Stíofán ó Faoláin

It was the last night before the full moon, and Stephen walked down the stairs of the block of flats that all of the werewolves lived in, and strolled down the road. It was beginning to get dark, and soon there would be a slight chill in the air. This is normal for Greyville, however, and Stephen liked this. It reminded him of home, back in Ireland. He continued down the road until he got to the pub, the last one in Greyville in fact, The Backhouse. All of the werewolves liked to go here on the last night before the full moon. They wouldn't be able to have much to drink tomorrow night, so they drank tonight to make up for it.

Stephen walked into the pub, and looked around. He was the first of the werewolves there, as per usual. The rest of them had family to say goodbye to, or some work to do, or something like that. Stephen didn't have any of this. He didn't have a wife or children to say goodbye to, and legally, he wasn't a US citizen, so he couldn't get a job. He didn't want to risk applying for a work visa and being deported because he was here illegally. There was no police station in Greyville, and the police who were supposed to patrol the town rarely came, anyway.

Stephen found a relatively dark area of the pub, he didn't really feel like speaking to anyone, and sat down. He'd wait for a few more werewolves to come in before he ordered a drink, and perhaps he'd get drunk enough to feel like striking up a conversation with someone.

~Anton~

Anton looked up at the moon - it was almost full. Pulling on her jacket, she edged into the darkness beyond her apartment door. She could hear other people (probably werewolves) saying goodbye to family and friends, and sighed. As she walked down the stairs a few fellow werewolves gave her dirty looks; she gave them straight back. She felt like getting drunk. Too drunk. The drink would drown all her sorrows, like being demoted, her friend loss, everything. Besides, the more she drank, the less discomfort she would feel tomorrow.

As Anton walked into the cool night air, she could (with her developed senses) smell someone lurking in the shadows. She pretended not to notice them, then turned around and pounced. Her face connected with the pavement. 'Ah.' she thought, when her eyes met with a squirrel. Maybe she was losing her touch. Heading towards the bar, she could swear she smelled an unpleasant human scent.

Anton walked in the bar.
"Gimme a round o' Fireside Flamers - mostly wine, yeah?" she ordered at the barmaid. She could see a fellow beta wolf, Stephen, lurking in a corner. She gave him a small salute and, grinning, yelled behind her,
"And an extra strong vodka!"

"What time do you think you're going to be back tonight?"

Goddammit, Ryan knew he was going to ask that question. And the worst part was, he heard the change in Michael's voice on the other side of the phone when he asked it. The upbeat chattery voice he'd had a moment ago when discussing his latest art project at the Community College was gone. Ryan could see him now, his face tinged with paint, tanned skin smudged with red and white and blue, pacing in front of a canvas barefoot and shirtless while he stood on a white sheet in their loft. Now Michael sounded like he was treading eggshells. Or broken glass.

Ryan had to take a very loud pull on his cigarette to buy himself a moment to think. The Monthly Pack meetings were a necessity. Not just because of his status as a Beta, but it was a condition for his moving in with Michael. Bad enough he felt like he'd abandoned one family to start another, but Michael was definitely suspicious about the "fishing trips" he went on every month.

"I, ah, won't be back until morning," Ryan said cautiously. "Group meeting, you know? We're going down to the river to catch trout."

Silence.

"Right," Michael said. "Trout."

"Or whatever we can catch. Fish is fish." Please don't get pissed. Please don't get pissed!

"Whatever. Call me when you get back. I'll probly be over in Portside getting my gallery showing set up."

Click.

'I'll be there for the gallery!' was on the tip of Ryan's tongue when Michael hung up.

But that was that. Ryan shut his phone down, tossed the cigarette against the back wall of the building, and shuffled back inside through the kitchen. He wanted to hit someone. Something. He couldn't help feeling pissed at Michael for not giving him one night a month to be himself. At the same time, he was completely pissed at himself for not telling Michael the truth. It wasn't a guarantee that Michael would run for the hills screaming if he knew Ryan was one level above an "extreme closet Furry" as he'd once put it. But it WAS a guarantee that he'd be forced into their club if he found out what Ryan moonlighted as.

