want to. He'd much rather keep on fucking walking. But he knew he had to turn and look.

When he opened his eyes, there she was. Poised, sharp, and stoic. Ice cold blue eyes, brown hair pulled back in a tidy braid, silver bullet dangling on a chain around her neck. Every part of her, every hair on her head looked exactly like the last time he'd seen her. Well, alive at least. She looked very different the last time he saw her body, mangled and torn to shreds.

"Maman?" He asked. Like he didn't fucking know.

"Don't maman me, Kaden. You know better. You're slipping on your training. No discipline, none. You're sloppy and making mistakes here left and right. You've almost died more times than I can count and if I wasn't here trying my best to protect you, you would have died a long time ago. You can't even tell the difference between a werewolf and a witch anymore. What's wrong with you?"

He felt like he was three feet tall again, just a child thrown into rings with vampires and werwolves, forced to fend for himself and meticulously critiqued after every encounter he survived. He didn't know how she could still do it. "You-- you've seen it? Protected me?" It had been a long time since he'd been that scared of her. Then again, it had been a long time since he'd spoked to her.

"Of course I have, did you think I'd leave you? Just because I died? You. Know. Better. Kaden."

He couldn't process the full weight of this conversation, his jaw just dropped open, mouth agape with nothing to say. Then he felt the tug on the leash and heard a bark. Kaden shook out of it. "You're right, I do know better. This isn't real. Can't fucking be. I'm not a medium, I can't see ghosts. Whatever the hell you are, leave me alone." He turned away from her and kept walking, Abel happy to be trotting along beside him. Finally.

"That's the only smart thing you've said all night. You're still wrong. It's me. I don't know how but I'm real and you can see me. I'm sure you have quest--"

"Bullshit," he cut her off. He wasn't going to let this thing act like it was his mother. He didn't turn back around. Not once. He stormed back to his apartment, keeping his eyes dead set ahead of him the whole time, practically dragging Abel along home. He could outrun a ghost. Fucking watch.

[cryxmercy]

Toss A Coin: Solo

Mercy really didn’t know why she was here, standing on the cliffs overlooking the sea. She wasn’t particularly upset about anything. No more than she’d been nearly a month ago when she’d reunited with Aren. Arthur, he called himself now. It suited him, she thought. As did being a teacher, a professor of history. 

Mercy smiled. He’d called her Frey. It’d been two hundred years since anyone had used her true name. She barely felt like that girl anymore. A girl she barely remembered. Sometimes she wished she’d never taken the gift of the Fury that day. Maybe then she could’ve had the life she wanted. A life with a family, children... a peaceful life. A life with Aren. 

Gods but this fucking coin was making her talk out of her fucking mind. She gripped it in her hand, tight enough that it should’ve bent any ordinary metal in half, but the coin didn’t bend or break. With a scream of frustration, Mercy threw the coin in a fit of pique. It glinted as it fell towards the ocean below and disappeared beneath the black water. 

It was night, and the moon and stars were beautiful. She missed the sky and the mountains of her childhood home in Denmark. At least that much hadn’t changed. The stars were as they’d always been. Everlasting and unchanging. Like herself. 

“I don’t need this. I don’t need hi-...” Mercy stopped short, nearly stumbling forwards as the words fell from her mouth in a rush. She blinked, and repeated the words to herself, just in case. They came exactly as called.

Closing her eyes, Mercy sighed. Whatever she’d done had broken the coin’s spell. Because that was the first real lie she’d been able to speak in a week: 

I don’t need him.

end. 

[bountybossier]

At the Mountains of F*ckyness | PotW Solo

He was sleeping. Highly unusual. Alarming, even. Time was lost to him. The walls of his room felt like liquid against his fingertips. Was he in his own head, trudging through the meat of his brain? Hiding in the trenches. Breaking through them. What day was it in his dream? Time didn’t exist there.

