[Brian] They Say Freak, When You're Singled Out
Ever since I got back, since my change...everything's been fucked up.
I don't seem to have any choice about this whole werewolf thing. Doesn't matter. I'm tough, I'm realistic, I roll with the punches.
There was no moon in the sky when it finally happened. The word for it is "Irraka," apparently.
I wasn't going to try to go it alone, of course. I took the oath, accepted a tribal vow. "Iminir" is the tribe; the Storm Lords.
When I got back to the States, I accompanied Ash to a meeting of other werewolves. It was rocky, to say the least. Found out my last conquest, the guitarist from Pangea, was a goddamned werewolf, too. After all of that weirdness, I signed up for a course at Front Sight and rushed offt to Cannes to try and get my head straight (no pun intended) with some regular work.
It sort of worked. I had a mini-vacation and got paid for it. When I got back, I took my Front Sight course (Two-Day Practical Rifle) and it was really just incredible. I learned a lot and did better than I thought I would. Immediately afterwards, I signed up for the Tactical Shotgun, Defensive Handgun and Submachine gun courses.
I'd been dry practicing every day when I went up to the carnival in Malibu. The whole affair was a mess, but i'm glad I went. On the bad side, Pangea's cute roadie almost died. On the good side, I met some guys who I really connected with. After I got into an argument with that prick Gabriel, I realized that these guys who were nodding when I spoke agreed with me regarding the so-called Pure. Fuck them. I know what the Oath of the Moon says: The People Shall Not Murder The People. I don't know what the fuck Gabriel learned, but the Pure aren't fucking People in my book; they're sick evil fucks and I'm going to waste every last one of them if that's what it takes to live in peace in this town. I've been a victim once in my life, when I didn't see them coming. Never again.
When it came time to do something other than chatter, I went with them to deal with a couple of these psychos who were hell-bent on killing us. A rifle, two pistols and a wolf-form so massive I wouldn't have thought it was possible took them out in about nine seconds. I got two things out of that fight: a real respect for snipers and a drive to improve my skills if I was going to stay alive. I took the rifle and pistol off of the dead one as prizes.
One of them died, the other didn't. We brought him back so the others could interrogate him, but it turned out to be useless. All we could do was engineer a distraction. Guns were blazing, wolves poured into the park area and chaos ensued. It was a bit scary, but I kept my cool and helped out the group. I also stole a shotgun, a pistol and a bullet-proof vest from one of the security guards we had to kill.
After the mayhem, I told the people I gave two shits about to find me later and gave them my cell number. I took photos of the site and the bodies, just to make sure I got to be the first one to sell photos to the L.A. Times and to write the story. I threw together some bullshit about teenagers in black trenchcoats and their pack of pitbull/husky crossbreeds that they'd trained to attack people. Unfortunately, it was a little too sensational to avoid the front page, but Iraq, Schwarzenegger, and Tom DeLay pretty much buried it anyway.
I wasn't looking forward to the idea of having to stay in Vernon, near that fucking grate, so I decided to drive north and take a few Michael Jackson shots that week for some extra cash. It was a good way to pass the time before my next Front Sight course.
I think the blackjack dealers at the Pahrump Nugget are starting to recognize me. Actually, I know for a fact at least one of them does...heh.
It's weird living this freaky double-life. By day I'm a successful photographer with another Rolling Stone cover under his belt and by night...well, I'm a werewolf. I imagine I'll get used to it eventually, but for now it's still really strange. I've got a handle on the basics, I think, and what everything is supposed to mean, but I don't know if I'll ever stop feeling that twinge of excitment when the change starts. Walking on four legs, being able to hear and smell all sorts of things I'd never heard before...it's amazing.
The strangest thing, though, is how normal it all is.
I don't seem to have any choice about this whole werewolf thing. Doesn't matter. I'm tough, I'm realistic, I roll with the punches.
There was no moon in the sky when it finally happened. The word for it is "Irraka," apparently.
I wasn't going to try to go it alone, of course. I took the oath, accepted a tribal vow. "Iminir" is the tribe; the Storm Lords.
When I got back to the States, I accompanied Ash to a meeting of other werewolves. It was rocky, to say the least. Found out my last conquest, the guitarist from Pangea, was a goddamned werewolf, too. After all of that weirdness, I signed up for a course at Front Sight and rushed offt to Cannes to try and get my head straight (no pun intended) with some regular work.
It sort of worked. I had a mini-vacation and got paid for it. When I got back, I took my Front Sight course (Two-Day Practical Rifle) and it was really just incredible. I learned a lot and did better than I thought I would. Immediately afterwards, I signed up for the Tactical Shotgun, Defensive Handgun and Submachine gun courses.
I'd been dry practicing every day when I went up to the carnival in Malibu. The whole affair was a mess, but i'm glad I went. On the bad side, Pangea's cute roadie almost died. On the good side, I met some guys who I really connected with. After I got into an argument with that prick Gabriel, I realized that these guys who were nodding when I spoke agreed with me regarding the so-called Pure. Fuck them. I know what the Oath of the Moon says: The People Shall Not Murder The People. I don't know what the fuck Gabriel learned, but the Pure aren't fucking People in my book; they're sick evil fucks and I'm going to waste every last one of them if that's what it takes to live in peace in this town. I've been a victim once in my life, when I didn't see them coming. Never again.
When it came time to do something other than chatter, I went with them to deal with a couple of these psychos who were hell-bent on killing us. A rifle, two pistols and a wolf-form so massive I wouldn't have thought it was possible took them out in about nine seconds. I got two things out of that fight: a real respect for snipers and a drive to improve my skills if I was going to stay alive. I took the rifle and pistol off of the dead one as prizes.
One of them died, the other didn't. We brought him back so the others could interrogate him, but it turned out to be useless. All we could do was engineer a distraction. Guns were blazing, wolves poured into the park area and chaos ensued. It was a bit scary, but I kept my cool and helped out the group. I also stole a shotgun, a pistol and a bullet-proof vest from one of the security guards we had to kill.
After the mayhem, I told the people I gave two shits about to find me later and gave them my cell number. I took photos of the site and the bodies, just to make sure I got to be the first one to sell photos to the L.A. Times and to write the story. I threw together some bullshit about teenagers in black trenchcoats and their pack of pitbull/husky crossbreeds that they'd trained to attack people. Unfortunately, it was a little too sensational to avoid the front page, but Iraq, Schwarzenegger, and Tom DeLay pretty much buried it anyway.
I wasn't looking forward to the idea of having to stay in Vernon, near that fucking grate, so I decided to drive north and take a few Michael Jackson shots that week for some extra cash. It was a good way to pass the time before my next Front Sight course.
I think the blackjack dealers at the Pahrump Nugget are starting to recognize me. Actually, I know for a fact at least one of them does...heh.
It's weird living this freaky double-life. By day I'm a successful photographer with another Rolling Stone cover under his belt and by night...well, I'm a werewolf. I imagine I'll get used to it eventually, but for now it's still really strange. I've got a handle on the basics, I think, and what everything is supposed to mean, but I don't know if I'll ever stop feeling that twinge of excitment when the change starts. Walking on four legs, being able to hear and smell all sorts of things I'd never heard before...it's amazing.
The strangest thing, though, is how normal it all is.