❝ 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘴 ──── ⚔

[kingstoat]

𝒮𝒸𝑜𝓉𝓉 𝒲𝑜𝑜𝒹

♂ - 29 - gay - sheriff

➳❝The sheriff stopped abruptly, almost colliding with Archer in the doorway.

Scott knew him briefly, so the alien thing wasn't that surprising, but damn it caught him off guard, in his serious mood. "I," He struggled to maintain his composure, and let out a stern cough, "I can't say that I have, but I'll...certainly consider it?"
Scott wouldn't consider it. Well, not out of simple amusement anyway. But he wasn't one to judge, his ma always said he was too polite, he didn't want to fall down an extraterrestrial rabbit hole - but as the sheriff, he needed to keep up good relationships with the townsfolk. Especially in times like this.

"I'm just stepping out to the cafe if you'd like to join. Perhaps you can explain more?" He smiled at Archer, turning to lock up the office - he was the only one working at the moment anyway. "Maybe you'll have thought of something we haven't noticed," Shrugging and putting his keys into his trouser pocket.

He may as well take a listen, it couldn't do any harm. Archer may well have seen something and just misinterpreted it for...aliens. Any information is helpful information.

❞

[འབྲོག་ཁྱི]

┌──────────────────────────┐

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│
⚜ ◦ ⤜──────→ 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 ❞𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐞❞ 𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝
──────────────────────────────────────────────────
the alpha ▪ she/her ▪ tagging August ▪ the glorious grey pick-up ▪ form ▪ wc; 655
│
│
└──────────────────────────┘

The temperate breeze of late spring felt pleasant in the increasing heat of noon, but Jackie found herself unable to settle, a buzz of restlessness holding her in a state of agitation. For a moment, she had been tempted to go for a run in the shadowy forest that stretched up the hills of the Appalachian mountains, but her rationality soon followed, reminding her about the risk of a wolf sighting and the ruthless hunt that would inevitably follow. Thus she had stayed put, and so her mind wandered. Were it possible, she would've thought of more pleasant things, but she found herself unable to think about much else than the disease - though she wasn't ill (and she thanked whatever there was to thank for that) in a way, it had also occupied every recess of her mind, making its home somewhere unreachable. When it all began, she had spent several coffee-fueled nights researching anything that had even a distant relation to the symptoms. Human illnesses, diseases affecting wolves, old werewolf tales - and though she wouldn't admit it, she had taken a look at some more or less questionable sites concerning curses. Jac didn't even enjoy the taste coffee, finding it rather foul. But after about a week of sleeping an hour a day and spending the other twenty-three reading or putting out figurative fires, she was forced to stop and relinquish the battle to Celeste. It had felt awful rolling such a burden on her shoulders, but it seemed like the healer had made more progress than she had - or at least she had some kind of clue to follow. The alpha wasn't sure exactly what that lead was, as she was lately finding herself feeling unusually awkward around the girl, and thus keeping her distance. Lewis had also proven his eagerness to help, but she would have to inquire about his findings whenever they next crossed paths.

Jac had been so absorbed in her own thoughts that she was nearly startled when a voice, which she recognized as August's, cautiously questioned whether it was a bad time to talk. Define bad. It wasn't often that a werewolf was caught off guard, which was the mixed blessing of lupine senses. Still, she had somehow managed to walk across the backyard without noticing the man's presence in the slightest. One could only blame such on several subsequent nights of restless tossing. Though the alpha was on fairly familiar terms with August, a certain rigidity, or air of discipline, returned to her demeanor under his gaze. But regardless of how much she tried, no amount of posture could hide all the signs of her strained mental state. After a quick assessing glance at August, her eyes returned to observe the treeline of the thick forest that circled their home. She gave a short nod of approval, not really desiring company, but neither feeling like driving away someone willing to talk to her after witnessing her outburst - or the end of it. Maybe a relaxed conversation was exactly what she needed? They hadn't come even close to agreeing when it came to the cause of the disease, as Auggie was more bent on divine intervention. However, to retain some of her sanity, Jackie needed to believe in a virus; something that was tangible and - most importantly - curable. She was worried that the conversation would drift back to that same old argument once again, and possibly strain her already thinly stretched nerves.

