I sigh as the last batch of pemmican finishes cooking. What is it with these werewolves and their obsession with the stuff. I guess their metabolisms need all the energy they can get. And it's hard to pack more for volume when you've got minced meat, elk fat and blueberries. Plus they go nuts for the organic stuff. Oh well, dog treats are a small price to pay for allies in this town. The door chimes and I answer, not bothering to look around, "Hey Marcus! You must be a little early. The pack couldn't stand to wait anymore?" But I freeze when an unfamiliar voice pipes up, a chilly void of a voice, "Oh no beast girl. It seems we have the place to ourselves. Amd I am so very hungry"
Turning I see him and almost laugh. This kid looks like a Hot Topic reject, all pale skin, trench coat and too much eyeshadow. And my god the reek, grave soil and the smallest hint of putresence. I plant my hands on the counter, heart racing as I look at this kid. Now who in the hell turned him? None of the major players are dumb enough to let their spawn run wild as far as I know. And if the look is any indication he's probably reckless. Too full of certainty that he's all powerful now he's dead. I hate that my voice quivers when I pipe up, "Listen kid. I've got a pack of hungry werewolves on the way to pick up an order and staying non-partisan is how I like it here. Would you kindly take off? I'd hate to be cleaning your bits and pieces out of my restaurant"
"I'm no kid! Mouthy little were! I'm a spawn of the night. Immortal and hungry. The blood of the beast folk will make me strong. And here you are, all mine" He steps forward. Dead muscles full of that creepy grace they seem to have.
"Câlice baptême you little shit" The oath slips out of me while I hurl myself backward and change, quick as thought. Muscles snap and my muscles scream as I shift down into a rat, bolting for my panic room in the back while the goddamn corpse snarls and leaps over the counter. Why did I ever leave home? Slipping between a couple of prep tables, I squirm through a cut out in some unused piping in the kitchen, scurrying towards a little hidy hole I have ready for just such an occasion. My whiskers twitch and oh gods the stink. Corpse smell even worse in this form while I hear him clawing at the plaster, trying to dig his way at me. Shivering, I hear his nails scrape copper and gouge into the pipe I find myself in. Hurry up Marcus. I could really use a hand right now. I'd even settle for a paw. But this little creep keeps peeling away at the wall, light now shining in through shredded metal so I can hear that horrid little voice, "Come out and play little rat. I have such need of you"
And then the sound I've been waiting for. An angry barritone roar and the blast of a sawed off shotgun cuts off the little Dracula wannabe mid-creepy. He's still keening and screeching when Marcus tackles him to the floor and easily smashes a stake through his ribs, rendering the stupid corpse a lot less mobile. Impecable timing Marcus.
A few minutes later, I've managed to calm down enough to go back to human, dragging on some clothes and wandering into the dining room where Marcus has his feet kicked up on a table, sniffing appreciatively. He grunts, "Glad you're still with us Al. The pack would have me my the balls if anything happened to you and your restaurant. Where would we get our fix then?!"
Goddamn werewloves.
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Kae's House for Wayward Monsters - by kilosilvey - 01-20-2018, 05:41 PM
RE: Kae's House for Wayward Monsters - by kilosilvey - 11-28-2018, 02:41 AM