Lykos - 17 - Washed Away
Lykos Chapter 17 (Washed Away) Written by Leo_Todrius and Trickster_D
It was a dark and stormy night, quite literally. Rain fell in torrents across the world, hard and cold and unforgiving, bouncing off of the lush leaves that filled the tree canopy. The copious water was saturating the dark ground, reducing it all to dense mud and giving off an intense and earthy smell. The natural display carried the promise of something ancient and primitive and powerful... and giving August a long and unpleasant shiver down the young man's spine.
The young man was running through the woods, his black sneakers caked in the mud, leaving a messy trail. His ruined denim pants were already covered in dirt and stains up to his knees. Even his physical form showed signs of a life roughly lived. His rusty red hair was shaggy and unkempt, his face had a short shorn dense beard and there were dozens of knicks and cuts across his skin from scuffles. He kept his ears perked as he jumped over a cut-down tree and made his way through some dense, thorny bushes, but apart from the beat of the rain there was no other sound around him: it was as if all the inhabitants of the woods had sensed some unknown danger and had taken shelter in their nests and burrows. August would have gladly joined them, but (he thought with a sour grimace on his face) unlike them, he didn't have a place to return to. He could only run, and run, and then run again, chasing something he wasn't even sure existed, being chased by enemies so mysterious and invisible that they probably existed only inside his mind.
It was like some mass extinction movie featuring the villain of the week, whether it be a pathogen or zombies or some nuclear disaster. Fleeing from population centers, seeking shelter in hiding, away from the maelstrom of armageddon. It was the only way out. Lost in his gloomy thoughts, he didn't even notice the small rock protruding from the ground like a relic from an animal boneyard, but it was too late: his right foot hit the jagged point, forcing a short choked scream out of the young man's throat as he fell into a huge puddle of mud with a sonorous splat.
The sludge ended up everywhere: his mouth, his ears, his nostrils, even in his underwear. August coughed, spitting small dark droplets, and as he lifted his head his eyes burned of a feverish shade of gold like twin embers in the mud mask that was his face. For a moment, he felt so dejected and desperate he was sure he was going to start crying, but the sheer absurdity of that thought halted it immediately: he hadn't shed a tear once in the last ten years, after all. August just let out the tiniest sigh of frustration before he jumped back on his feet and started running again, as the heavy rain washed away the mud from his hair and his clothes.
He was exhausted, or at least his body kept sending him distressed signals: his legs were achy, his back felt as stiff and cold as a steel pipe, he kept shivering as if he had a fever and his vision, from time to time - just the matter of a split second - became blurry, the green of the vegetation getting mixed with the black of the night. And yet his brain refused to stop. He didn't want to cease his mad and useless chase, he didn't want to pause and have some rest. Because rest was usually accompanied by sleep. And within the deep valley of sleep, dreams invariably lurked, like feral and mindless predators.
Unfortunately, August knew he was almost completely worn out; sooner or later, he had to stop somewhere, maybe find something to eat... something that wasn't a rat or a raccoon, possibly. Perhaps he could try to find a minimarket and steal something from there, even though last time he had pulled that stunt he had been shot in the shoulder, and even though the wound had completely healed, it had still hurt like hell and August wasn't keen on repeating the experience that soon.
At the edge of August's awareness, something started to signal to him that there was danger near by, something out of the ordinary. In the symphony of raindrops, he heard independent splashes. Something was padding through the mud, through the water. There was a deep reverberating growl and the shimmer of metallic green in the darkness. There was something about the form so familiar and yet so alien, something he longed for and something he feared.
August's desperate run slowed down a bit, as his steps brought him closer to the source of the noise. He lifted his head a bit, his nostrils widening as he tried to suck in any tiny molecule of smell around him, a gesture that had become so simple during the previous months and yet was still so alien to him... but the goddamned rain was like a liquid curtain, covering whatever was behind the trees in a dark shroud, not allowing its scent to reach for him. August growled in disappointment and anger: he had no other choice than to see for himself.
Without taking the time to resolve a plan for himself, it seemed the creature in the darkness was just as curious. Branches parted and a figure moved out. It was massive, the fur soaked wet and paws caked in thick primal mud. There was an instinctive magnetism for August, his newly found primal senses urging him to find more of his kind... but this creature was not his kind, nor any kind that he had ever seen before.