With an attempt at a polite smile, she finally opened her mouth. "As long as this isn't about the disease," she quipped, trying to sound light-hearted - however, one might argue that it wasn't one of the strong suits of Jacqueline Redwood, established bearer of the poker face. Shifting slightly, she made room next to the beaten grey pick-up in case he wanted to join her in dejectedly leaning against the vehicle and staring into the woods.

[bohdi]

➛ 𝐥𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐰
──────────────────────────────────
the beta location ➛ the lodge, some alleyway. tags ➛ benjamin

He watched Jackie storm through the lodge from where he sat on the counter in the kitchen, eating an apple with a knife. Lewis took a deep breath and let it out slowly, through clenched teeth and around apple bits. In the weeks since the Reed murder, the atmosphere of the pack’s lodge had grown heavier every day and you could cut the air with a knife. The pack hadn’t heard anything from the team investigating the murder directly, nothing but the coverage in the paper and the gossip around town. Some folks thought a cougar had come down from the mountains, others feared for their kids’ safety during school hours if such a creature had prowled into the town limits. Whispers of rabid dogs, or a bear. He finished his snack, dropping the knife with a clang and headed to his room. He felt he should talk to Jackie, but had other pressing matters to attend to. Lewis was had to go deal with a flea.

A human had confronted him a few days ago with very real suspicions of werewolves gallivanting in the woods. Benjamin had cornered him the general store, demanding that they could have a word in private. Lewis had reluctantly agreed, both apprehensive and curious to find out what this man had to say. A knot grew in his stomach as he listened to Benjamin talk, settling heavier and heavier as the man sitting across the table from him listed reason after reason for believing werewolves were behind Ginny Reed’s death. He had listened quietly, shifting grocery bags from hand to hand. It had been an extremely uncomfortable situation, yet he had to remain aloof, uncertain and he had to try to convince Benjamin that it was an animal attack. A non-supernatural animal. “I think you have watched Twilight way too much. This is ridiculous. Werewolves? My god, maybe you’ll think it’s aliens next. This isn’t a science fiction, Mr. Kipling. I think you’ve wasted my time here.”

Lewis realized when he had gotten home that day, that what he said could be even more of a confirmation than if he had remained silent. He shrugged on a light jacket, some boots and headed out of the cabin. Benjamin, ever persistent, had slipped a jagged piece of paper in his grocery bag; his number. He sent the theorist a text, telling him to meet at the same spot where the original affair had taken place. Their conversation had been scratching on him since, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that Benjamin could help in some way. He had to give credit to Celeste, but their healer had not found anything that was proving advantageous towards this disease. He was at a loss and was ready to accept help from anyone.

It took him awhile to get to the spot, some hidden crate pile behind the general store. He brushed some dirt and leaves off, and sat cross-legged to wait. He crossed his arms, back against the store wall, and he was convinced someone would say he looked like a glowering braided bun. Thinking about what he would say to Benjamin, Lewis wrinkled his nose at the understanding that he would have to give up a little bit of the secret. Perhaps he could fib the pack numbers, maybe confirm that only he and Anders were in town. No, no, that would not be believable. If he knew about the wolves here, Benjamin would have to know about the lodge and the history. There was no denying that.

“It's about time.” He grumbled, watching Benjamin approach up the alley. He unfolded his legs, his feet touching the pavement. He stopped fidgeting his hands and cupped his knees. He took his second deep breath of the day, he could tell it would be a long one. “You cannot breathe a word about these conversations to anyone else, you hear me?” Jackie was going to have his head.

