Darn You Hooligan [Open]

[Vianne]

The bike crests the hill and the girl is blissfully happy as she coasts quickly down. Bored with goofing off alone and building blanket forts, Vianne had decided to head to the waterfront. She had packed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch, which is now nestled in a little plastic baggy stuffed in the front pocket of her brown jacket. She could drink from a water fountain, so the redhead hadn't bothered with grabbing a plastic bottle to fill.

Few things make the lonely girl happy nowadays, but biking is one of them, especially alongside the beautiful waterfront. Often, the pup of a werewolf is left to her own devices, since everybody's busy and they all know better than to involve Vianne in politics. She's fairly good at finding ways to entertain herself, however. If only she had a violin, the wisp of a girl would grace this dingy city with some good old fashioned bluegrass tunes. Oh well, a heart could wish for some soul music. Here in Boston, she hadn't heard a whole lot of pretty tunes, but then again, she seriously doesn't get out much.

Pedaling fairly fast down the sidewalk and humming a song, Vianne is pleasantly content. Her red hair is tied back in a messy half-pony tail. Shorter strands would have framed her face, had they not been flying around behind as she rode. It's not too chilly today, given her warmer clothes (brown jacket, jeans, and a thick green sweater), not even with the breeze in her face. Yup, it's pretty nice out, and a great day for a little picnic by the water fountain! That is, until a stupid suicidal squirrel decides to wreck her day, quite literally.

The little bugger darts out from under a decorative bush a mere foot from her front wheel. Oh no, not a squirrel! What the hay was a squirrel doing in the little decorative greenery squares anyway?! Vianne panics and wrenches the handlebars hard to the left. "CRAP!" The ginger scrambles and tries desperately to save herself, but she knows she's going down. The girl is all knees and elbows, flailing as she falls. The rusty bike angles to the right and ends up straight on top of Vianne. The scrawny redhead hits the ground hard, ripping a hole in the right knee of her jeans and banging her right elbow on the pavement. Her legs are all tangled up in the old thing. Handlebars dig into her gut, jabbing something. The thick jacket saves her bruising elbow from scrapes, but her knee takes the brunt of the fall. Dang it, she's bleeding. Crap, she hates blood! And pain. …And embarrassment, because anybody could have seen this lanky girl splatter on the ground.

Fists clench and she grits her teeth, "Shh-eeooot!" To finish, the wolf simply growls out an "Ow…" and plants a pained grimace on her thin lips. Wincing as she fumbles on the ground with the clumsy bike, liquid pools in her eyes, but tears are blinked away before they have the chance to fall. So much for her usual grace… In such a public place, the embarrassment hurts more than the battered kneecap and bruising funny bone.

She feels the growls caught in her throat and a pained animal is never fun to mess with. More or less, the wolf spurs the normally quiet girl on. Narrowed eyes search for the stupid squirrel that had gone and tried to cripple her. The durn critter had since scurried up a nearby tree, unscathed, and sat watching. She thinks it's laughing at her. Seething blue eyes glare at the little twerp. She pouts at him as she tries to free herself from the clutches of a downed bike, "That's right you'd better get on up that tree, ya freaking' Hooligan. Next time, I ain't gonna swerve and you'll be nothing but a grease spot on the ground! I see your fluffy butt again, you're mine." Her southern accent comes out full in bloom. Seems like she has also found an archenemies and named him Hooligan. Even so, the sweet girl knows she'll end up swerving every single time. Her threats never hold any substance, but a puppy can bark… And quite loudly too, like the little scrappy yappy thing she is.

As she ends her rant, she points a finger and narrows her eyes while pursing her lips. The scrawny ginger girl thinks she's oh-so threatening and scary, when really, she feels like falling apart right here on the walkway. Redirecting her embarrassment into anger might help a little, so she had gone that route and now hopes for the best. Lifting a stubborn chin and her pointed freckled nose to the sky, she sniffs pointedly at the vermin like she's won. Squirrel, I'mma tell you… Yup, she had blessed it out as only Vianne could.

She's left trying to untangle herself from the bike, bleeding, and getting to her feet. Durn, that knee hurt. A spot in her gut twinged with the movement. Bikes are terribly awkward things to get out of, especially with people watching. Curse them all for staring… But mostly that freakin' Hooligan.

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I dunno how she has a bike but she does because I say so
idk, either she had a job for a while and bought one, got one out of the dumpster and fixed it, or begged someone with the puppy dog face like maaaaal idk. Also this made me google "are there squirrels in Boston" because what vermin do they have up north in cities? and I got this beauty

[Zephyr]

Being a werewolf doctor…and Silas is definitely arrogant enough to call himself the best werewolf doctor, he occasionally has to make house calls. There are some wolves who call him but refuse to go to the hospital, which he totally understands, and normally he’d just tell them no because he isn’t in the fucking pack anymore…but he can’t just ignore someone who needs his help, and his agreement with the pack is a tentative thing at best and he doesn’t want to rock it by ignoring someone who needs him.