Tiny rays of pale moonlight danced off the water logged fur, revealing it to be a rusty color. The creature's massive head came up, revealing not so much a canine face as a feline one. The eyes glinted green again, looking at August, almost digging into his soul... but nothing would have dug quite so effectively as the two long curved tusks coming down from the feline's upper jaw, the saber shaped fangs ancient and primordial.
August froze, trapped in a fight or flight response: the beast in front of him was something he had only seen in movies and an illustrated book a long, long time ago. "F-fuck..." he murmured as rivulets of rain flowed inside his mouth and down his throat, making him wheeze. "Y-you gotta be kidding me... a fucking saber tooth t-tiger...?!" With a clumsy, and yet strangely fluid movement, the young man closed and opened his fingers. Sharp, obsidian black claws appeared in place of his human nails. August crouched a bit, his lips baring and showing teeth that were far too pointy. The pale light caught his eyes, glinting a washed out gold as the werewolf waited for a response from the huge feline.
The big cat sniffed at the wet air and looked at the human curiously for a moment, as if sizing him up. Whether or not August wasn't considered a viable threat, or perhaps not enough of a meal, the saber-toothed creature turned and disappeared back into the underbrush, leaving only massive muddy paw prints in the quickly deteriorating landscape.
August panted, his golden eyes still staring at the place that until a couple of seconds prior was occupied by the saber tooth tiger. All his muscles were tense, even some he didn't even know he had. "What... the fuck..." There was something weird in those woods, that was for certain... but after all, the world had already gone to hell for him before that. Using one of the last embers of energy inside his body, he resumed his run. He wanted to be as far away as possible from there before the big cat could change its mind... or call some friends to join the party.
It still seemed a bit foolhardy, but the idea had crystallized in August's mind. His destination had seemed so far away at first, randomly chosen with a twenty minute Google search on a borrowed iPhone. He needed somewhere far away from major population centers, but not so distant he couldn't eek out enough to survive on. It needed to be big enough he could blend in on the street rather than be seen on the outsider. It had taken some effort, but the answer had come to him in the form of Black Diamond, Washington.
The article said the mines were still active, digging for graphite and coal, though the job application process was far more complex than one might initially expect. Still, there was a chance. And after all, it wasn't like he had much choice left, August thought gloomily. As he leaped over the millionth tree stump, the sound of countless raindrops around him started becoming more and more harmonious to his ears, as if there was some sort of hidden melody inside it... or maybe he was so incredibly tired his brain was beginning to shut down. And yet, he still couldn't stop. Not now that he was so close to his goal.
After many more minutes of walking, it seemed that August had found the source of the distant concert of water he had been hearing for over forty minutes. Somehow he had been traveling along a river that meandered across the landscape. Other smells were starting to tickle at the edge of his awareness... a wood fire, warm currents of air, and bacon... lots of bacon.
August's mouth started watering on its own accord, as his eyes widened in stuporous wonder: what was the last time he had eaten bacon? No, scratch that: what was the last time he had eaten something that had been cooked properly? He didn't even remember. Probably three weeks earlier, when he had stolen that cheeseburger. Tossing any care to the wind and completely forgetting about the giant - and technically extinct - predator that was surely still pawing its way across the woods, August followed the scent trail of bacon.
The journey took August beyond some sheer cliffs along the waterfront and then up steep terrain. The evergreen trees that had acted as barriers for so long now offered painful but effective handholds. Trunk by trunk, August pulled himself up in what felt like the last leg of a marathon. When the ground finally started to even out, it felt almost as if his legs were ghosts of their former selves... but cutting through the inky darkness there was a bastion of hope, a glimmer of warm, clean, cream light spilling out of the windows of a large estate house.
August let out a yelp, that was almost completely suffocated by the hammering rain. At first he thought the mansion to be some kind of very elaborate mirage provided by his exhausted brain... but no, the house was actually there in front of him. A house full of warmth, of light, and of bacon... and of other people too, he realized with a cringe. Despite that, however, his legs kept moving towards the golden light filtering through the windows, every step a bit heavier and slower than the previous. He felt like he was in one of those horrible dreams where he got chased by an unseen monster and yet his legs moved painfully slow, as if they were encased in a prison of jello. He was only a couple of feet from the main entrance when his left foot was caught in a root and he was sent flying right onto the patio, his back painfully colliding with the wood planks with a painful snap. August felt as if all the air still left in his body had been sucked out of his lungs, and countless constellations of black stars appeared in front of his eyes. He tried to move his limbs, but both his legs and his arms were unresponsive and impossibly heavy.