[AquilaFuga]

ＢＥＮＪＡＭＩＮ ⌺ ＫＩＰＬＩＮＧ
▶Age: Twenty Six || Species: Human || Role: The Aware || Location: Bedroom, Alleyway || Tags: Lewis

▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪

Clicking on another thread, he let out a sigh. It'd been a long night filled with an abundance of terrible sources and very little good information. He'd filed the bad information just in case there was some truth to it, but the good information was put into a folder that he'd look over again. He'd expand on that information later and see if there were more sources that could shed some more light on it. Benjamin took his bleary eyes off the screen and rubbed his face. With a massive headache pounding away and no Monster keeping him from passing out, he stood up and surveyed his room. There were books strewn across the floor and bed. His backboard was filled with post-it notes, papers, and string. It was basically Anderson's breakdown all over again. He needed a shower, badly. Grabbing a towel, his phone, and some sweats, he headed into the bathroom. A few songs and good scrub later, he was ready to sleep. The throbbing in his head was threatening to floor him. A trip to the hospital because of a head injury from falling would be expensive. Time for a nap then. His work was automatically saved, so he could just hit the hay and pass out. Ben popped in an Advil with some water, because dry-swallowing was worse than death.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, the phone let out a cheerful ping. This close. He was this close to crying. Picking it up and peeking one eye open, he saw it was from Lewis. Freaking Twilight guy. He wasn't crazy, honest to gods. And Twilight was such a freaking mess, he wouldn't touch it with a 10-foot pole. Werewolves wasn't science fiction either, they were fantasy. Well, unless they were created by some crazy scientist, he huffed angrily. He contemplated ignoring Lewis in favor of taking a much needed nap. Curiosity punched him in the gut though, and he was dragging himself to his drawers before he knew it. Pulling on a hoodie, he grit his teeth against the pounding of his still present migraine. He chugged a bottle of water before heading out. As he was walking, Benjamin wondered if Lewis was here to make fun of him again or take him out so no one knew. Maybe he'd die today. That'd be pretty sucky he supposed, at least he wouldn't have to pay taxes anymore.

Breathing in deeply and clenching his fists, he walked into the alleyway. Lewis was sitting criss cross apple sauce, his lip quirking up slightly in amusement before quickly becoming a frown at what Lewis said. "Don't, about time, me, I've been busy. I've been researching since the only thing you'll give me is insults. Guess I'm not the only lunatic since you texted me back." He searched Lewis' expression for any sign that he was going to josh him. Satisfied that he was seemingly serious, he nodded. "Alright, I promise. I don't do promises lightly so you'd better be telling the truth." He pulled up his phone, wincing slightly at the light as his head gave a painful throb. A big reminder that he still had a migraine. His research was conveniently on his google drive and if anyone in the government was looking at it. Well, he could just say it was for writing. Not like there weren't a bajillion other things that writers have searched for that wasn't weird.

Now that he was standing here in front of Lewis, who might actually answer his questions this time. It was awkward, and exciting, and nerve-wracking. All these emotions just welled up. Hundreds of questions buzzed and swirled in his head, and yet it was a struggle to get anything out. Taking a breath, "I know hiding is important and you probably have a whole set of rules you're breaking. But I have to know. Are werewolves real and are you one of them? Grimacing at how straight forward that question was and the throbbing of his head, he rocked back and forth on his feet.

[sun]

‘ 𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍.
human, twenty-eightx─xtagged: celeste, open
x



xxxxxxA thousand taps against the pitch-black mahogany. They are getting louder and faster, yet not determined enough to penetrate the surface. On the background there’s the nerve-wrecking sounds of the fortunate ones, bathing in the sunlight, spinning their shallow inquiries around the needle of vanity, only to produce a shawl they can so effortlessly hide behind and feel important for the next couple days. Then when it’s all worn out, they throw it away like it never meant anything in the first place and start all over again. It was far too familiar, the acting; trying to please everyone and their distant relatives. But something was wrong. They were smiling, laughing, all as if it was just another peaceful day. The taps transform into scratches; nails grinding on the wood until they meet with the shivering palms. How could this be happening? Please tell them to stop. Please. Please. Quiet, panicked huffs escape through the nostrils.

