On the Bend [Zeke]

[Cookie <3]

There was a vague pounding in her head. A thrum-thrum-thrum against the back of her skull. And the world gradually came into focus. The air smelled foul - like a salt wind, fish, and Boston's very own cloud of pollution. The young woman grimaced, scraping her nails across the ground with a low groan. Splinters pricked her palms and Micki winced. Wood…? She did not dare open her eyes; even behind her eyelids, she could tell it was day. Bright and sunny and too goddamn early for this shit. Squinting against the water's reflection did little to reveal her surroundings.

But the flavor on her tongue - smooth and metallic - was something familiar.

Unnerving.

Green eyes snapped open, and Micki cringed. Shielding her vision from the sun's glare, the girl took stock of her whereabouts. Hidden behind large crates, the smell of fish permeated the air.

"The… docks?" she rasped. This place was unfamiliar to her. Hidden in the stack of crates, the young woman could make out several masts of sailboats docked nearby. The cry of seagulls and the horn from one of the larger ships definitely solidified her locations. The docks. "But… what am I doing here?"

There was that taste again. Stuck in the back of her throat and coating her taste buds. Glancing to her left, the girl glowered and finally realized why. She glowered.

She'd made a mess of this portion of the dock.

It looked like an explosion. Fish were strewn all over the loading dock. Guts and skeletons and ripped nets. Some half-eaten while others were just thrown about haphazardly. Several crates were shattered. Their contents were scattered all around the dock and thrown this way and that. And there, in the muck and mire of the mess, were several large, clumsy paw prints. Too big to be a normal dogs. And too unusual to belong to a human.

Micki sighed, rubbing her neck. Must have been a crazy night… Too bad she didn't remember much of it. Although, she was fairly certain that alcohol had been involved… at some point. And shifting… Crap. What a mess. Regardless, it was early dawn, and someone was bound to discover the chaos… sooner or later. And she would rather not be here when that person arrived.

Rising on shaky legs, she leaned against a nearby box for support. Gotta get out of here.

Still, one thing bothered her:

"Whose damn clothes are these?!"

[Zeke]

"Mine." Each step echoes on the concrete platform of the docks, accompanied by the light tap, tap of his staff. Zeke makes no attempt to sneak up on the girl, it seemed a petty thing to spook her on top of what was most likely, a very bad morning. Besides, the last time he had surprised a werewolf, he had walked away with a few new scars to call his own. "You're welcome." He cuts an intimidating figure in the bleak morning fog, face shadowed and hidden by a worn felt hat, at least in comparison to a young woman covered in fish guts and wearing clothes that swamped her figure in a sea of faded flannel.

Kids, these days.

Zeke stops and folds his hands over his staff, leaving a healthy distance between himself and the she-wolf. There was a generous breeze coming off the ocean, more than enough to assault his nose with the scent of salted fish and smog, and underneath that lovely bouquet, the faint, musky scent of animal. "Somebody got the midnight munchies, huh?" He scratches at his beard thoughtfully, surveying the damage and wishing for the clean air of Montana, the sort of air a man could fill his lungs and clear his mind with.

Intelligent brown eyes sweep over the woman, trying his best to correlate someone only a few inches over five foot with a beast that could completely decimate an entire shipping crate of sardines. In one night. Without any help. Those paw-prints were nearly as big as his hands though and he had big hands. Magic was a tricky thing, it could add a hundred pounds of fur, muscle, and bone to someone, and could gift them with an appetite not even the largest of men could claim.

Zeke sighs through his nose, "I guess I should be thankful that you were craving sardines and not human flesh." He pauses for a beat and lifts a fuzzy eyebrow, "You didn't eat nobody, did you, Miss?" The wizard's deep voice drops a fraction lower and the runes carved into his staff flare briefly with light, the ends of his coat picking up. Theatrics were part and parcel of the gig and Zeke never missed the opportunity to use them to his advantage. In truth, he didn't know if he especially gave a damn that there might be a werewolf running around and eating people.

It wouldn't be like it was anything new. Not in this town, and not anywhere else for that matter.

"Even for a werewolf, that's a big meal." The lights fade from his staff and something of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He reaches down to fetch a small flask from his coat pocket and tosses it under hand. "Hair of the dog." Somewhat more literally than Micki might've liked. Zeke was no drinker, but headaches didn't seem to care whether or not you were sober as a priest. It was a gnarly tasting potion, but it worked by God.

