The scent isn't one that the Preston-wolf recognizes.
(Nor is the action, for that matter; killing a zombie is one thing, but what self-respecting wolf keeps chewing on it after it's dead? Ew.)
It's probably wisest to avoid the whole scene and go around. The unfortunate thing about being wolf is that instinct overcomes wisdom, though - so instead, he turns and pads cautiously in the direction of the stranger, to see who's hunting on these (their) streets.
The low rumbled growl turns to a snarl as Preston rounds the corner and spots the other wolf.
He's big, taller and longer than Preston, but certainly not as well fed or groomed. His fur is matted with old blood and gore at the moment, most of it likely from the decimated zombie at his feet.
The wolf that is Preston stands his ground for the moment, warily, ears half-back, a low growl coming from his throat.
He'd know if the other belonged to a familiar pack. If he doesn't, then he has no rights to challenge.
. . . this would be more reassuring if there was an alpha present. And if the other wolf smelled like one that was likely to act in a normal fashion. Instead -
Preston isn't very experienced at identifying wolf-scents. But his instincts are telling him, very clearly, that something is wrong with this one.
Something is wrong with him. His steps are slightly uncoordinated, as if his inner balance is off. He seems to be producing a little too much saliva that can be explained away by chewing on a zombie.
And his replying snarl is much too aggressive and confrontational for even two strange wolves meeting each other.
He crouches lower, hackles rising. He doesn't see another comrade or even an enemy in front of him.
Preston's mind is still human enough to think: well, fuck.
And then he's running, with all the speed his lithe wolf body possesses, back into the twists and turns of Chicago's back alleys. And hoping he knows them better than the other, because otherwise he knows his chances of making it out of this are exceedingly slim.
It's more of a roar than a growl the other wolf makes now, as he lumbers forward into a run. Preston is more knowledgeable about Chicago, and even faster.
But this wolf has longer legs, and apparently no concern for his own well being. He demonstrates this by slamming bodily into two metal trash cans, sending them and their contents flying in all different directions. It barely slows him down.
Preston uses everything he has to ruthlessly quash instinct. He's not leading a rabid wolf back into the club. For a start, the alpha - Gwen would kill him anyways, so it wouldn't do much good.
He keeps running, trying to remember small places, places he had trouble fitting through. Ones where the other wolf might not be able to follow.
One of those spaces is a smallish hole under a chain link fence. As Preston worms underneath it, the other wolf gets close enough for him to feel its breath, hot and foul with the smell of rotted meat.
Then he is through, and the wolf behind him jams himself under the fence, metal scoring his back. He struggles, snarling with fury.
Preston takes advantage of his lead, ignoring his scratched sides for the moment, and darts further into the Chicago night.
He's heading towards the old University, now. He knows it well - it's hard to get into, and there's still some supplies that he keeps there. Once he's close, he can change -
There's a crash from behind him, the sound of a furious wolf scrabbling against the ground, and a bone-chilling howl. He's freed himself from the fence and has resumed the chase.
But suddenly another sound comes from behind, the swiiiish thunk of something striking flesh and a pained yelp and growl from the other wolf. Someone else is out there.
Whoever is taking on that wolf (vampire - no, two vampires; the scent puts his hackles back, and they don't smell frightened either) is not someone Preston wants to meet.
If they're going around killing wolves, they're especially not people he wants to meet in wolf-form. He pads silently a few steps further, turns a corner, and pushes himself through the change.
Once he's human again, he leans against the wall and attempts to calm his panicked breathing without making a sound.
Okay.
Corner he knows. He'll remember the spot. But for now, all he wants to do is get out of here.
As quietly as he can, he starts to move down the opposite street.
If people want to kill a wolf, Preston thinks - not moving too fast, not breathing too loudly, trying not to jump at the sound of his own bare feet scraping on the pavement - at least ninety percent of them are going to prefer to do it when he or she is in wolf-form. Feels less like murder.
Maybe they're not going to kill the wolf.
Preston is not, really, convinced of that.
He realizes that he's stopped moving, and tells himself not to be an idiot. He needs to survive more than he needs to hear what happens next.
On one level, Preston is relieved. The wolf was obviously sick, had been about to kill him; even so, standing by and listening to murder isn't really his thing.
On another level, he is not only frightened, but deeply and profoundly unnerved. Two vamps deciding to attack a wolf is unpleasant but hardly unusual. This - whatever this is, it's something different. And worse.