There was no dancing around that fine line. So Ryan kept lying to Michael about fishing trips, despite never buying a pole or tackle ever ("The club has extras, so why spend the money?") and always bringing home stuff from the Market ("No bights last night, babe. But I'll make you dinner!") The whole reason Ryan kept lying to Michael was to give himself a taste of the real world. What his life might have been like if Topeka hadn't happened. He was getting the full package of human relationships now- especially the "lying to one's spouse about some deep dark secret" thing.

At the bar, Michael spotted Stephen hiding in the corner and instinctively poured him a cold PBR, sliding it to one of the servers to send his way.

When Anton showed up and asked for her Fireside Flamers, Ryan had to roll his eyes. He popped open a bottle of California red, then opened an underside fridge where he kept "the good stuff" chilled. The bottle of vodka he pulled out was on special order for Anton A.) because it was $70 a bottle and B.) because she was the only person in this state crazy enough to drink it. All the other vodkas he kept were way too weak in her opinion, and she'd let Ryan know. "Anton, you know this stuff is practically jet fuel, yeah?"

Carlson

The night was young, and so were most of the betas.

That was sort of a reminder to Carlson as he slipped on his jacket to head to the bar. He had to make sure no one got too drunk to where they started something- he couldn't afford to pay the bar's owner again. A lot of his Omega's decide to rest these days, but there was bound to be a few at the bar to assist him. He slinked in, and sat at the bar, just ordering a lager. He would not get drunk tonight, so this would be all he'd get. He prayed he wouldn't be breaking up any fights tonight. Looking over at the barrister, who he'd told Stiofan to scope out as a potential new member- perhaps they'd even train together as Omegas if Carlson could get things going his way.

Nanix

Tonight was going to be busy as hell. It always is, once a month. The day varies but its almost always before the full moon. Why? Nanix had no idea, but any excuse to see and chat with the irish guy who always came in was good enough for her. She cleaned a few glasses before people started coming in, and wiped down the bar as patron's sat. She served swiftly- not having to make anything frilly helped, and she tried not to visibly perk up when Stiofan entered. She waited for him to get situated before taking a breath and walking over to him. "Hey there, what cna I get you?"

Avery walked slowly down to the bar, looking at unfamiliar faces on the way there. Tonight was usually the bar's biggest rush. A group always came in, the day before the full moon. They were such frequents, Avery had marked each of these days on the bar's calendar as RUSH.

She walked into the bar from the back, heading through the area where bottles and ingredients were stored. She picked a few bottles out of the fray, knowing some of the favorites their frequents had, and with a small bounty in her hands, she headed into the front room. She saw Ryan, and smiled weakly at him. "Ryan, is the special up on the chalkboard yet?" Her voice was frail and polite, her eyes looked like they had been fully bloodshot just moments ago.

She set the bottles under the bar, and fingered each one, counting them. Then, on the far corner of the bar, Avery found her apron. She tied it around her waist, and checked each pocket to make sure she had her tools. Then she walked through the small side door labeled employees only, and went out to take guests orders.

Like any waitress, she worked for her tip. She talked casually to all the patrons in the bar, smiling and laughing along with them. She didn't judge people, and when they were looking glum she asked what their problems were. She did this all around the bar. Dancing between tables and the kitchen and the bar, asking for drinks, preparing meals when she had the time, and giving people the special treatment. All the while she had questions floating in her head, who are these people really? Why am I so nice, but I never get any friends? Why am I so lonely? Yet, she still did her job with a smile that never seemed to falter.