He sighs again and pokes the pitchfork handle at the half eaten carcass of a fish. "Someone's gonna be paying for this and it sure as hell ain't gonna be me." A meaningful silence follows.

[Cookie <3]

The girl cringed. Busted.

Micki had hoped it would have taken longer for someone to find the wreckage - and that she would have been long gone - but then, when was luck ever on her side? She nervously fussed with the long sleeves of the shirt, trying to roll them up only for them to tumble down past her fingertips once more. A rueful, uneasy laugh slipped past her teeth. "T-Thank you…" she muttered with a sheepish smile.

Clinging to a crate for support, she curiously - and cautiously - glanced at the stranger. He looked like someone from her hometown, stumbling into Boston straight from the northwest. Older - at least, older than her - and freakishly tall. This city is full of giants, thought the young woman, quietly grousing about her own height. Or lack thereof. Nevertheless, Micki relied heavily on her nose and stole furtive sniffs in his direction. Senses mostly clogged with the odor of fish, she could still detect the trace of human about him. Or, what she thought was human. One thing she knew for certain - he was not a werewolf. And that small assurance eased some of the tension through her muscles. It would be much worse to run into one of her kind than someone like him.

She'd take the human over another werewolf anyday.

Regardless, Micki swallowed a whimper and, despite her pounding headache, she frantically denied his accusation.

"N-No!" Fear colored her words. But just as quickly as she responded, she became uncertain. "At least… I don't think I think I did." Barely above a whisper. Even if she had eaten someone, there was no way of her knowing - at least, not this time. Her beast is quiet, and there is no way for her to know what transpired last night - except for the obvious. She had never eaten a person before when she was living in Cody. Why start now? Horrified green eyes gaze at the stranger. Had she… killed someone? Is that why he was here? Her gut seemed to twist unpleasantly at the thought, and the hair on her arms tingled as air is charged with… magic?

Strange lights sparked from his odd walking stick, and the man is ten times more intimidating than before.

Micki whined.

She was uncomfortable now. Her head felt like it's being split in half, her stomach was in knots, and this stranger persisted on talking to her. The young werewolf did not have the heart to tell him to leave her be. And considering that he was… polite enough to lend his clothes to her, it would be rude of her to brush him off. Still, she returned the flask to him with light toss of her own and slight shake of her head. After a night like before, fish and alcohol just did not mix well in her stomach. Or in her head.

Barefoot, Micki stepped away from the crate. It was on the tip of her tongue to thank him and be on her way. Things just go from bad to worse. It's like ice sliding down her spine, and the girl gradually slumped defeatedly. She mumbles, "B-but I don't have any money…"

She fidgeted. Frets with the tattered edges of the sleeves before peeking up at the stranger with watery green eyes. It's worth a shot. "Can't we just… pretend this never happened?"

[Zeke]

It wasn't a gesture from the goodness of his two sizes two large heart. A naked girl covered in fish guts had the ability to attract even more attention than a bipedal, hulking monster torn straight from An American Werewolf in London. At least he had Tolkien, whom he was fairly convinced had run into at least one wizard during his lifetime. Tolkien had gotten it right for the most part, but no one had ever, in either film or literature, truly captured the destructive powers of a hungry werewolf.

Neither the sardines or the steel shipping container had stood a chance against Micki's teeth.

While she takes in her surroundings, Zeke frowns and wonders how long the coercion spell would last before the security guard who manned the cameras realized that flaking out in the first hour of work for McDonald's wasn't such a great idea after all. Manipulation was best left up to witches, they had an inborn talent for it and a pair of tits never hurt when trying to convince a human to do something unwise.

Zeke holds up a hand to stop her, inwardly wincing from the panic that underlines her words. It was clear that she was no old lobo, roaming the city under the light of the full moon to slake her thirst for human flesh, finding a suitable dessert among the docks. "I would know if you did." A lie, but a merciful one that he hopes will quiet the horror in her eyes.

"That's what insurance's for. They won't mind." Zeke wastes no time on explanation. Things will work out, or he will make them work out and that's just that. Micki nearly has him with the puppy dog look though and the wizard falters, clearing his throat sharply. "I would, but the security cameras won't." Modern technology made everything more difficult, for both criminals and those of supernatural predilections. "I don't understand computers too well, I just need them turned on and then," He snaps his fingers and manages a wry smile. "I'll fry them."

