Yellow Light [Gabe]

[Cookie <3]

Highway gas station outside of Denver, CO

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The gas station gleams like an oasis in the dark.

Micki sniffles. The trek back home is long and tiresome. Hitchhiking from one town to the next. Stealing sleep whenever she could, or catching a ride in an empty railway car are the fastest ways back to Wyoming. Still, some things are never that simple. "This is what happens when you don't have any money," she grumbles. Not even enough for a Greyhound. She spares a fleeting glance at her sneakers. Her orange Converse are scuffed and frayed - mostly from the walking and the road dust - but she laments their tattered appearance. They are her favorite pair, too. Micki huffs, rubbing her arms to stave off the evening chill.

However, money is only one of the issues. Her other self is the remaining half of the equation. The wilds of the Midwest is its home, and there is nothing she could do to change that.

Boston was nice… while it lasted.

Still, she's in no hurry to return home.

Her stomach rumbles, unpleasant and empty. Reminding her that she has not eaten since yesterday, it is a notice that she could do without. The station is bound to have food. Snacks, jerky, water, more jerky. Her mouth waters and she digs her fingers into the hem of her sweatshirt. Still, hiding in the shadows outside of the gas station's light, Micki shuffles nervously. She knows it is a bad idea - is all too aware of how much trouble she could get into if she is caught. There is not a car in sight; the highway is silent, and the only person visible is the bored cashier inside.

The thought remains.

Just… one little spook, she attempts to reason. Nothing permanent. A-And no one will get hurt. I'm just… so hungry.

That's all it takes. "Sorry…"

In the shadows, she surrenders. The beast thrums through her bones - through the blood - and sends a ripple through her very core. She is there, but not. In control, if only in the vaguest sense. Many minutes pass, and the change between person and beast is complete.

And with one thought thundering through its mind - Food! - it barrels towards the gas station light. Glass shatters as it leaps through the large windows, and a human shriek erupts nearby. Ears twitch, but the beast pays the man no mind.

There's jerky in aisle four, and it's calling her name.

[Gabriel Stark]

It had been a relatively quiet night so far, no ridiculous calls, aside from the one or two "public indecency's", he had responded to. Those weren't really anything special though, he came across those every shift, they became the running joke at the station. Currently, Hathwaite was the champion for crazy stories, as he had arrested a few celebrities. Gabe was the runner up though, his story about the previous governor was in very close second.

"Whiskey two-one, base."

His BP rang out, "Damn," He cursed as he picked up the radio, "Send it for Whiskey two-one." He was secretly hoping it would be something easy, a lost dog, some drunk guy.

"A silent alarm has been activated at the gas station off Fillmore and Colfax. We need you to check it out."

He sighs, before bringing the mic back up to speak, "10-4 en route." He turned on his lights and sped up, heading in the direction of the gas station.

It didn't take him too long to get there, but when he did, he turned off his lights, and almost instantly, something in him woke up. He knew what that something was, but he didn't know why his other half was acting out. Whatever it was though, he had to make sure to take this call a bit more seriously then he thought. Quietly getting out of his car, he looked around the perimeter, seeing the broken window, and looking though it to see the mere fright on the store keepers face, his wolf growls loudly. Something is not right. Gabe approached the store cautiously, his wolf scratching at the cage its kept in, begging to be let out. Gabe crouched, and peered into the glass door, not seeing much, but hearing crunching, growling.

Standing now, he opened the door slowly, and glanced at the store keeper, who was shaking his head quickly, and pointed down an aisle. Gabe crouched again, and made his way to the aisle the dude was pointing to. What he saw was a little more shocking then he had expected.

It was a wolf. A huge wolf, just eating the shit out of some beef jerky. There was something off about this wolf though, almost human. His wolf was howling inside, going insane with rage, Gabe shook his head to try to clear it, and in doing so he knocked over a can of soup. He eyes widened as it hit the ground. Well now he'd done it.

Standing now, he had the gun pointed at the wolf, whether or not he was going to shoot was up to this creatures next actions.

[Cookie <3]

She's ravenous.

Hunger sears through her belly, lighting a fire in the pit of her gut. It's an itch too big to scratch. Gulping down shreds of dried meat and bits of plastic packaging without thought, the little beast attempts to eat its fill. But there is not enough. Never enough. The food it deems edible is nearly all gone. The lower shelves have been picked clean; wrappings from the multiple flavors litter the floor of the filling station shop. Crouching down, the beast whines and paws at one of the empty pouches. More?

Squealing tires and a repetitive tone catches the creature's ears. She pauses, snorting loudly, but the sound vanishes entirely before she can fully understand. The werewolf processes it for only a moment and brushes it off in favor of searching the station for food. There has to be something here. She's still hungry. Micki's beast knows that the human keeper is still present, cowering behind the counter, but it pays little attention to him.

Humans are not food.

Instead, she finds the Slim Jims and tears into one of those.

There's a shuffle of feet - the crunch of glass beneath boots - and a scent that is… recognizable. Other. The beast's fur bristles, but it does not turn. It will steal our food. It makes a gesture of hunching its shoulders and crouching defensively over the tattered scraps of jerky packaging. As if to say, Mine!

Instead, it happens in a span of moments.

A soup can clatters loudly to the ground. The werewolf spooks nearly right out of its skin. Leaping around recklessly, it collides into a nearby shelf and crashes to the ground. Chips, snacks, and an disoriented biped tumble in a jumbled mess across the floor. The beast rumbles, taking a minute to clumsily stumble onto shaky hind legs. She's off-balance, but green eyes swing in the other's direction.

He's big - bigger than her in either of her skins. Even in this form, with fur and claws and fangs, she stands at a mere five-foot-nine. Just a few scant inches below the other's eye level. She is put off for a moment or two. The scent of werewolf permeates through this human, strong and very much permanent. Instinct demand that she acknowledge it. Large ears press back against her skull, but she does not surrender entirely. Backed against the glass refrigerators, the beast has little room for escape. The stranger points something in her direction - black and barreled and reeking of smoke.

Regardless, the little werwolf huffs, flashing her fore teeth in a hissed warning.

Go away!