Anton, piercing Ryan with a stony glare, yelled (clearly already drunk), "In your opinion!" She wrenched her vodka from his hands, pouring in three Fireside Flamers and the vodka in at once. She gave a high-pitch laugh, and glugged down the rest of her drinks. Licking her lips - and wiggling her eyebrows at Ryan - she ordered their strongest Vodka. But why bother? It was like the weakest thing Anton had ever had. That's why she ordered so much. She slunk out of sight from Carlson, wishing she had done this while drinking the Vodka from Ryan. As she downed the rest of the super weak Vodka, she slunk away to the girl's toilets.

As Anton made her way into the toilet, she puked straight away. Bawling her eyes out, she poured the remains of the alcohol down the toilet u-bend - unluckily forgetting to flush.

He had been expecting it, honestly. The man had been expecting the anonymously scouted Werewolf cavern to be...stank, but this was a bit above what he had previously assumed. A figure stood in the dark of the forest, dark blue - or were they black, eyes narrowed as he peered into the lip of a shady, unassuming cave. On the cave's entrance, deep claw marks grazed along the rock, apparently by razor-sharp wolf nails, but this wasn't what made him pause.

No...it was the pure amount of stink that came out of the cave. It smelled...like wet, furry dog, a dog that had been decomposing in the desert sun for the past few months, without disintegrating. There was also the smell of shit, piss, and blood, but the blood seemed fresh, while the other scents were stale. Stale, but still there.

The figure twitched, and finally got the feeling of his nose back into place. The figure was tall, a bit taller than most Americans, with a muscular build, even obvious from under the dark clothing he wore. The clothing was tough; a form-fitting, long-sleeved black shirt, black gloves, dark, rugged jeans, and dark brown combat boots that held two straps on both sides, the long, metal hilt of two knives evident in the straps. A studded belt was wrapped around his waist, and it held numerous, compact black pouches on each loop; although, what was in the pouches, was a mystery.

The man's face held the scruffy remains of a shaven beard, and his close-cutted, dark blonde hair blended in well with his surroundings. In his gloved right fist, he held a razor-sharp, jagged combat knife, the silver metal of the knife not even glinting in the moonlight, while, in his right hand, a dark black pistol was evident. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, and although most would make a snarky, annoying joke about wearing sunglasses at night, these sunglasses obviously had multiple uses, the most prominent one being that it allowed him to see as clear as day, even in the night. Not to mention that it hid his eyes, allowing him to stare and focus on things/people without anyone seeing.

The man gripped his combat knife tighter, while his finger edged over the trigger of his pistol. He took a glance at the motorcycle, practically invisible in the darkness, hidden nearby. Without a second thought, he silently dashed into the cave.

_______________________________________

Werewolves were strong beings, but wild, unrefined...and generally unskilled. Dimitri cleanly slammed a stone-hard fore-arm against the snarling wolf's swing, his arm wrapping around the other beast's arm, while his knife-hand darted forward, the silver, razor-sharp blade easily tearing through fur and flesh to reach deep within the beast's heart. Kicking it away, the Russian Hunter watched dispassionately as the beastial wolf slowly formed back into the dead, wild form of a hairy, dirty man. This pack of wolves, hidden in the forest and mountains near Greyville, was one of the disgusting packs that preyed on innocent humans for no reason, other than their maddening lust for food, glory, and worthlessness. All around him, in one of the cave's stony areas, the bodies of gutted, stabbed, and generally dead werewolves littered the floor. Gas was slick on the stone ground, and as Dimitri began to walk away, one hand in his pocket, the Hunter flicked his cigarette - a guilty, once a month pleasure - and sped up slightly as it landed in the gas.

The rev of a sleek motorcycle blasted through the mountains, as the cave collapsed in on itself, the fire having spread to take over the rocky maze.

"Special's not up yet," Ryan said to Avery, watching as Anton downed her vile concoction and demanded more. Ryan just shook his head and put the whole bottle on the counter for her. "Southern Fireballs at two-for-five tonight. Russian Reuben sandwiches for six bucks, just as bad as always."

