Random werewolf original fic, idek.
So, hey, guys, I haven't been posting...like, at all. I haven't really been doing much with fandom lately, but that's because I am working on Serious Original Fic. About werewolves and ex-immortals and the politics involved in running an insular clan of vampire hunters and there may be giant telepathic lions in there somewhere, idek.
Also, my brother is graduating from boot camp on Friday, and I'm getting on a plane for the first time in like five years to go see it. I'm mildly terrified.
Anyway. Random snippet of a random thing I have been working on:
Jamila woke to the sound of sirens. Her apartment was a third-floor walk-up that overlooked two rowdy college bars, so the sirens themselves weren't especially unusual. What was unusual was that she could hear no boisterous crowd spilling out onto the street, none of the hooting and hollering that nearly always accompanied a bar fight. The voices she could hear through the open window were quiet, frightened. Then someone screamed.
"What is it?" asked Isaac, his voice half-muffled by the pillow.
She kissed him, rolled off of the mattress to land softly on the cool floor. "Go back to sleep, baby."
"Trouble?"
"I don't know. Could just be a bar fight." She didn't think so, though, and her heart was sinking as she pulled a robe over her shoulders. The night had gotten cooler, and the breeze through the window raised goosebumps on her arms.
A crowd was gathered on the street below, too quiet, speaking in hushed whispers that sounded like rustling leaves from this distance. The lights of the ambulance that had just pulled up to the curb swooped over frightened faces and dirty pavement. In the middle of the street, spread-eagle in a thin party dress, lay a woman. A girl, really, her coltish limbs splayed out awkwardly. Her face was white and still, frozen in a rictus of fear. Her throat had been torn out, and blood soaked the pavement beneath her.
Jamila's nails bit into her palms as she turned back from the window. Isaac sat up in bed, the sheets pooling around his hips and his long 'locks swinging over his shoulders. The light from the LED's painted eerie stripes of shadow across his chest, and the white scar on his shoulder showed up starkly against his light brown skin. "Trouble?" he asked again, and she nodded.
It took two hard swallows before her voice would agree to work. "It's another one. I should get down there."
His shadowed face came all the way awake, eyes wide in the dim light. "Do you want me to--"
"No," she interrupted firmly.
He frowned, and for a moment she thought he might argue. He tried so hard to protect her; that was the way of males, but this was her territory. This was her fight. Isaac knew that, and he finally nodded reluctantly. "Be careful."
Jamila tugged on a pair jeans and slid her feet into her shoes. Her gun was in the locked nightstand drawer, but she left it where it was. "I'm always careful."
Isaac greeted that statement with the eye-roll it deserved, and she managed to find a smile for him before she left. It fell away from her lips as soon as the door was shut behind her, though. The other two girls had been killed within walking distance of here, but that could have just meant that there was a new pup in the neighborhood. It would still have had to be found and dealt with before it could bring the hunters down on all of them, but this was different. A body on her doorstep, in the heart of her territory, couldn't be anything other than a challenge.
"Blackthorn," Detective Rosen said when she stepped down onto the sidewalk. "Nice top."
Jamila looked down at the silky red camisole she was still wearing over her jeans and shrugged. There was a grin on Rosen's hawkish face, but she couldn't quite make herself smile back. "Thought you'd appreciate the view. What do we have?"
"You're not on duty--"
"Some kid gets killed right outside my apartment, you bet your ass I'm on duty. What do we have?"
He waved an arm at the scene. There were paramedics kneeling by the body, and Rosen's rookie partner, Rita Sanchez, was standing with a small cluster of distraught-looking girls, clipboard out and voice professionally gentle. Another set of blue lights swung over the scene as a second squad car pulled up; no sirens this time. "What you see is what we got, sweetheart. Name's Mindy Barnes, according to her driver's license. No witnesses, or at least not anybody who's talking. Looks like a goddamn wild dog or something, same as the others. You think somebody has a dog-fighting ring going or something? Like maybe one of 'em got loose?"
"Maybe," Jamila said noncommittally. She stepped down from the sidewalk, pulling her badge out and flipping it open for the medics before either of them could say something. In the cold light of the LED's, the dead girl looked painfully young. Her hands were bloody and mangled, as though she had fought, and the bodice of her blue dress was stained an obscene raspberry color. Her throat was a red, raw mess, the white of tendons showing through, and just in case Jamila had still been tempted to think this was an ordinary dog attack, someone had used the girl's blood as finger paint to draw a crescent moon on the pavement next to her head. A human had to have done that; either the wolf had changed here, or he'd had an accomplice.
The waning moon. It wasn't a challenge, then; it was a mark of contempt. A message that read, in a language only another wolf would know, You are not worthy. Not worthy to hold territory, not worthy of an open challenge. Jamila's hands curled into fists, and she jumped when Rosen touched her elbow. When she turned to look at him, his hazel eyes were sympathetic. "Go get some sleep, sweetheart. You just got off a twelve-hour shift. I'll fill you in at the station later."
She hesitated, but he was right. This wasn't police business, not for her, and any other investigations would have to wait until the crowds dispersed anyway. "Yeah, okay. I'll see you tomorrow."
He didn't quite manage to hide his relief, but she couldn't quite blame him. She'd maybe been a little obsessed in the past two weeks. It would be over soon, though. Now she knew what this was, and she'd take care of it. Rosen squeezed her arm again, and then he was walking past her, pulling on his cop face to help Sanchez interview the freaked-out kids who'd called it in.