However, both of these, at present, take a backseat to the realization that if they're headed towards the University (and it's the only thing they could be, in that direction) then not only has Preston lost his best safe spot, but he is now going to have to get all the way back to either the shelter or the Wasteland naked.
Preston doesn't like to change more than he has to. All the same . . . fuck that.
He waits, heart pounding, until his sharpened ears can no longer hear footsteps; then he changes back to wolf form and slips quietly in the opposite direction.
Later, perhaps, he'll come back.
But not without something to mask his scent. And clothes.
It seems the city is down one more zombie. Courtesy of another wolf, judging by the growling.
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(Nor is the action, for that matter; killing a zombie is one thing, but what self-respecting wolf keeps chewing on it after it's dead? Ew.)
It's probably wisest to avoid the whole scene and go around. The unfortunate thing about being wolf is that instinct overcomes wisdom, though - so instead, he turns and pads cautiously in the direction of the stranger, to see who's hunting on these (their) streets.
Reply
He's big, taller and longer than Preston, but certainly not as well fed or groomed. His fur is matted with old blood and gore at the moment, most of it likely from the decimated zombie at his feet.
Stalking forward, he gives an interrogatory bark.
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He'd know if the other belonged to a familiar pack. If he doesn't, then he has no rights to challenge.
. . . this would be more reassuring if there was an alpha present. And if the other wolf smelled like one that was likely to act in a normal fashion. Instead -
Preston isn't very experienced at identifying wolf-scents. But his instincts are telling him, very clearly, that something is wrong with this one.
Cautiously, he takes a step back.
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And his replying snarl is much too aggressive and confrontational for even two strange wolves meeting each other.
He crouches lower, hackles rising. He doesn't see another comrade or even an enemy in front of him.
He just sees prey.
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And then he's running, with all the speed his lithe wolf body possesses, back into the twists and turns of Chicago's back alleys. And hoping he knows them better than the other, because otherwise he knows his chances of making it out of this are exceedingly slim.
This is really not Preston's week.
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But this wolf has longer legs, and apparently no concern for his own well being. He demonstrates this by slamming bodily into two metal trash cans, sending them and their contents flying in all different directions. It barely slows him down.
Reply
Preston uses everything he has to ruthlessly quash instinct. He's not leading a rabid wolf back into the club. For a start, the alpha - Gwen would kill him anyways, so it wouldn't do much good.
He keeps running, trying to remember small places, places he had trouble fitting through. Ones where the other wolf might not be able to follow.
Reply
Then he is through, and the wolf behind him jams himself under the fence, metal scoring his back. He struggles, snarling with fury.
Reply
He's heading towards the old University, now. He knows it well - it's hard to get into, and there's still some supplies that he keeps there. Once he's close, he can change -
- and once he changes, he can think.
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But suddenly another sound comes from behind, the swiiiish thunk of something striking flesh and a pained yelp and growl from the other wolf. Someone else is out there.
Reply
If they're going around killing wolves, they're especially not people he wants to meet in wolf-form. He pads silently a few steps further, turns a corner, and pushes himself through the change.
Once he's human again, he leans against the wall and attempts to calm his panicked breathing without making a sound.
Okay.
Corner he knows. He'll remember the spot. But for now, all he wants to do is get out of here.
As quietly as he can, he starts to move down the opposite street.
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"Change," it says, before Preston gets too far away to hear properly.
The growls stop, and a raspy voice replies to the first speaker.
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Maybe they're not going to kill the wolf.
Preston is not, really, convinced of that.
He realizes that he's stopped moving, and tells himself not to be an idiot. He needs to survive more than he needs to hear what happens next.
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The three voices converse, obviously angry, but not loud. And then, all three move off in another direction. Towards the University.
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On another level, he is not only frightened, but deeply and profoundly unnerved. Two vamps deciding to attack a wolf is unpleasant but hardly unusual. This - whatever this is, it's something different. And worse.
However, both of these, at present, take a backseat to the realization that if they're headed towards the University (and it's the only thing they could be, in that direction) then not only has Preston lost his best safe spot, but he is now going to have to get all the way back to either the shelter or the Wasteland naked.
Preston doesn't like to change more than he has to. All the same . . . fuck that.
He waits, heart pounding, until his sharpened ears can no longer hear footsteps; then he changes back to wolf form and slips quietly in the opposite direction.
Later, perhaps, he'll come back.
But not without something to mask his scent. And clothes.
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