Ryan gave Avery a wide berth as she moved across the bar. It was hard enough being a waitress at a place that didn't serve alcohol. Her tips might be a little higher here, but sooner or later someone became a drunk asshole and the nights got interesting.

Speaking of assholes, he pulled his phone out as it vibrated in his pocket.

Heading to studio. Call tmrw?

"Hey Avery, what do you buy someone when you need to say 'Sorry I've been an asshole lately?'"

But Ryan didn't stick around to hear the answer to that one. Anton had already plowed through the potato-based jet fuel he'd given her and was making for the ladies room.

"Oh fuckberries." Ryan slipped out from behind the bar, following in Anton's wake until she went into the ladies room. And he dared not cross that threshold.

"Anton," Ryan yelled, pounding the door. "Anton, I can hear you puking in there! Flush the damn toilet this time, all right?"

In the darkness of the clear sky night, Fayth held the last of a cigarette to her lips. Taking one last, long and smooth drag. The bright orange glow burned away as she tossed it to the ground. Blowing out a puff of smoke that hazed up in front of her face, drifting up into the nothingness above. She crushed the cigarette underneath her foot, grinding it against asphalt. Looking at The Backhouse as it began to fill with the familiar faces of her new pack. Fayth watched them carefully. Even those who were human. In today's world, knowing who to trust and who needed to be watched was a necessity. The only problem with that was one thing: everyone needed to be watched. As the new Omega of the tribe, her hardened gaze needed to be focused as ever. While this pack had survived and kept great numbers in the death rate, it seemed to her that they had grown too relaxed.

Ryan had his stubborn, infuriating ways. His human boyfriend was becoming a problem of sorts. No one could know about their secrets otherwise everyone's life was in jeopardy. Most importantly, her own life would be in trouble. Fayth wasn't going to let anyone get in the way of her own survival. Then there was Anton and her foolish habits. Her sorrows and depression. Instead of getting on with her life, Anton had decided to drown herself in the venomous belly of the worst snake of all: alcohol. Not that Fay didn't indulge herself. She'd like to think she had herself under control when it came to drinking. Anton needed a lesson, fast. Every single one of them did. The more Fay thought about it, the more this monthly visit to the bar seemed incredibly stupid. A whole pack of werewolves in one place, conveniently on the night before the full moon. The same people. The same day. Every month. It didn't take rocket science for a hunter to figure out that something was strange about this all.

Everyone was so undisciplined. It's a goddamn miracle they're all alive. Fayth sighed as it was time for her to walk into the pub. She worked part time there as a bartender, but on these nights she decided to take the night off. Be on watch for her fellow wolves. And tonight she looked every bit the part she wanted to play. Her dyed blonde hair let loose flowing down her shoulders. A pair of hooped earrings in. Black heels, and a tight black dress that revealed her long smooth legs as she strutted on into the bar. Her heels clacking the entire way as she moved on in. Fay gave a brilliant smile to those who were there. Especially the men. Showing off as she moved on up to a stool at the bar and took her seat. Placing her purse on the counter. The blonde looked around and spotted Avery immediately. "Hey gorgeous! Can you help a girl out over here? I need to get cray tonight. Tipsy! Ya' know? I'll take the usual by the way." The usual being an appletini that would probably get most men laughed at if they ordered it. She claimed to hate the taste of alcohol and just wanted that sweet drink.

"Yeah, yeah." Anton muttered, whizzing around and flushing the toilet. So much for "drowning her sorrows". More like drowning sick down a toilet. She was highly regretting puking it up; once a month was far too little time to drink good strong Vodka. She mentally slapped herself for not being able to survive the Vodka, and burst out the bathroom door only to collide with Ryan pounding on the door. "Ryan! You scared the shit out of me! Look, I heard you the first time, ok? Now I need more Vodka. And please don't tell me you only got one bottle AGAIN!" She strode over to a dank table that had not been wiped properly, sat down, and waited expectantly for Ryan to bring her anything.