xxxxxxIcy blue eyes gaze upon the people lining up behind the counter, tired yet wide open, piercing right through them with little regard to their snarky comments about the frivolous matters.

xxxxxx“What is he doing here?”
“Oh, but he looks so pale; do you suppose they gave him enough time to recover?”

xxxxxxLike they were truly concerned. One after another they just yell their order, pay up and leave, and come back the very next day. A messed up ritual, really. You got the same disgusting result with the stuff from the general store for less than half the price. But no - even at times like these they still devoted the bare minimum thirty minutes of their lives specifically to get their claws on another cup of venom. Good for nothing, stuck up porcupines. The hands are shaking tremendously now. Thoughts are covered with dark, sticky, tar-like matter, dripping down and slowly filling the lungs, making it harder to breathe. But then there is a gentle voice; a greeting laced with such politeness. And for the while, the anxiety seems to disintegrate.

xxxxxx“Ah - the usual then, Miss Celeste?” the shadow of a man responding to the name ‘Frances’ attempts to confirm, his voice coming out in monotone and thus unfavorable, almost immediately followed by: “Just a second.” Usually there would’ve been a joke there somewhere – sometimes subtle, sometimes bold, sometimes something even as wild as ‘this ain’t Starbucks ma’am’ - accompanied with a sweet smile and even sweeter eyes. They were lacking today.

xxxxxxNot a second is wasted, and just like that the drink begins to mix up. Bony fingers and bitter condiments. Followed by a very delicate pattern that for some reason was required to achieve the maximum level of supposed tastiness. Either way, it had grown into a routine at this point, and so before you knew it, the brunette laid down a vaporing cup on the counter, his emotionless stare seeking out the customer’s reception.

xxxxxx“Was there anything else, or are we good?” It was a mandatory question, part of the program. You were supposed to create the illusion of hospitality even if you didn’t particularly care for the customer, but Celeste? The difficulty of hiding your innermost demons was on a whole new level with her around. She came here almost every day and always worked just as hard. She had seen a lot. If Fran were to guess, then he’d say she was a detective of some kind. Strange place to set up an office, the café, but so far it had worked quite magnificently for her considering she always came back. Perhaps he could ask her- no, but what if he was wrong? Fran shakes off the thought and leans against the counter, letting his eyes drop down. The burden was his alone to carry.
x
x

[braunkatt]

──x 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐋

the believer ۰ location: the glorious gray pickup ۰ tagged: jacqueline

xxx"as long as it's not about the disease," she quipped, august's dark eyes wholly rapt in response; the forsaken topic. his lips crept into a dumbfounded smile, uttering a low "no," but shortly followed with a chortle. "i just came to talk. you seem out of sorts." august confided, watching the alpha shuffle a spot for him. he flashed an eyebrow raise before joining jacqueline on the side of her truck, not wasting a second with hesitation. glancing over to the alpha more once, his mind drifted back to the disease...er...curse. he was unfortunately aware of the tensions between pack members, some more than others. it did not help his case or the fate of his reliability when it came to his beliefs. august wasn't one to shove ideology down one's throat, but instead, take a diplomatic approach to it. if somebody questioned his beliefs, he'd preach but wouldn't persuade someone. it was like beating a dead horse when it came to trying to sway the possibility in the pack's brains. but on the other hand, it seemed ill─fated to discuss the disease or curse at this point in time. everybody was exhausted emotionally or even physically to some.

