she hit a high c & the lights went out
WHO: Too Many Teeth!Connor & [insert blahhhh]
WHERE: In the city nosing around some coffee joint. "We don't serve your kind here!" /ba-dum-tish
WHEN: Whenever this lol@#@#$fangs and a tail thing started.
WARNINGS: Growling, biting, adn snarling count as Sarah Connor mouth. Keep scrolling!
SUMMARY: A Mexican wolf (mind you, they're about 100 left in the southwest) tries to get her teeth on some coffee and short circuits...lots of things?
FORMAT: Paragraph.
She didn't remember what happened. There was coffee, there was cigs, and now there wasn't. Correction, they were there, the only problem was that she was a fucking...animal. With teeth and paws. Sarah sat at the cafe table, the wind rustling through her fur and stared a waiter down, grumbling. The man was still frozen in place, mid-reach for the coffee mug. She let out a low, menacing growl, and he slowly, slowly backed away.
"Bernard?" the man said very slowly, "Can you come out here? We got a situation. On the patio. There's some fucking wolf here."
"What the hell?"
"Oh my GOD! What if it has rabies?!"
"What's it doing?"
Sarah dropped down onto the concrete slab they'd poured for a floor and nosed around her bag, then found the vest she'd been wearing. It took her a few tries to drag her communicator out of the pocket, and just as some bigass dude with a frying pan came out, she wriggled through the bars and onto the sidewalk. With the phone in her mouth and the big guy yelling at her, she charged down an alley and dropped the phone. Fucking city.
She nosed at the usually easy to handle device, then dug around for something pointed in the trash to punch the buttons with. She'd text John. He'd...do something. Come get her. The big guy with the frying pan came out the side door, spoiling for a fight. He stank of testosterone and mean with a side order of brutality. Asshole. She managed to punch out:
>>SARAH SAYS: jdfksgjohn trackdg \hds haginddf issuzx
And then bit down on the send button just as that frying pan connected with her flank. The phone went flying as she rounded on the rather aggressive short order cook, biding into the cuff of his jeans and yanking him off balance. The side sign sparked as Bernard tossed her out of the alley. The front cafe sign, as she skidded around the corner, blew, sending sparks and scent of burnt circuitry--along with a panicked crowd--everywhere.
WHERE: In the city nosing around some coffee joint. "We don't serve your kind here!" /ba-dum-tish
WHEN: Whenever this lol@#@#$fangs and a tail thing started.
WARNINGS: Growling, biting, adn snarling count as Sarah Connor mouth. Keep scrolling!
SUMMARY: A Mexican wolf (mind you, they're about 100 left in the southwest) tries to get her teeth on some coffee and short circuits...lots of things?
FORMAT: Paragraph.
She didn't remember what happened. There was coffee, there was cigs, and now there wasn't. Correction, they were there, the only problem was that she was a fucking...animal. With teeth and paws. Sarah sat at the cafe table, the wind rustling through her fur and stared a waiter down, grumbling. The man was still frozen in place, mid-reach for the coffee mug. She let out a low, menacing growl, and he slowly, slowly backed away.
"Bernard?" the man said very slowly, "Can you come out here? We got a situation. On the patio. There's some fucking wolf here."
"What the hell?"
"Oh my GOD! What if it has rabies?!"
"What's it doing?"
Sarah dropped down onto the concrete slab they'd poured for a floor and nosed around her bag, then found the vest she'd been wearing. It took her a few tries to drag her communicator out of the pocket, and just as some bigass dude with a frying pan came out, she wriggled through the bars and onto the sidewalk. With the phone in her mouth and the big guy yelling at her, she charged down an alley and dropped the phone. Fucking city.
She nosed at the usually easy to handle device, then dug around for something pointed in the trash to punch the buttons with. She'd text John. He'd...do something. Come get her. The big guy with the frying pan came out the side door, spoiling for a fight. He stank of testosterone and mean with a side order of brutality. Asshole. She managed to punch out:
>>SARAH SAYS: jdfksgjohn trackdg \hds haginddf issuzx
And then bit down on the send button just as that frying pan connected with her flank. The phone went flying as she rounded on the rather aggressive short order cook, biding into the cuff of his jeans and yanking him off balance. The side sign sparked as Bernard tossed her out of the alley. The front cafe sign, as she skidded around the corner, blew, sending sparks and scent of burnt circuitry--along with a panicked crowd--everywhere.