Greyville, a place that Yvette knew was packed full of werewolves. By her research, and the research of others, and established pack was located in this town, however the only problem would be fishing them out and eradicating their very existence off the face of this earth.

She let out a small huff as she stared at her laptop screen. A word document filled with her theories had been sitting in front of her for the past hour while she had sat around and thought... Man, thinking was hard. The young hunter leaned back in her chair and let out a frustrated sigh as she sat up and ran her fingers through her hair.

"Dimitri might be up to something." Yvette murmured. He was already taking the initiative, in fact he probably might have already done something catastrophic. She shook her head lightly and paced about her apartment room, thinking of things to do before she would actually start heading out into the forests for late night hunting.

Ah, well she could grab a drink? It wouldn't hurt to participate in normal activities once and awhile? With that thought in mind, Yvette gathered her hair up into a bun, put on a leather jacket to relieve herself of the cold winds and left her apartment to satisfy her taste for drinking. The young woman slipped into her sleek black Camaro, the trunk already filled with the appropriate weaponry for hunting, and drove off. Yvette took the fast and edgy way to the bar by speeding past signs which would probably end up with her mailbox stuffed full of tickets for disobeying the town's traffic laws. No matter, she could pay it off in due time.

----

The Hunter pulled up near the bar and exited her car, her hands stuffed into her pockets as she slid through the entrance and settled down at the bar counter.

Well, since she was alone, maybe she should pester Dimitri? Yvette pulled out her phone and sent him a quick text.
Lmao ay, cum 2 duh bar.

Where other members of the pack left their respective home or flat, giving their families the good-bye-smooch or some such nonsense, Jesse kicked her door close, leaving nothing behind but a messy, lifeless apartment. Reeking of copulation and the feral smell one would know from animal cages at the zoo. But ultimately, it was devoid of life today. It was rather usual for the fine lady Williams to kick temporary lovers out of her lair without mercy for their bodily well-being nor the accepted noise level of the block, though not today. She left on her own, in what one would call 'good' mood, wearing nothing less than brass knuckles on her right hand like shiny, sparkly jewelry. She passed a few others on the path down the stairway, gracefully ignoring their presence, uncaring wether or not they looked at her with hostility (that would be other wolves) or awe (as did the few human inhabitants of the building). She made her way out on the streets, bouncing rather than walking. It was the night before the night, and though the bar would be crowded with canines, it was a promising night for lovers of a good scuffle.

About twenty minutes later, Jesse arrived at the bar. The acute observer would notice a time loss of about ten minutes, walking the distance from her apartment to the establishment, however. A fresh bundle of bank notes in her pocket as well as a few splatters of blood adorning her knuckle dusters and right arm implied the cause of her delay. Being without a steady income, the woman had to 'make' some money every now and then, and the unlucky victim of tonight was a semi-professional dealer trying to make some quick cash on her route to the pub. What the poor guy forgot to consider when picking a police-free neighbourhood was the better-than-average sense of smell a handful of people around here had, something that came incredibly handy when looking for a quick 'money dispenser'. After a quick 'chat' with the gentleman that thoroughly convinced him to avoid this area of Greyville in the future, Jesse arrived at the bar, quickly letting her blood-covered weapon disappear in the pockets of her sleeveless hoodie. She cared enough to superficially wipe the clearly visible blood on her arm away, leaving some less noticeable but still hardly secreted smears.

Upon entering with an utterly amused expression - the evening started fairly entertaining after all - she sought a place at the counter, avoiding the general 'pack corner'. For her it was more fun to converse with the clueless human customers anyway, and that lessened the chances for a brawl with the other wolves too. Not that she was eager to avoid such a thing, but pretending to always looked better in the eyes of the alphas. Her choice of a seat was strategically closer to Avery than to Ryan. Unsurprisingly, she addressed the human when issuing her first order of the night.