"you have this in the bag," august's hazel gaze was fixated on the ground, he shoved his hands into the abyss of his coat pockets. his intention was to uplift jacqueline. as a member of the pack, it was his duty to assure everybody was doing decent. "the differing tensions in the pack can't be good for you." the empath in him wanted to leap out and tell the poor alpha that everything would be okay in the end. august could easily sense the tensions in the air, the energy in the lodge shifted after the first member was quarantined, then it only spiraled downward from there. he had several other accounts too, though the most respectable is an elder...he can't help but go with what he truly believes.

though august had toyed around with the idea of it being a disease for the longest time, divine intervention and reincarnation seemed to be most appealing to the man. his family taught him from the beginning to never forget your ancestor's roots...and what not. august took it to heart and still lives by it. it was immensely difficult for august to see the other side, though a pacifist by heart ─ and a sagittarius, this simply was not something to be debated for the man.

resuming back to the present moment, the gaping silence between the two relaxed the believer. "but hey, but you still do it." the man's face turned mellow, glazing over the stretch of trees behind the lodge. his body contorted and rested an arm on the side of the truck, and began to admire the forestry that surrounded the property. "are you holding up okay?"

[bohdi]

➛ 𝐥𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐰
──────────────────────────────────
the beta location ➛ some alleyway. tags ➛ benjamin

“Hey, hey. You’re the one that needs information, don’t call me a lunatic.” Lewis pointed a rigid finger in Benjamin's direction, a deep set frown making his face it's home. “Don’t be difficult with me or I’ll just leave.” That was a total lie, he knew if he left, Benjamin would just follow him, a thorn in his side until he got what he wanted. He picked at a small sliver of wood coming off his crate chair, listening to the other man speak with eager attention. Sure, it was not ideal that this interaction was taking place. The elders and Jackie would each have their turn wringing his neck. He kicked himself for not coming up with a partial lie to tell this Benji guy that would let him know as little as possible about the wolves of Red Pine Valley, but still enough information that he wouldn’t think it was a lie. Anders was definitely going to come up in the conversation, Benjamin probably started his digging around with the Reed death. He nodded to himself, starting to drift to his thoughts. It’s not believable if he tried to spin a tale that he was also looking at wolves as the cause of death, so he would have to admit to being a supernatural beast that could know of the existence of others.

Lewis turned his gaze from the wood sliver in his hand to the rocking man in front of him at the sound of the two questions he still didn’t know how to answer. Dropping the sliver, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, fixing Benjamin with the best narrowed eyed glare he could muster and pursed his lips. “We exist. Whatever information you gathered from your ‘research’,” he air-quoted the word, “most likely riddled with lies, Banjo.” The internet did nothing good for these kinds of questions; blurred pictures on conspiracy websites, tips from the 1500s, stories from farmers that saw a large coyote. All garbage. The worthlessness of the information on the web played into the reason why he couldn’t find anything useful on this disease that was ravaging the members.

“How’d you get to this point, huh?” He was very much interested in how Benjamin came to the conclusion that werewolves had to be involved. It didn't seem like something that would just occur to a normal person. He relaxed a little bit, letting his shoulder drop as he resumed his cross-legged sitting. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, rubbing the back of his neck in apprehension. “Telling you this stuff could get me in a lot of trouble and I’m risking my position by being here. I can tell you what I can, but it’s not much.” He wanted this to work, in whatever way that it could, but he felt like they were both grasping at straws.

[sneezes]

⸺⸺⸺

ＹＯＵ ＦＡＬＬ
ＩＮ Ｖ Ａ Ｉ Ｎ

█
█

𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚘 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢,
smriti / the rebel / lodge / jackie (ment.) maggie
991 words

his death
is the sign
we await!
It had only been three or four days (already losing track of time, Rits? Sad.) since she'd listened to the rules of being quarantined and hadn’t wandered off, yet still she could hardly handle herself. It was as though she was trapped in some self-proclaimed cage when she knew there was a way out, could see it right in front of her. All because of some... some illness or whatever. All because that damned old fool couldn’t keep his jaw shut — probably some early case of senility and not some actual curse – no, the curse was what the rest of them gained in retribution.

Their alpha was looking for a cure, hunting as desperately as she claimed. A cure for an illness that may not exist, for a curse that may not have one. And in that meantime they were forced to stay where they were, to freeze their lives as though they had the option to do so. Dwindle, acquiesce to her rules despite her having no idea what she was doing – no idea what she was asking. What if there wasn’t a cure? What if there was no way to avoid this?