Also, my brother is graduating from boot camp on Friday, and I'm getting on a plane for the first time in like five years to go see it. I'm mildly terrified.
Anyway. Random snippet of a random thing I have been working on:
Jamila woke to the sound of sirens. Her apartment was a third-floor walk-up that overlooked two rowdy college bars, so the sirens themselves weren't especially unusual. What was unusual was that she could hear no boisterous crowd spilling out onto the street, none of the hooting and hollering that nearly always accompanied a bar fight. The voices she could hear through the open window were quiet, frightened. Then someone screamed.
"What is it?" asked Isaac, his voice half-muffled by the pillow.
She kissed him, rolled off of the mattress to land softly on the cool floor. "Go back to sleep, baby."
"Trouble?"
"I don't know. Could just be a bar fight." She didn't think so, though, and her heart was sinking as she pulled a robe over her shoulders. The night had gotten cooler, and the breeze through the window raised goosebumps on her arms.
A crowd was gathered on the street below, too quiet, speaking in hushed whispers that sounded like rustling leaves from this distance. The lights of the ambulance that had just pulled up to the curb swooped over frightened faces and dirty pavement. In the middle of the street, spread-eagle in a thin party dress, lay a woman. A girl, really, her coltish limbs splayed out awkwardly. Her face was white and still, frozen in a rictus of fear. Her throat had been torn out, and blood soaked the pavement beneath her.
Jamila's nails bit into her palms as she turned back from the window. Isaac sat up in bed, the sheets pooling around his hips and his long 'locks swinging over his shoulders. The light from the LED's painted eerie stripes of shadow across his chest, and the white scar on his shoulder showed up starkly against his light brown skin. "Trouble?" he asked again, and she nodded.
It took two hard swallows before her voice would agree to work. "It's another one. I should get down there."
His shadowed face came all the way awake, eyes wide in the dim light. "Do you want me to--"
"No," she interrupted firmly.
He frowned, and for a moment she thought he might argue. He tried so hard to protect her; that was the way of males, but this was her territory. This was her fight. Isaac knew that, and he finally nodded reluctantly. "Be careful."
Jamila tugged on a pair jeans and slid her feet into her shoes. Her gun was in the locked nightstand drawer, but she left it where it was. "I'm always careful."
Isaac greeted that statement with the eye-roll it deserved, and she managed to find a smile for him before she left. It fell away from her lips as soon as the door was shut behind her, though. The other two girls had been killed within walking distance of here, but that could have just meant that there was a new pup in the neighborhood. It would still have had to be found and dealt with before it could bring the hunters down on all of them, but this was different. A body on her doorstep, in the heart of her territory, couldn't be anything other than a challenge.
"Blackthorn," Detective Rosen said when she stepped down onto the sidewalk. "Nice top."
Jamila looked down at the silky red camisole she was still wearing over her jeans and shrugged. There was a grin on Rosen's hawkish face, but she couldn't quite make herself smile back. "Thought you'd appreciate the view. What do we have?"
"You're not on duty--"
"Some kid gets killed right outside my apartment, you bet your ass I'm on duty. What do we have?"
He waved an arm at the scene. There were paramedics kneeling by the body, and Rosen's rookie partner, Rita Sanchez, was standing with a small cluster of distraught-looking girls, clipboard out and voice professionally gentle. Another set of blue lights swung over the scene as a second squad car pulled up; no sirens this time. "What you see is what we got, sweetheart. Name's Mindy Barnes, according to her driver's license. No witnesses, or at least not anybody who's talking. Looks like a goddamn wild dog or something, same as the others. You think somebody has a dog-fighting ring going or something? Like maybe one of 'em got loose?"
"Maybe," Jamila said noncommittally. She stepped down from the sidewalk, pulling her badge out and flipping it open for the medics before either of them could say something. In the cold light of the LED's, the dead girl looked painfully young. Her hands were bloody and mangled, as though she had fought, and the bodice of her blue dress was stained an obscene raspberry color. Her throat was a red, raw mess, the white of tendons showing through, and just in case Jamila had still been tempted to think this was an ordinary dog attack, someone had used the girl's blood as finger paint to draw a crescent moon on the pavement next to her head. A human had to have done that; either the wolf had changed here, or he'd had an accomplice.
The waning moon. It wasn't a challenge, then; it was a mark of contempt. A message that read, in a language only another wolf would know, You are not worthy. Not worthy to hold territory, not worthy of an open challenge. Jamila's hands curled into fists, and she jumped when Rosen touched her elbow. When she turned to look at him, his hazel eyes were sympathetic. "Go get some sleep, sweetheart. You just got off a twelve-hour shift. I'll fill you in at the station later."
She hesitated, but he was right. This wasn't police business, not for her, and any other investigations would have to wait until the crowds dispersed anyway. "Yeah, okay. I'll see you tomorrow."
He didn't quite manage to hide his relief, but she couldn't quite blame him. She'd maybe been a little obsessed in the past two weeks. It would be over soon, though. Now she knew what this was, and she'd take care of it. Rosen squeezed her arm again, and then he was walking past her, pulling on his cop face to help Sanchez interview the freaked-out kids who'd called it in.