"Hey sweety, how about you pour me some vodka? Make it the good 'ol cheap stuff, alright?"

Jesse wasn't the kind to ask for expensive stuff. Heck, she hardly ever had enough money on her to pay the tab after a night of drinking cheap shit. Living at the low end of low makes you numb enough to not care, though.

Pounding the door until he heard the toilet flush was a good way to persuade Anton to actually flush her sick down. A single stall ladies room was within state regulations for a place this size, but only just. So when Anton opened up for Ryan, he was swinging so fast that he fell forward, spinning on his heel just in time to catch himself before clipping his face on the porcelain sink.

"Christ Anton, you blew through that stuff, puke it down, then want more? If you weren't... well, you, then I'd say you're looking at killing your liver."

Ryan knew for a fact, however, that there was no more of the 'Jet Fuel' behind the bar to be had. He'd have to go to the cooler for more.

"Avery? Can you take over for me while I get more J-F for Anton? Thanks lovely!"

Avery wrote the special on the chalkboard after she went through her rounds, and as she did, she considered Ryan's questions. He had left before she could answer him, but she was glad for that. She didn't really have a relationship, but she wondered what would happen if she did. She knew how she would treat her boyfriend if she had one, and so she used her own advice to help Ryan. She didn't see him at the bar though.

Strange, Avery thought. That was until she daw Ryan. He stood at the girls bathroom door, trying to communicate with someone on the inside. She sighed, and went into the back to prepare a hot herbal tea. Before she could though, she saw a blonde drawing all the attention, and smiled lightly. It was Fayth, and though Avery didn't know exactly how that girl made it in the world, she was kind of happy to see her. Fayth was always bright and bubbly.

She heard Fayth call for her usual, and nodded. "Got it Fayth! It'll be there in a second." Then she heard another woman, and turned towards the voice with a curt nod. "On it."

She rushed towards the bar, and looked under the counter for the vodka. She pulled out one of the cheaper brands, with a strong smell and a light kick. She poured it straight into a glass and sent it the lady's way. She took a chilled martini glass out of the freezer behind the bar, and grabbed the shaker on the way. She poured in some ice, some sour apple schnapps, vodka, and a sweet and sour mix. The whole concoction was very fruity, and it seemed like the perfect drink for Fayth. The mixture was soon shaken to perfection, and Avery poured it into the glass. She added a small black straw and two small cherries struck through with a plastic sword to mix, and started to bring it to the Fayth.

"Fayth! Nice to see you!" Avery said, setting down the appletini and smiling brightly. "What are you doing out around here? I thought it was your day off!"

The forceful wind pushed back against his hair and face, sending the short, dirty blonde locks backwards, but his sunglasses kept the wind from affecting his vision, allowing Dimitri to see ahead of him without any problems. His face was taut into a tight smirk, the wind nearly searing his skin with pure heat, but Dimitri's tough skin was used to biting, sharp cold, and extremely hot, sweaty climates, so this wasn't bad.

Going 201 mph on his Suzuki Hayabusa, Dimitri loved this sort of adrenaline....everything moved by in a blur as he blazed a sparking, fiery trail down the mountain's long road, body spring-loaded and tense as he smoothly, sharply made a turn that sent him drifting on the curve, the back of his tire nearly touching the safety-gate that, if it hadn't been there, would probably have sent him flying off the mountain, into the forest below. Only the pure agilty and speed of his quick turning and his whip-smart brain allowed him to make the drift, and as the headlights of a nearby truck began shining in his direction, Dimitri steadily dropped his speed to a lower, but still dangerously fast, 94mph.