Still, there was one last thing to attend to before they left for the security guard's station.

He strikes the staff against the dock, palm thrust forward to the ugly mess of sardines and peeled steel. The symbols on the pitch-fork handle flare to life and the listless, tugging winds that steal along the bay focus and realign at the center of his hand, building and shaped by the murmured spell at his lips. For a brief moment, the waves cease their churning and settle into smooth darkness. It isn't much for a demonstration of power, but inch by inch the werewolf caused disaster is swept into a pile, the paw prints hidden by dozens of half eaten fish and their entrails. Once finished, Zeke turns with a satisfied smile, the lights on his staff fading away as easily as they had come into existence.

"That should do it."

And just like that, the breeze resumes as normal, gentle at first, as if coaxing out the territory and then returning to its usual breath stealing gusts.

The wizard beckons the woman forward, weaving through walls of shipping crates with a grace that spoke of a much younger man. The guard station is nothing but a glorified box with windows, but it does cut the wind and, most importantly, it's warm. Zeke holds the door open for her.

"Beauty before age."

[Cookie <3]

It's been one hell of a morning.

Micki pouts as she brushes the dirt off her palms; her hands are still sticky from the fish guts and she grimaces at the gunk under nails. Yuck! Whatever drove her other half to act up as it had, she intends to get to the bottom of it. Not going to let something like this happen again. At least, not near city limits. There is too much to risk here - not like back home.

The young woman whines. Why couldn't things be as simple as before? Why'd she have to come to the city?

You were kicked out. The girl grumbles quietly, "Oh yeah, that's why."

Nonetheless, she relaxes at mention of insurance. "Oh, right…" Well, that's a giant weight off her shoulders, and one she is more than happy to be relieved of. There is no way she would have been able to pay back all the damages. She would be in debt up to her ears. Plus, honestly, would believe a werewolf wrecked a shipping crate or two? Glancing at the destroyed crate, even she is surprised by the strength of her other half. Still, there is the matter of the video cameras. "You're gonna destroy them? I guess that makes sense."

But why is he doing this? That is the question that flickers in the front of her mind. Micki has never seen this man in her life. What makes him-?!

A spidery chill skitters up her spine. Micki sucks in a hasty gasp while that sleeping creature within comes to high alert. Something is in the air. Something unnatural. Wide green eyes dart to the glowing marks on the stranger's walking stick, and the young werewolf stumbles back a few steps, nearly tripping over her own bare feet. It's all wrong - completely weird. And whatever he's doing - making things move without touching them - her other half does not like it. As if crying: 'Stay back!'

Back pressed against a different crate, Micki puts as much distance between her and… whatever that freaky stranger is doing. His help or not, she's spooked. "W-what was that?!" she hisses - though it's more of a growl, a hiss, and a whimper in one. Her knees are shaking.

And he expects her to follow?

She hesitates momentarily. Yes, Micki can hear her other half whining and protesting in the background. And she agrees. But right now, armed in only a extra-large flannel shirt and lamenting the loss of her favorite orange Converse, she knows she doesn't have a lot of options. Now is not the time to beat a hasty retreat. At least, not until I get my own clothes. So she quickly follows after him, working her way through the maze of containers to smaller building.

Observing him briefly, Micki edges around him - careful to remain out of arm's reach - and through the door. "Thank you."

She moves to stand in the furthest corner of the small building - guard station, judging by the set up - and keeps a sharp eye on the man. The floor is cold on her feet and she shuffles nervously. She wants to ask. It's there, ready to burst.

"W-Who are you?" she starts, eyeing him carefully. And seconds later, asks, "What are you?" Her stomach turns with a bubble of anxiety. She chose to follow him, despite the strangeness of his earlier actions. It's only fair that he share - even if it is just a little. In a low tone, shoulders hunching and eyes narrowing, she continues. "You know what I am. You're not human… are you?" It feels like a dumb question, but it is one she has to ask.

[Zeke]

She looks like a spooked cat, all wide eyes and wild hair, as far as possible from the wind he'd conjured. Werewolves. They had the magic to transform themselves entirely, heightened strength and senses, and yet Zeke found that nearly every one he had come across had about as much understanding of magic as a run of the mill human. "Cleaning up your mess." He loosens his grip on the staff and casts a final look over his shoulder, making sure that Micki is following him.

There were so many buttons. It was possible that Zeke knew even less about technology than the young wolf knew about the arts.

