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Having just decided to place a modicum of trust in Jackson a mere moment ago, the group did not yet have confidence enough to reveal the route to their super-secret hide away to him. They offered him a potato sack to cover his head mafia style, doused in stale coffee remains and murky, oil laden rain water to mask the scent along with his vision. They sought his blind trust and he aimed to give it to them. However, this did nothing to bury the sounds around him as he was surreptitiously steered to their destination by Matteo’s steady hand. Jackson had grown quite sensitive to picking up auditory ques from playing wolfish games with his mother. He opted not to mention this, it's not like he knew his way around the city anyway.
When Matteo finally released Jackson’s jacket cuff, he slowly raised the bag up and allowed himself a moment for his eyes to adjust. The building they were in was a study in functionalism; a rejection of ornament. Like prairie style architecture had a one night stand with American colonialism in a steel factory that had sat unused for 20 years. He was standing at the start of a long, straight corridor with rooms sprouting from each side. It was oddly reassuring in a way he couldn’t quite understand. Later he’d realize it was a sense of familiarity. The building was, after all, an abandoned schoolhouse.
Jackson shook out his mop of hair violently like a wet dog before looking to Cade who without word led them all into one of the rooms to their immediate left. It was open and unfurnished, save for the odd chair or two living in the corners. Jackson stuck close to Matteo, who seemed unfazed as he took a seat on the ground near the front of the room at Cade’s feet with the rest of the recruits. They crossed their legs like carefree children, and Jackson safely nestled his mug in the crook of his lap.
Others filed into the room shortly after them, coming from seemingly nowhere, though how they knew to be there at all was a mystery. Soon the few he had already met were outnumbered by scores of older and more experienced strangers. Several sets of their luminous eyes remained on Jackson, likely wondering what some wind-beaten farm boy who looked like he'd been dug out of the sod was doing here.
Jackson’s body was suddenly inhabited by an indescribable energy that most only glace at during life-changing nervous breakdowns in middle school. Cade cleared his throat to speak and every wolf paid him obeisance.
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River floated in and out of her atelier all morning, visiting the kitchen to top off or reheat her coffee as the need arose. The soft humming of the servers accompanied by the faint padding of bare feet across the hardwood floor was comforting. She was enjoying the rare, quiet moment bathed in the cool glow of the monitors. Most days, the neighborhood was alive with obstreperous beasts who wouldn't know peace and quiet if they were smacked over the head with it. Hard. Today was the odd exception.
She took a long sip from the steaming cup cradled in both of her hands, propping herself up against the door frame with a well-placed shoulder. Her connection here within the confines of the ghetto walls was...well it sucked. She was tapping into the power from her neighbor's neglected line and still it would be another millennia before the download was finished.
River was considered an odd wolf by most. Quiet, thoughtful, intellectual. Though, she has razor blades for teeth when provoked.
It wasn't that werewolves as whole lacked intelligence. On the contrary, knowledge was usually a by product of time which they had plenty of since they were - in essence - ageless. It was technology that they were at odds with. Their whole lives were regulated by passes and chips, things unseen. Computer sciences was somewhat like religion to them in that it was summed up as something they didn't understand and feared. If only they saw the artistry of it. River's workshop was no cathedral, but to her it was just as beautiful...no, more so. It was a chancel for change, a doorway to freedom for a fortunate few.
A mongrel with no natural place to belong to had found a small corner in her world where she could be useful, wanted, and appreciated. Praetor Lupus needed someone like her, and that made her invaluable. She took another sip. Not that anyone knew she was a mongrel, that was her little secret. Mongrels didn't last long in ghetto Harlow.
Just then, no sooner than the notion to check her progress had occurred, some creature could be heard blundering about outside her place. Her head snapped in the direction of her blinded window. It was more than likely nothing, a sound only marked as odd or significant because of the unusual lack of noise, but her work made her paranoid and for good reason. Were she ever caught...She idled close, pulling a single blind down to peer out into the yard. The aberration met her gaze and River leapt back in surprise. What the fuck?! This was no unruly child crossing fenced barriers like they were lines on a hopscotch court. She hovered in place for a second too long, unsure if she should abandon her work altogether and scurry out the back. The creature decided for her.