The sound of his phone vibrating forced the hunter to lower his speed even more. At this point, Greyville was evident in the distance, and soon enough, he'd be on a high-population street, so he wouldn't even be able to go full speed. Keeping one hand on the gas and steering wheel, he opened up the text, reading it quickly. A smirk formed on his face. Yvette...a bar, hm? Probably the one that often times had an annoying lady that screamed and drank a lot of vodka, along with what seemed like the same group of people each, and every time. He had a nagging suspicion that something was going on there, but for now, it was more like a group of friends, than something more sinister.

Putting his motorcycle back into gear, Dimitri gassed the engine.

__________________

The tall man entered the bar, his dark, dirty blonde hair still rather wind-swept. Through the window, one could see the sleek, powerful black motorcycle that he had just parked outside, chained to the ground, and with small, unnoticeable silver spikes sticking out of the seat. The man glanced around once, gloved hands resting in the pockets of his leather jacket, before he caught sight of Yvette. Sitting down beside the other Hunter, Dimitri glanced up at a waitress, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses.

"A glass of water." He spoke up. His voice was deep, and rather accented with a noticeably Russian accent. He took off his sunglasses, exposing dark blue eyes, before pressing his gloved fingers against his temple. "A bar, girly?" The question was directed towards the smaller figure sitting beside him.

Morgana ''Mori'' Winchester

The moon cycle was around again, surely like a clock that never stops ticking. And with that came the Backhouse. Ughh she hated that place. It reeked of alcohol, and reminded her of her own gruesome father, whose only purpose in this world was to indulge in that distasteful liquid. She never quite understood, why the werewolves would want to get drunk on the night before the full moon, or what was even the point of it, but since it was made a ritual, a filthy tradition, she could do nothing to prevent it. Yes, she was the alpha female, but she had no saying in this kinds of matters. Actually, she thought, she didn't have that many sayings in anything. It was always Carlson, who had the last word, which was overall fine as that's how the things work in the pack, but Mori was still getting annoyed. By the drinking, by the secrecy, by Ryan growling at her everytime she mentioned his boyfriend, and by her. Of course, Fay was there. Where else could she be? Oh, actually she could be anywhere, doing anything, it's a freaking miracle that she was now exactly where she was supposed to be.

God, this Moon is making me crazy, Mori thought to herself, when she noticed how edgy she'd become upon arriving at the bar. She glanced over the bar, and her family members, and despite her better judgement decide to walk over to Fay, who was sitting by the counter. ''Fay,'' she said with a cold smile on her face. ''I thought we'd be missing you tonight, here. Don't you have anywhere else important to be? Like you do, you know…usually?'' Mori smirked at her, ordering herself a glass of juice as per usual.

Thomas

Gasping for air, Thomas had failed to execute the werewolf that he had been hunting, both of them trading blows, only for the werewolf to scamper away in the death of the night right before the killing blow. The traps he had set were faulty and didn't spring up in time, and he could only smile at this. The cool dead air of the night hit his face, taking a glance at his left arm, it was bleeding profusely, though this didn't pester him. Having a high pain tolerance is something basic for every hunter, otherwise you'd be dead from the outset.

"Quick little bugger, managed to escape huh." he thought to himself.

---

Eyeing a bar that he frequents in the city, Thomas liked the lively atmosphere of it, bar fights were common place too. With a grin, he entered the place with a ding,
Arm still moderately bleeding, he had planned to go to the hospital to get it patched right up, but then eyed the bar and decided that, "Well, I mean the bar is closer to the hospital, a quick beer wouldn't hurt and it would probably numb the pain." he said to himself right after entering the door, walking up to a bar lady, he asked her for a quick beer, to which she nodded but became a bit wide eyed at the sight of his arm. "Ah this, well don't worry about it, the beer will numb it out. Haha" he said to her with an ear to ear smile.

Walking around to find an empty location, gathering a few stares from the other patrons, he quickly found a seat. Thomas didn't notice but he was dropping bits of blood all over the place as he walked to the empty seat, afterwards he just sat there, leaned back looking at the ceiling letting the fatigue hit and simply waited for his beer to arrive.

