He hadn't really thought about it, the first time he'd done it. He'd been hungry, and he'd needed something to eat and hadn't been able to catch anything the old fashioned way. So he stole it, in the middle of the night, sneaking through the back door of a deli that had been left open during a cigarette break
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She was a mother fucking sap and it was going to get her killed one day.
"Well, at least I know my death with be by slobber and not snapping teeth," She chuckled, keeping both hands still but smiled down at the thing trying to give her fingers a stinky bath. She'd have crouched down, like an idiot, and reached up to pet the thing too if Simon's voice, and the noise he was making, didn't pull her out of her unhunter-like thoughts. She knew better than the jerk her hand away or make any sudden movements - hello, wild animal at her feet! - but she couldn't help turning her head away from it to look towards where she could hear Si; a rookie mistake that was probably going to get her killed one day too.
"In here, Sim" She called out. "Be careful, though. There's crap all over the place and most of it hurts when you run into it."
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He moved, gun out and at the ready, but he wasn't sure anything could have prepared him for what he saw when he made it to where Greta was standing. She--
There was a damn werewolf cuddled up to her like she was his long lost mother. And she was completely turned away from the thing, throat, chest, sides exposed and vulnerable for attack as she looked back at him.
"---explain,"
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"Meet the little wolf that couldn't," She grinned broadly and wriggled her damp fingers at the animal. Simon wouldn't shoot it, not this close to her, so she thought they were both relatively safe for the moment, though she knew her ears were going to be in for it if a flush started creeping up along Simon's neck...which she couldn't tell in this light.
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"He could be faking," He said slowly, even as his grip on the gun loosened slightly, and the wolf gave a tiny little whine and pressed his muzzle into Greta's limp hand.
"--is he even a werewolf?"
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"Yes, I'm sure he's got that sort of presence of mine to fake being scared out of his mind, shaking and all, but is really luring me into a false sense of security, waiting for the moment he can pounce and rip my throat out." She gave her partner a look that said, clearly, that she thought he was being ridiculous. She doubted the quivering thing could lure a paper bag into a false sense of security much less tear into anyone.
Greta shrugged, "I don't rightly know, but it seems like he understands me - us - well enough, doesn't it? Maybe a shifter or walker of some sort? There's lore on beings that can shift into animals that aren't related to werewolves, right?"
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At their questions though, he thinks he might be able to explain some things, and he moves away from the woman, slowly, heading for the cover of a few file cabinets that are toppled over in some sort of haphazard fashion high enough he won't embarrass himself when he shifts.
It takes him a moment, a long moment, before he's anywhere close to able to grab on to his human side, but he finally manages it, and with a sickening sound of bones and muscles and tissues rearranging themselves he's standing on weak legs and giving them both an awkwardly sheepish look from behind the slim shield of metal.
"--hi."
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Greta blinked and stared, long and hard, at the boy that emerged where once a shivering wolf-thing had been huddling and tried very hard not to gape. Her gun was lowering of its own accord since her brain was too busy trying to process what she was seeing to give commands to her arm to stay up. Also, it was unhelpfully crowing that she was totally right about this guy not being who they were after. If that boy weighted more than she did she'd willingly go to church and sit for Sunday service.
"You have a lot of explaining to do, sweetheart," She said, finally. "I'd start before Simon decides to shoot you."
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"Uh--I--well, as you can see--I'm a werewolf?"
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"Yet you're not trying to kill either of us and the moon hasn't quite came out just yet," Logically she knew it was there all the time, just the sun hid it from view during the day time and brightened it when night rolled in. That was all beside the point. "Are you quite sure you're a werewolf?"
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"If this is about the stuff I stole I'm really, really sorry. I mean, I can probably return all of it. It was--just some clothes and some sneakers and some blankets--"
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"No. No this isn't about the petty theft," She offered and finally holstered her weapon. She glanced over at Simon and, she's not proud to admit this, pouted at him. "I think we're safe for the moment, Si. He's just a scared teenager that stole clothes to get by." She turned back to the naked kid, thankful he was somewhat hidden behind those fallen cabinets. "Right? You just needed the stuff to get by on, yeah?"
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"That's fine, really. It's not like we haven't done a little petty theft in our time," She called out over her shoulder. "Breaking and Entering too."
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He looked over his shoulder for a moment in time to see the teen sliding a shirt on over a somewhat battered torso and his frown deepened. "It still doesn't change what we're here for though. Something is murdering people in this town, and all our evidence says it's something with four paws and a tail. Maybe--maybe he's doing it without knowing,"
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"Yes, it's possible but I don't think so." She leaned forward to rest her head against Simon's shoulder, turning her face towards his neck as she cast her voice low. "He was all too aware just then, Panda. He was listening and understanding everything I said before you showed up, I know it! And look how he responded when he shifted back to human form to talk. I really don't think it's possible for him to do something like that without knowing it."
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"Perhaps it's on the full moon? He admitted he can't control his shift then," But the pieces weren't adding up, and Simon was starting to think they'd spent the last two days tracking the wrong wolf. And he'd thought it had been a little too easy, following the trail of the cold-blooded killer.
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