August 3: Nine-Tenths
Title: Nine-Tenths
Author: Vashti (tvashti)
Fandom: Mercy Thompson Series, BtVS
Character(s): Bran, Oz, Charles
Rating: FR-13/PG
Summary: Whatever excitement had flooded the children on the flight from the mountain to the house had been stifled by Bran’s presence as they relayed the adults’ message.
“Charles, is this the one the Slayer’s people contacted us about?” Bran asked. “Yes.”
Length: ~430 words
Disclaimer: Only the words are mine, and that’s probably up for philosophical debate.
Notes: Not at all related to my "Pack a Smile" series.
They found him bleeding out into the Montana snow.
There had been a snow squall, blown over now. Some of the younger people had gone out to see the fresh coating on the trees and for the kids to play safely among the deepening drifts.
There was no signal that far away from town, in the heart of the mountainous woods. With no wolves among them, it had taken four to carry the heavy muscle and fur creature out of the woods. Some of the older children were sent ahead. The others were herded together to go a different way before they could see something that might scare them. They knew, however, that something was wrong, from the way the adults around them were hurried and brusque, and the sudden seriousness of their elder siblings.
Somewhere along the way he had shed his wolf skin so that by the time the party met Bran at his front door, only two were carrying him between them and ugly wound was welling fresh blood.
The children who had gone ahead hung back from the man, from their parents and older brothers and sisters, and neighbor-friends. Whatever excitement had flooded them on the flight from the mountain to the house had been stifled by Bran’s presence as they relayed the adults’ message. It still held them under sway.
“Charles, is this the one the Slayer’s people contacted us about?” Bran said to the man who had followed him out of the house as he had stepped down off his porch to meet the party.
“Yes.” Charles was the younger of his two sons.
Bran nodded at his son’s certainty. Flicking a glance at the two supporting the young man, he said, “Bring him in.” To the others, he said, “Go home.”
The children ran towards their guardians. The adults - snatching up hands and looping arms around shoulders - nodded to Bran as they passed him, all careful to avoid his eyes. No one spoke, and when the children tried their efforts were quelled.
Bran stood placid against the cold - barefoot in jeans and long-sleeved Henley - until the yard had cleared and every head had disappeared towards town.
Mercy was standing in the doorway of the guestroom when Bran went back inside. “Charles says that’s the one the Slayer’s looking for.”
“Looks that way.”
She sucked a breath in between her teeth.
“We are so screwed.”
Inside, Bran could scent both his sons - including the doctor - and the strange new wolf. “Maybe not.”
He was the Marrok, after all - the Alpha of every werewolf in North America.
[in]Fin[ite]
Author: Vashti (tvashti)
Fandom: Mercy Thompson Series, BtVS
Character(s): Bran, Oz, Charles
Rating: FR-13/PG
Summary: Whatever excitement had flooded the children on the flight from the mountain to the house had been stifled by Bran’s presence as they relayed the adults’ message.
“Charles, is this the one the Slayer’s people contacted us about?” Bran asked. “Yes.”
Length: ~430 words
Disclaimer: Only the words are mine, and that’s probably up for philosophical debate.
Notes: Not at all related to my "Pack a Smile" series.
They found him bleeding out into the Montana snow.
There had been a snow squall, blown over now. Some of the younger people had gone out to see the fresh coating on the trees and for the kids to play safely among the deepening drifts.
There was no signal that far away from town, in the heart of the mountainous woods. With no wolves among them, it had taken four to carry the heavy muscle and fur creature out of the woods. Some of the older children were sent ahead. The others were herded together to go a different way before they could see something that might scare them. They knew, however, that something was wrong, from the way the adults around them were hurried and brusque, and the sudden seriousness of their elder siblings.
Somewhere along the way he had shed his wolf skin so that by the time the party met Bran at his front door, only two were carrying him between them and ugly wound was welling fresh blood.
The children who had gone ahead hung back from the man, from their parents and older brothers and sisters, and neighbor-friends. Whatever excitement had flooded them on the flight from the mountain to the house had been stifled by Bran’s presence as they relayed the adults’ message. It still held them under sway.
“Charles, is this the one the Slayer’s people contacted us about?” Bran said to the man who had followed him out of the house as he had stepped down off his porch to meet the party.
“Yes.” Charles was the younger of his two sons.
Bran nodded at his son’s certainty. Flicking a glance at the two supporting the young man, he said, “Bring him in.” To the others, he said, “Go home.”
The children ran towards their guardians. The adults - snatching up hands and looping arms around shoulders - nodded to Bran as they passed him, all careful to avoid his eyes. No one spoke, and when the children tried their efforts were quelled.
Bran stood placid against the cold - barefoot in jeans and long-sleeved Henley - until the yard had cleared and every head had disappeared towards town.
Mercy was standing in the doorway of the guestroom when Bran went back inside. “Charles says that’s the one the Slayer’s looking for.”
“Looks that way.”
She sucked a breath in between her teeth.
“We are so screwed.”
Inside, Bran could scent both his sons - including the doctor - and the strange new wolf. “Maybe not.”
He was the Marrok, after all - the Alpha of every werewolf in North America.
[in]Fin[ite]