He’s just come back from extracting a silver letter opener out of someone’s hand. As a professional, Silas tries not to ask about the stupid things people do that get them hurt. He’s supposed to be unbiased and unjudgemental…but that just isn’t Silas. It looked a lot like the fucker had tried to stab his dog in a fit of rage and ended up with the fucking thing in his own hand. Silas almost wanted to leave the letter opener in there, but he swallowed his pride and fixed the guy up and left him antibiotics for the poisoning since it wasn’t bad enough to need a trip to the hospital.

The surgeon hadn’t actually parked his car at the guy’s house, and he regrets it now as the wind blows him smack in the face. He pulls up the collar of the thick trenchcoat he’s wearing, hiking his little bag of werewolf medical supplies up as he takes a shortcut through a residential area close to the waterline. Silas doesn’t particularly care for the water too much, so he pretty much avoids it. Even though he can’t see the water, he catches the scent of water and salt on the air and picks up the pace to get to his car.

The scent of wolf and blood stop him in his tracks and Silas lets out a snarl. He wants to just fucking go home and enjoy the rest of his day, maybe con someone over into spending time with him…which sounds a hell of a lot more interesting than draining his bourbon, but instead, he finds himself drawn to the scent of blood and the sounds of quiet growling and jabbering that he really isn’t interested in.

In the end, Silas ends up standing by, body leaning casually up against a light pole, shoulders squared against the wind as he watches the girl struggle against the bike. Now. A nicer person would walk over and help her, but Silas figures since he’s going to be fixing her wounds in very short order that his quota for nice has already been filled. After a while, he speaks, his voice clearly uninterested in her current predicament. “If you’re done screeching at that squirrel.” He rumbles, heaving himself off of the pole to walk over to her. “Let me see where you’re hurt.” It’s as good as an order. Silas is all business and brusque…no how do you do’s.

[Vianne]

Confound this thing, and metal, and handlebars, and tire spokes. And squirrels. Vianne doesn't expect help, and only wants to get back home and away from the watching world, 'cause it sure feels like mocking eyes have settled on her back. On her feet again, she keeps most of her weight off of her injured leg. Ouch, it stings, and the chilly wind isn't helping matters. She's got herself a steady trickle trekking down her calf, and the ripped fibers at the knee stain red. Darn it, she had liked these jeans.

A shaky hand stays latched to the bike, and as soon as she feels balanced again, she's got a mind to just up and pedal off like it had never happened, bleeding leg and all. Which way were the handlebars supposed to turn again? She spun them one way, then halfway the other. The whole contraptions looks so awkward. Oh wait, it goes left. Yep, definitely turn it to the left. Focusing on righting herself and the sorry old bike, the girl was doing her best to ignore the general public.

The back of her free hand draws across a red nose and she sniffs, effectively taking care of the snot that had been playing peek-a-boo with the world. As she does, Vianne catches a whiff of something more than just her own blood. A sudden voice accompanies the new scent at the same moment she sees him, and the girl jumps. Then winces, since a twinge in her gut tells her it isn't so happy with the jerky movement. She can't stop her hand from gingerly rubbing the sore spot on her abdomen.

Startled eyes blink, then narrow as she glances away and grumbles, "He started it." Naturally, the wolf has a right to finish it. Blame and anger help cover the embarrassment, and the dumb critter had started this whole mess.

Only when he's walking forward does she realize that he's seriously aiming to see what the clumsy girl has gone and hurt. The wolf acts like he knows what he's doing, but he's a bit too forward in assuming she'd let some random person see what was troubling her. Who is he now? What is he toting around in that man purse of his anyway? Some age old wisdom, ingrained within a young child's mind, tells her not to trust the ones with mysterious bags. Don't talk to strangers Vianne.

Alarmed, Vianne shakes her head quickly, and her half-done pony tail is near about finished trying to hold back her hair after that spill. She's obviously not so inclined to let him gawk at her bleeding knee either. It hurt, and so did her gut and her bruising elbow. "Naw, it's alright. I'm fine." and tries to offer a weak, embarrassed grin. In other words, no thanks. Feet shuffle a step back awkwardly, and a shin bumps sideways into a bike pedal. Again, that spot on her belly complains with movement, but she doesn't let herself rub at it this time. Not while he seems so interested in her injuries, so she settles for a grimace instead.

Excuses, excuses, "It doesn't hurt all that much." So she's not the best liar, but someone give the wimp a gold star for trying. See, look at this faltering brave face; she's fine. Pay no attention to the blood on her jeans. What the redhead wouldn't give for Jedi will power mind tricks. Turn around, walk on away, Mr. Man Purse, nothing to see here… Awkward. She would rather nurse her own wounds in the comfort of her room.