A hard knock sounded at her front door and nearly made River jump out of her own skin. She clutched her drink a little too firmly as a growl rattled underneath her breath. Patrolmen? Couldn't be...who would be ballsy enough to tip them off and risk the ire of the rebellion? River stealthily sidled up to the front entrance, resting the mug on the nearby entry way table before peering through the peephole to get a better look at him. A man about her age, or appearing to be anyways, stood before her. He looked innocuous enough, and was not any official she recognized. It was too difficult to scent whether he was human or beast through the door. She cast a furtive glance back to her atelier before she made up her mind.
She deftly turned over about a hundred locks before she wretched the door open, straining the chain that kept it from opening more than an inch or two. Her body blocked the view of the inside of her place.
"What do you want." It sounded less like a question and more like an accusation the way she hurled it at him.
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All John had steeled himself for upon entering that lone diner was a badly burnt cup of coffee. He hadn't anticipated the pair of startled, wide eyes that greeted him, like deer in his headlights. He hovered in the doorway for a breath of a moment before carefully edging his way in.
"Ladies," he intoned calmly by way of greeting.
Inside Debbie’s mind, thoughts turned busily, as they always did. Where Lauren may have seen a problem, Debbie saw only a solution. She took a step back from Lauren with only a brief squeeze of the hand in parting, and smoothed out the front of her waist apron.
"Oh great Heaven's, Officer Griner! You 'bout scared us half to death comin' in here like that!" She scolded lightheartedly, brushing away the awkwardness of the scene with skilled ease.
He eked out a tentative chuckle, though it sounded empty.
Debbie continued. "Can I get you something, what with you being a paying customer and all. You'll have to forgive me, it's been so long that we forgot what one looks like!"
At this, his resounding chuff sounded a tinge more mirthful than the last.
"A cup of your finest coffee would be more than welcome, thank yah ma'am." he replied in his warm drawl as Debbie made her way over to the ancient coffee pot that should have been put out to pasture years ago, knowing damn well there was nothing fine about her coffee.
John wound his way over to the waitress still seated in the booth who had yet to meet his gaze.
"Karen...do you mind if I slide on in here? I understand if you're wanting to be alone, I know I'd just enjoy the company, myself." He posed hesitantly, not wanting to provoke a sharp response from her given the state she appeared to be in.
Debbie snappishly replied for her from the distance. "Of course not, she don't mind, do you Honey?" She shot daggers at Lauren as if to say, 'Just follow my lead.' Lauren was helpless to it.
As soon as Debbie turned her back, John leaned in, conspiratorial. "You don't have to listen to her, you know. She scares the Dicken's out of me, but I doubt she'd hold it against you." He offered her a disarming smile from across the table.
Lauren smiled easily through her red eyes though it disappeared as quickly as it came. She cleared her throat and straightened her back up.
"You're out late, I thought you didn't work nights anymore." she said, fidgeting with the napkin in her hand distractedly. It was more close to a yes than a no to his company, and a weak diversion from her obvious distress.
He shrugged casually before slinging his arm over the back of the booth.
"Joys of being the boss I suppose. We've been short staffed ever since Tony took off with that girl from Oklahoma." John smiled and hummed at the thought, like he didn't so much mind since it was in the favor of young love.
The light within his eyes suddenly shifted as his tone grew more somber. "You're out pretty late, too. I didn't think you were on the schedule tonight?" He was remiss to admit he knew her schedule so well. When she didn't immediately respond, he shook his head, brushing her off.
"Don't worry about it, you ain't gotta tell me nothing. I don't mean to pry. I just wanted to make sure you're okay. I'd hate to hear anybody had done something to yah..." His jaw clenched. "If you ever need something from me, no questions asked, you just let me know. Okay?"
RPG