He was following something. He could feel himself moving. His face felt wet. Behind his eyes swirled blue and red. There was another color. One he didn’t have a name for. The vague shadow of something was ahead of him and he chased after it, feet pounding. His hands needed to grasp it, pull it back down before it got away from him. Exhaustion burned in him until he stumbled to a stop. A roar pounded in his head. With the roar came the cold. The freezing. Freezing and burning all at once.

Crimson bloomed in the center of his mind’s eye. Pain followed and he tasted blood. It followed down to his throat, right across the seam of skin. One large, wide eye stared back at him.

His eyes ripped open and he spat seawater, struggling to breathe. Right in front of him, there was a man staring up at him, wild-eyed. The man cradled his hand, the knuckles bloody. Blood poured from the hunter’s nose and he staggered back. The sea, dark and fathomless and horrifying, rocked behind the stranger. Lapped at his feet. The endless night was dead around them.

“G-Get the fuck away from me!” 

The stranger said as they grasped at their neck, dark against the rest of their pale skin. Purple bruises in the shape of Nicodemus’s hands. The hunter gasped and fell back on his ass. Half-dressed, only wearing the faded flannel shorts he’d fallen asleep in. He had fallen asleep, hadn’t he? Why the fuck…? Why was he looking at the sea, why did blood paint his front?

“Where the fuck am I?” He said when he managed to speak. “Who the fuck are you?”

“By the docks, you fucking psychopath! You followed me here from like ten streets back. Who the fuck am I?” The stranger repeated as he started to stand, panic blowing his eyes dark with large pupils. “Who the fuck are you, you fucking freak? Y-You tried to kill me! I’ll call the cops!”

Nicodemus’s senses were shot to shit but he knew, knew, that this man was human. He furiously shook his head, blood flying free from his busted nose. The seawater drank it as the tide continued to rise.

“I don’t know how I got here. I don’t even fuckin’ know you,” he said truthfully as he brought himself up onto his knees and sat back. He didn’t look at the stranger. He looked at the sea and stopped moving. Dropped his hands palms up on his thighs. His voice came out as a threatening growl. “I didn’t try to kill you. Fuck off. Leave me alone.”

The man gaped at him like a fish and when Nicodemus cut his gaze to him, he fled. His eyes fell back to sea and he took in a salty, bloody breath. How was it possible to feel both calm and panic? It felt like his chest was caving and exploding with each lungful of breath. He closed his eyes and bowed his head.

“Yar ah meaningless llll bottom ot gn'th. Ymg' goka bones. Ymg' goka gn'th'bthnk. The gn'th ephaiswallow ymg.”

[bountybossier]

The Humbling River | PotW Solo

He rolled one coin along the knuckles of his right hand. Squeezed the other against his left palm. Sea-spray matted his shirt like blood. His mother stood beside him and stared out at a strange sea. He supposed she had never seen this side of the country. Funnily enough, neither had he.

“Would you lie to me?”

His voice dragged along the chilled quiet.

“No,” she answered. “And I don’t think you’d lie to me.”

His eyes slid to the corners, black holes held in red-white. She didn’t look at him.

“I ‘spose I won’t see you again,” he muttered. “After this, maman? Got a feelin’ I won’t.”

She shrugged. He almost wanted to laugh. It was the most Bossier answer she could have given. The ocean stilled and still, salt stung his cracked lips. He stilled his hands and wiped at his face with the dirtied sleeve of his jacket. His eyes burned.

“I ‘spose you won’t,” she whispered. Her fingers glanced across the skin on the back of his hand. “You’ll have me here and I’ll have you...there. That much I know.”

It felt strange to hear her say that. This stranger in a mother’s face. She had his hair, his eyes, even the curve of his mouth. And still, he did not know her. What did he have? A memory? Was that what she was? The choice to know her had been taken away from him. Blood wasn’t thicker than the water he washed his red hands with, was it? He made ready to throw the first coin and as he reeled back, he faltered.

The hunter flipped the coin into the sky with a tink and caught it. Held it up to the moon.

“I ain’t yours,” he said. His mother’s image seemed to falter. The one he had been made in. “And I ain’t his either. I just…”

Am. 