There’s a derisive voice that continued to linger, always quietly reminding her that they would have hardly a better option than to die in the end, living in the box they called a home, a quarantine meant for them alone. Better them than having them kill the humans after all. Better at keeping the humans than their own kind of course. In the long run, wolves who couldn’t control themselves… were just animals in the end. And like any other animal, humans had the assumed right to take away whatever they wanted, to keep only when it was admirable to do so, when there was gain to be had of doing so. When there wasn’t threat pressed against their necks.

And they were no different. The quarantined were just animals, treated like such. In attempting to prevent the possible, they created a chasm of impossibility – a separation between two things as though that would fix the problem. Picking the humans as if the humans would have done so in an opposing situation. As if there was a ‘cure’, as if something could ‘fix them’. As if keeping them locked up would do anything in the long run. Just beasts, given any moment to snap and murder someone. Monsters like in the storybooks, maybe – the ones she had read as a child, ironic when she compared them to the people around her. Worthless as she looked at them now.

Maybe that was how it was meant to be. After all, they weren’t even natural beings. Some conglomeration of a wolf and a human – where their loyalties would lay was the deciding point in who took their side. And it was fairly obvious whose side their own leader took.

Perhaps it was unfair to pin the blame entirely on her. The pack was meant to be like a family – and for the longest time it was her family. The people she came to care about even before this illness – or curse – had come into play. People she grew up with, grew up around. People who didn’t treat her like a threat at the time.

But times changed as the situation was exacerbated, delving into choices and options and decisions and ultimatums. What was once the people she came to trust ended up being the ones to prevent her from freedom. The ones who built those bars around her in efforts to ‘keep everyone safe’, as though they couldn’t and didn’t have that trust in her that she had previously carried within them.

Perhaps that wasn’t fair to say either. All it ended up boiling down to was her uncertainty, her inability to ascertain what was truly going on and who was truly at the root of the problem – a problem she couldn’t hope to solve on her own but did she even—…

Dark eyes turn attention towards the familiar girl, brows drawn as she takes in her appearance. There’s a familiar lurch in her heart that she now came to attribute to Magnolia, and filling the void was the same lingering distaste that bled into her mouth.

Despite her having claimed her recovery, it couldn’t be said that Magnolia sounded well. Only a further discovery into what would await them as they continued on, all because of some stupid curse or what-have-you. Still, just as always, Rits listened.

She didn’t stop the scoff that left her lips at the idea. “Right, we should just lay low.” She bites, nails digging slightly into the flesh of her arm as she crosses them. “Because it’s entirely just trouble that we even exist, much less have the choice to get out of here at all! We can’t even do anything, we’re just supposed to sit here and let whatever this is get rid of us in time, aren’t we? Who even knows if they can fix it! For all we know, we’re just wasting the rest of our short lives sitting here.”

Rits winces internally at the bad timing of her words, trying to discreetly check over Magnolia again. She wasn't in good shape, but that wasn't her fault. It wasn't really anyone's fault. "I'm sorry." She murmurs, glancing away. "That's not fair of me, but you can't be alright with just waiting here for them to try and figure something out, can you?" She throws her hand out vaguely, expression near pleading for Magnolia to understand. "There's that whole world out there and we're stuck here because of something we don't even understand! We aren't even human anymore, Maggie, we're wolves so why do we have to care about these stupid rules? Who cares?"

And it wasn't Magnolia's fault. She knew that. "You just got better and you're still stuck here."

[འབྲོག་ཁྱི]

┌──────────────────────────┐

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│
⚜ ◦ ⤜──────→ 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 ❞𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐞❞ 𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝
──────────────────────────────────────────────────
the alpha ▪ she/her ▪ tagging August ▪ the glorious grey pick-up ▪ form ▪ wc; 602
│
│
└──────────────────────────┘

Jac hummed a little at August's comment, neither in disagreement nor agreement, but acknowledgement. We're all out of sorts these days. As the man stirred to join her beside the vehicle, her eyes remained on the gloomy treeline. The sight felt comforting at times, some kind of primordial desire to be among nature. The urge to go running returned, but she stifled it, just as she had stifled perhaps a few too many emotions during the last few weeks. They were bound to catch up to her one day, and most likely with vengeance.