The world changed at an imperceptible rate. Not so long ago, John Lennon was still alive. Zeke had loved the Beatles and was still under the impression that all the micro-what have you's couldn't compare to the feel of a record underneath your fingers. Then one day it seemed like he had woken up and it was all different. The good and the bad. Even magic wasn't enough to stop the flow of time.

Bare feet cross his path and involuntarily, Zeke tries to hunch himself over just a little further, to make himself less scary to a young woman caught on a rough morning. It wasn't any fun to whip the elements around if the only reaction he got was fear.

The inevitable question comes and the wizard scowls briefly, "My name's Zeke and I'm from Montana." He steps inside the small building and closes the door behind the both of them, muffling the noise of the busy docks. "Sometimes I do magic." There were a dozen different names for what he was, just as there were for Micki's unfortunate condition. He'd let her decide on the finer details.

Shrugging out of his coat, Zeke rests it over the back of the office chair and does his best not to hit his head on the ceiling. One thing that hadn't changed, and one thing he feared never would, was the fact that nothing was built to accommodate people of his height. "So, teach me. Where's the 'on' button?" Except, nothing ever went that smoothly. In the space of a minute, footsteps on the concrete attract Zeke's attention and he peers outside to see the guard returning from his breakfast outing, McDonald's bag in hand. He looked confused, but mostly it was anger that clouds the heavy set man's face.

"God damn it. Hurry up, this doesn't look good." An attractive young woman clothed only in his shirt, both of them huddled in the small guard's room and the reek of fish still clogging his nose.

This day was just getting better and better. Zeke readies his staff and holds his breath as the guard comes closer, spots them, and pepper spray and radio bouncing on his belt, makes for the door.

[Cookie <3]

"Magic?" she parrots. There is a sparkle of intrigue in those wide green eyes. "You mean, like Harry Potter?"

Magic is such a foreign concept to the young werewolf. Not that it does not exist, but that the circumstances to even use magic is so out in left field that she does not know how to begin wrapping her head around it. Still, he did not answer whether he is human or not - and maybe that has something to do with his penchant for the mystic arts. Because, let's be serious, since when do humans know magic?

Witches are one thing. But magic-walking-stick-toting old men are a whole other story.

Micki hums and perks up at the meager information given. He seems brusque about it - almost as if it's a chore to even divulge what little he has. Regardless, she is pleased. Another person from her neck of the woods. Her beast silently preens, cautious but no longer terribly afraid.

Huddled in the guard station, it is definitely warmer if not a little tight. Like sardines in a can. The man - Zeke, she corrects herself - puts her in the mind of a giraffe crammed into a small box. She almost feels bad for him. Even so, there is less space than she had originally hoped. There are two windows - one in front of the desk, and the other is directly across the room from the door. Micki's fretting with the long hem of the shirt becomes almost habitual as she curls her toes against the linoleum.

"How should I know," she scowls and wanders over. She really hopes he isn't looking for her to know what to do. "You don't know how to work this thing?" Of course not. That would be too easy. Guess this stuff is after his time. And everyone knows the saying - can't teach an old dog new tricks. But looking at her to be of some use is ridiculous. Did Micki look like she knew a thing about technology?

Leaning forward, Micki searches the console for the 'On' button, muttering, "The most high-tech thing we owned was a microwave."

They're running out of time.

The guard is coming back.

And Micki has never been known for thinking on her feet.

There is a breath of panic. Just a moment of frantic glances at the cluster of buttons and knobs before a low "Screw it!" is heard and the girl dives beneath the console. "Stall for me," she barks while making gestures in the direction of the guard with one hand.

SCHK-RIP!

The console groans. Button lights flicker once - twice - and then fade out, and the air of the station takes on that electrical fire stench. A yellow spark or two shot from under the large desk. Underneath the dashboard, Micki tears through wires and rips a chunk of green mainframe from the belly of the computer. She's not sure whether this will have the desired effect, but it is worth a shot. If there was supposed to be a plan, they really should have gone over it one more time.

Whatever happens now, happens. She's not going to stick around to find out.

Clambering out from beneath the desk, she bolts for the window opposite the door. It's not tiny, but just right for someone of her size to fit through. Pops the latch. Crawls up the wall. And rolls out onto the pavement outside.

Safe!

With the security box at her back, she keeps low and out of sight, listening for the exchange between the old man and the guard. Don't take forever.