Her white dress fluttered like a flag of surrender. Had she died in that dress? Sang to him in it? He didn’t know. She was a phantom pain. Somewhere, in the space between breaths, his teeth had cut open the inside of his cheek.

“Go get some sleep, bebe,” she said. “Please.”

Nicodemus laughed and spat blood into the sea.

“Sure, sure,” he nodded. “Y’know, might not see you again. But I reckon I’ll see him again, don’t you?”

He raised a brow as he looked at her and she looked at him.

“Is that a weight you want to carry, Nicodemus?”

He didn’t answer. Her smile was small and it faded, crumbled, slow as the tide as he tossed one coin and then the other into the sea. It felt a lot like nothing. As he walked away, the ocean ate his steps.

“Bonne nuit, maman.”

[streetharmacist]

A Hard Sell | PotW Solo

Friday nights weren’t usually spent at home. Why the heck would they be when he could get a month’s earnings in just six hours? As it turned out, Felix didn’t want to hit the clubs when he had the complete Twilight Zone on blu-ray waiting in his box. The parties would be there on Saturday and he would be at every single one of them. Until then, he’d sit on his couch and watch as humans struggled to grasp the extraterrestrial or otherworldly.

Whiskey glass in one hand and Carnegie in the other, he lounged back on his couch as the episode It’s a Good Life played. He had seen every single episode at least six times in his lifetime and even recalled the day they aired in real time. Humanity could be the worst sometimes, but Felix...Felix refused to believe that Rod Serling was human because he was too good to be. He took a hefty sip of his whiskey and stroked his salamander’s back with an idle finger. The episode ended and the screen of his wide television went dark before the next started.

In the dark, reflected in the screen, a pale face looked back. 

The fae squinted. Maybe it was something unnecessarily added to the blu-ray release. He shrugged and set his glass down on the table before he proceeded to roll a joint as fat as his thumb. To make room, he slid his small pile of coins to the side. Carnegie shifted on the back of the couch, the salamander no longer looking at the television. Instead, the salamander looked out the window. That was strange, but still, the lizard lit his joint at the fae’s prompting. Carnegie’s favorite episode was on next. The Monsters are Due on Maple Street. Felix sucked on his teeth and as the episode continued, looked between screen and lizard. The screen went darkas the episode ended.

The pale face in the dark was still there. It hadn’t moved.

Felix turned, arm around the back of the couch and eyes on the window behind him. The face from the television screen was in his window. Staring at him. He took a long hit of his joint and stood up to walk toward the window. In his own home, he didn’t feel the need to wear his glasses. The face stared at him as he slid it open.

“Hey there, friend,” Felix called out as he smiled. “Someone send you here? Kinda rude since I don’t just give out my address. Seriously, who the heck are ya? Don’t think I’m familiar with you and I’m pretty good with faces.”

The face said nothing. Felix took a bigger hit and squinted. He had started smoking after he first saw it. He knew that much.

“Alright, so...y’want something or what? It’s my night in, not really trying to sell or nothing.”

Silence. Felix huffed and pulled out his joint. Holding it between two fingers, he offered it to the...mime. The mime made no move to take a hit. Out of politeness and the sheer wonderment on whether or not this weird ass outside his second-story window would take his offer, he stepped away to roll and light a new one. Maybe that’s what it was. He finished off his glass before he returned. Liquid luck. With the joint pinched between his fingers, he lit it and handed it to the mime.

“Alright, I get it, mime law an’ all,” he laughed. “Give it a try, huh? I’m assuming that’s why you’re here. They told you I had the good stuff, right? And they were right, I guarantee it. You’ll be singing my praises in no time, bud.”

Silence. Felix was starting to bristle. He had just offered the guy his finest kush and he was getting nowhere. He wasn’t keen on abandoning a sale,  but his patience was getting tested something fierce. 

“Alright, wiseguy, I ain’t gon--What the FUCK!?” 