Jackie was certain that his comment about her 'having it in the bag' was meant to be comforting, but it unfortunately wasn't - it was merely a reminder of how far away from 'having it in the bag' they were, but she didn't hold the attempt at reassurance against him. It was well-meaning, and thus silently appreciated. A barely perceptible smile tugged at the corner of her lip as he got to the topic of the unnerving tension in their shared home: "It isn't good for anyone," she remarked, briefly glancing at the taller man with a hint of familiarity in her gaze. However, her expression turned serious as she continued. "It seems like somebody is bound to snap." After they left her lips, she immediately regretted the words, just a little. It felt as if the worst was bound to happen when she acknowledged the possibility. Jac wasn't superstitious by any measure, but there was always a certain strangeness in the air when one happened to be a werewolf - it itself a seeming impossibility, but true nonetheless.

Are you holding up okay? The inquiry struck her as slightly uncomfortable, she had never been fond of the "touchy-feely" things. And what could she really say? The truth - her utter exhaustion - would merely trouble the considerate man, and she didn't want to burden anyone any further than they already were. She knew that talking would likely make her feel better, holding it all in was slowly killing her. But would she only be rolling the burden onto someone else's shoulders? "As you said, I am still standing, still going. Which is more than can be said for some." Though she was evading the core of the question, it was all said genuinely. They had lost several older members of the pack, who were now buried near the lodge, not far into the woods - a peaceful little clearing, where the rest could have a chance to mourn. It might not have seemed like it outwardly, but each death felt like something was ripped from her. It was possible that the others were feeling it too.

"But we still have those who are alive and suffering. Finding a way to help them is all that matters now." Jackie was breaking her own rule of no disease-talk, but it couldn't really be helped. Everything seemed to have slowly twisted together with the illness. There were no longer feelings and the disease, merely feelings about the disease. 'How are you?' meant 'how are you dealing with the loss of loved ones and the looming demise of the only family you have ever known.'

"I'm going to have to call for an assembly soon, figure out where we stand." Her arms were crossed against her chest, the fingers gripping flesh perhaps a bit too tightly. She wasn't too convinced herself about what she said next, but it felt like she needed to say it. If not to ease August's mind, then her own: "Someone must have found something useful. If not the solution, then a clue."

[meadow.]

𝙼𝚊𝚐𝚗𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚊 𝙴𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑
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𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 x𝚜𝚑𝚎/𝚑𝚎𝚛 x𝚜𝚖𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒x 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚍𝚐𝚎


Maggie waited with measured patience for Rits to finish speaking. Internally, she was begging,spare me all of this. She didn’t have the energy to argue her case with any fluency. Honestly, she would’ve loved to sneak off to the cafe at a time like this, but instead she planted herself beside a window and watched the back of Jackie and August’s heads on the other side of the big grey truck.

"I get it," She said, once Rits had finished speaking. "It's hard to be told what to do, and it sucks that we're stuck here, but I just don't want to get in trouble." Maggie paused, examining a sizable chip on one finger of her otherwise pristine manicure. She grit her teeth in a reaction to this unexpected annoyance and took in a slow deep breath before going on. "I don't want Jackie or anybody else to yell at me, especially after what we heard this morning. I'm so not in the mood. I don't have the energy for a lecture. Besides, I'm feeling better, but I still don't feel well." She tried to avoid whining as a rule, but the pitch of her voice certainly shifted up a notch as she squirmed in her seat. "I'm worn out, Rits, aren't you?"