Carlson

Seeing Anton already getting herself wasted made Carlson want to curl up on himself. She'd been doing this constantly, and he was finally fed up with it. He thought that she would mope around for a while, and then lift herself up again. But apparently that was giving her too much credit. He approached her at the bar, and put his hand down leaning slightly "You are done drinking" He said, very calmly. He wasn't about to start a scene. But he was about to stop her from drinking

When Jesse sat close to Fayth, only for a brief moment did Fayth drop the bubbly ditz appearance. On purpose. Not only to test Jesse and push her. But now that she knew Mori was here, it became more fun because she knew her ability to shift personalities so effortlessly could potentially put Morgana on even more edge. Fayth's cool, blue-eyed gaze wandered Jesse's body up and down. She caught the faint traces of drying blood on her. Not only that, she could smell it. And this close on the full moon, the faintest scent of blood sent a shiver shuddering down her spine. 'You're in control...' Fay would tell herself in her mind. Breathing deep. The beast is not you. As if trying to prevent a darker part of her self from coming out. Instead, Fay leaned over to Jesse and laid a gentle hand on her arm. With just a subtle whisper, she spoke. "Picking on people you think are weaker than you, again?" Fay gave her a smirk and a wink. Making sure to poke fun at her. Remembering the moment Jesse ganged up on her with another beta, and Fay aptly put her back in her place. Jesse had no tactical skill as a fighter. No proper training from Fay's eyes. Perhaps Jesse was lucky that way.

Then Fay returned to the direction of the voice of Mori. Another woman who didn't seem to appreciate Fay's presence in the pack. What did she even do? Alright, maybe it was curious that Fayth had great skill as a fighter. Maybe it was strange that she could switch her personality at the drop of the hat. And as Mori pointed out, Fay definitely could disappear for some stretches. Though if Mori knew why, she might be thanking her rather than berating her for it. Fayth sighed out. Not here for a fight, the blonde just wanted a drink and to settle down. Find a bit of fun, even. "Mori, why would I like ever miss this totally fun time here? Can't you look around? There's sooo many attractive guys here to hit on. It's time to get my drank on, ya' know?" Fay really laid her valley girl speak on thick for Morgana. When Avery had returned with her drink, Fay beamed over to Mori. "Can you hold on a minute, babe? I got some 'important' things to talk about." Turning to look at Avery.

"Thanks girl! You're the best. I don't know what I'd do without you. And I know it's my day off! This is such a small town with not much to do. So, what better than getting tipsy tonight am I right? Like, obviously. And look at how many hot guys are here. Mr. Muscles over there who just ordered a water. He looks promising," Fayth looked directly over at Dmitri and winked. "Hey boy!" She giggled and continued talking at one hundred miles per hour. "And then you've got…" Fay stopped for a moment. She could smell the blood all over someone. Strong and pungent. Reeking all over the bar to her. Fayth turned to see Thomas bleeding profusely from his arm. "Ewww. Gross. Shouldn't someone like, help him out or something?"

Stephen Whelan

Stephen continued to sit in the dark corner, watching as people came in. A waitress with dark hair came over, and asked if he wanted anything. "No, thank you," he replied. He knew that Michael, a werewolf who worked at The Backhouse, would pour him his regular, a PBR. He continued to sit, breathing the air in, as people go up. After a while, a woman came in, and then a few minutes later a man came in, dark and tall. He focused in on him, and he could hear him speaking, with a Russian accent. Stephen decided that he would continue to listen in.

---

James Matherson

James was in home, in his small house in Greyville. He knew that there was a pack here, he just wasn't sure who was a werewolf. He was in his basement, preparing for the full moon tomorrow night. He had to be ready to kill on sight. Perhaps I could prepare with some others, he thought, and sent out a text to all of the hunters in Greyville:

Hey, it's a full moon tomorrow, anyone wanna do some planning?
-James