In a snap instant, jaws latched forward and nearly took his hand off. Instead, they latched onto the lit joint as he snapped his hand away. The mime inhaled and blew smoke before it tore away from the window, smoke billowing behind as it fucked off. Felix stared into the open dark of the window as the heat of rage flowed up in him. Smoke rose from Carnegie as fae and salamander looked at each other.

“That fuckin’ mime took my fuckin’ Green-Eyed Girl, Carnegie? Can you believe this?” He huffed in the rest of his joint and crushed it into his ashtray. “They fuckin’ owe me.”

[bountybossier]

Dormez-vous? | PotW Solo

At the rate he was going, Nicodemus was bound to rub his hands raw. Strip himself of his fingertips. His identity. It took the powers of both heaven and hell to keep him from reaching for the bottle on the uneven hotel table. His hand ghosted once, twice around it. He could hear the top spinning if he listened hard enough. Hear it over the low singing of his mother. That’s who she was, the dark-haired woman that sat on his bed in a white summer dress in cold winter. The hunter tapped against the bottle before he pulled his hand back, wound his hands tight like vices in his lap. He tore his eyes away from the wall. Looked at her finally.

The singing stopped and she looked at him. Smiled as much as someone dead could.

“You drink too much, Nico,” she said. Even speaking, she sounded like a lullaby. No part of her said Samson Bossier. She was someone else entirely. And Nicodemus was hers. That fact proved slippery, he couldn’t gain traction on it. “I wish you wouldn’t, bébé.”

He took in a ragged breath.

“And you sing too damn much.”

Nails began to bite skin.

“You used to like my singing, bébé. I wanted to help you sleep like I used to. That, I was at least good at,” she sighed. “You drink too much and sleep too little. You’re wasting away in front of me.”

Dark beneath his eyes and in his head, he laughed a bitter and wet laugh as he shook his head.

“Yeah? That what I’m doin’?”

“It’s not living. This isn’t life.” The image of her seemed to quiver with anger. Matched the shake of his own hands. “This isn’t the one I wanted for you.”

His hands stilled.

“The one you wanted for me,” he repeated, voice deathly calm. A harsh rasp. “Tell me then, huh? What was it you wanted for me? I’m doin’ fine. I’m makin’ a livin’, aren’t I”

“I tried to keep you away from this, bébé,” she said, turning as still as he did. Her fingers began to brush through her curtain of dark hair. For a long moment, she sang again and he furrowed his brow. “I ran so you wouldn’t have to know what any of it was. For you to have...normalcy. Happiness. Love. Not a knife.”

As much as he wanted to shatter the table, he didn’t. His wound hands tightened against each other hard enough that, briefly, he wondered if they would break. With a grunt, he released them and stood up. A broken sound came out of him. Shattered through something young and lost in him. Something burrowed under swamp mud and childhood scabs. He tried to hold himself together like a knife between ribs. He bled like a whisper.

“You shoulda thought about that before you died on me, maman.”

She smiled at him. Grief like lost, forgotten youth broke over him. Crashed over a rusted, near-useless gear. Broke over his warm face like cold rivers, split off and thin from where they came from. It didn’t feel like relief. It felt as distant from it as it could be. Geraldine Bossier started to sing again and when she stopped, her son took in a breath and sat back down. He didn’t reach for the bottle.

“I didn’t want to leave you. I fought with God for a long time before He took me,” she said. “I tried to stay as long as I could, bébé. I didn’t go fast. I refused to give him that gift. One last spit in his face.”

Nicodemus scrubbed his hands over his face and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. His head hurt, but at least he hadn’t needed to grab salt. The two coins he had grabbed from the beach glinted under the fluorescent hotel lighting.

“Whose face?” He couldn’t help but ask. “God?”

It was her turn to laugh. It sounded strange coming from her. For all her softness, what little memory he had of it, there was an edge to her. One she passed off to her son with blooded hands.

“No, Nicodemus, not God. Maybe he made himself that to you with me gone,” she whispered, suddenly loud in his ear. The softness was gone from her. “No. Ton grandpère. Samson.”