The woods outside were calling to her in the way that they did only when she couldn't go out into them. Any other day she wouldn't spare a fleeting thought for the old-growth forest, but lately all she wanted was to stretch out into her other form and hide in the dark shadows cast by the thick canopy of leaves. It would feel so good to get away from everything, but then there was the risk that she would lose control. Maybe the next Ginny Reed would be her fault. That was a risk she wasn't willing to take, so she was stuck in the lodge.

Maggie wasn't used to expressing herself with feelings like these, but it was weighing on her, and it was heavy. She pressed one hand to the hollow of her throat in a simple nervous gesture, then rubbed across an old scar on her collarbone. "I just don't--" She stopped, bit her tongue, then shook her head. "Nevermind."

Maggie'd never thought of herself as a killer. Sure, maybe she was the person who got called on to kill the spiders in the bathroom, but that was just because she wasn't scared of much. Or at least, that used to be the case. Her life had become a twisted version of those "No Fears / One Fear" memes, as she went from feeling invincible to feeling terribly fragile and mortal within the span of a couple of weeks.

People who had gotten sick just before she had were already dead, and she saw what they were like before they went. She knew she had a couple more weeks left at most before she was dangerous. If there wasn't a cure by then, Magnolia didn't know what she'd do. Things weren't looking good, unless there was some big huge development from the last three days she'd missed.

Suddenly she was feeling extremely claustrophobic. She stood up, still nervously rubbing her hand across her throat. Her eyes scanned the room around her, searching for exists. If Rits had been talking while she was lost in thought, Maggie hadn't heard a word she said. "You know what, maybe you're right. We should go. We should--" She stopped as her breath caught in her throat, and she swallowed hard before sitting down again and holding her head in her hands. "Could we at least open a window or something?"

𝙰𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙶𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗𝚎
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𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 x𝚑𝚎/𝚑𝚒𝚖 x𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚏 𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍, 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗x 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚏𝚎


Archer was very grateful to have an audience. Everybody else in town had probably heard this story so many times, they could tell it themselves. He straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat.

"It was Christmas Eve. I was taking the garbage cans out to the curb for my dad, and as I'm pulling the last bin up, I see it." He illustrated vividly with his hands, reaching out, balling his hands into fists, and then pulling them in towards his body to mimic the action of pulling the trash can up to the curb, then stopping in his tracks and holding his hands up towards the sky. "Streaking across the sky, a blue and white light with a tail like a comet. It pulses once!" He held up one finger. "Twice!" A second finger in a "peace" sign. "Then a third time, and disappears from sight in a shower of sparks." His hands pushed apart, fingers twinkling down to rest at his sides again. "Ever since then I've known in my heart of hearts that some of the inhabitants of this town are not from this world. They look just like you and me, sir, you'd never know they were different until you looked at their genetic code."

Yes, he sounded crazy. He might've been one pulsing-light short of lining his snapback cap in tin-foil, but he was sincere, and rational in all other instances. He was an upstanding citizen, and most people simply ignored this little quirk he possessed.

He clasped his hand behind his back as he walked alongside the sheriff. "I've never wanted to belive that they were violent in the past. I always thought there were just here to learn about us humans, and that's okay. But if I were you, sir, I'd start gathering samples from everyone in town. Blood, or hair, whatever. Send it to one of those fancy government scientists, like, uh, Area 51. Area 51? Do you have that kind of clearance, or? Can you uh, access that at all?" His confidence faltered when he came up against the fact that he really didn't know much about the subject he claimed to have so much experience in.

"I'll tell you what, sheriff, I could just be spouting nonsense, I really wouldn't know. I just knew that if I never said anything at all I'd have a lot of trouble sleeping at night." He fidgeted nervously as he awaited a response from the sheriff, biting down hard on his tongue to keep from saying any more. The tendency when Archer was uncomfortable was just to keep on talking, but in this case he was only talking himself into a deeper and deeper hole.

Even if the sheriff dismissed his claims outright, as he was likely to, Archer was glad he'd spoken up. If even a small part of his story ended up being useful, he'd be glad.