In the blinding pain, in the chaos and the numbness and the weakness, August's worst dreams came true. He felt a sudden wrenching in his leg, a pressure as his body began to move. The wet tiger began to drag August off of the porch, down the side of the head before dropping him at the back of the stately garage. The back door was cracked, revealing a soft glow of something that August never thought he'd see... a wine cooler full of soda. The saber toothed tiger let out a soft growl before it broke into a sprint and disappeared back into the wilderness, leaving the boy like a treat outside of the creature's kennel.
August was way too exhausted and in pain to think too much about the strange behavior of the impossible beast: whatever that thing was, it surely didn't behave like a predator would have. More like a pet... or like something with actual intelligence and sentience. With slow, tiny, pathetically weak movements, August started dragging his body towards the door left ajar, and the promise of whatever - or whoever - might be on the other side. He tried to voice a help, but only a pale, almost inaudible murmur escaped his cracked lips.
The sound was not met with a reply, but as he advanced he came across a sight that must have been every rodent and street urchin's dream; shelves of individually packaged crackers and cookies, doughnuts and candies, bottles of water and jars of hazelnut spread. The back of the garage clearly acted as a backup pantry for the house and all of that food was at August's fingertips.
With another, last and desperate push, August finally managed to slither inside the garage door. What followed was a handful of minutes of confused and blissful chaos: the young man stuffed his mouth with whatever food his trembling hands could reach, without any care for the weird combinations of flavor that entailed, all while copiously drinking from at least four different bottles of soda and belching sonorously every few seconds. He couldn't stop, he didn't want to stop: this was too good to be true, a corner of heaven in the middle of hell. It wasn't bacon, sure, but he hadn't eaten that much in at least two months, at it seemed like his stomach wanted to catch up with the lost time. When he finally felt full - after what seemed to be hour, but maybe it was just some minutes, since the rain outside hadn't stopped falling in the meantime - August after one last, satisfied burp, fell behind on the garage floor among the remains of his savage banquet, shifting into the dark embrace of sleep almost immediately.
The Yashin household was an exemplar of comfort and care for the many that had taken shelter there. For Artyom it had been a luxurious way to grow up, though he had distanced himself a bit from the lifestyle when he had gone to college in Echo Creek. Now, after the eclipse, it seemed like the perfect place to wait out the global revelation that werewolves did exist.
Marya had done her best to make sure her son's pack was well cared for; she cooked constantly, she attended to their clothes and their laundry, she offered her wisdom and advice whenever she could, but there was still a deep concern in her heart. Anatoli had not cut hours at work, if anything he was working more. With the great uncertainty, he felt that it was more important than ever to get what moonstone he could from the Earth.
Her eldest son Alexi was just as incorrigible, traveling the world to offer aid to those wolves in need even as his wife was pregnant with another litter. Thankfully it was easier to keep Yuri at home. The only time the seventeen year old could be parted from his devices was when he was visiting his friend from school. Marya leaned in the archway of the living room, looking out at the boys assembled beyond.
Udo was curled up in the over-plush recliner, sketching Yom on his tablet, taking care to get every whisk of his thickening beard and his top knot just right. Yom was sitting hip to hip with Marco, concerned about his alpha, but Marco's eyes were glued to the television. It had been over a month since the eclipse, since the day the world had changed, and the world was in chaos.
While the news discussed the anarchic tyranny of monsters in the street, both direwolves and the Rising Sun hunters, the werewolf community itself had shattered. It had been four nights since the first full moon after the eclipse, but not every werewolf had been reduced to a feral beast. While the Yashin's shifted and howled and prowled, protected by the magic of their keepers, Marco's pack had remained in their hybridized state, with their pointed ears and sharp fangs and human sensibilities.
"The United Nations concluded the second week of their joint discussions regarding the human rights status of these human shape shifters, but it seems that an agreement, if any is ever possible, may still be some time away. In Detroit, martial law is still under effect with a strict curfew and house arrest. Protesters have started to clash with the police, raising tensions even further." The news reporter's voice announced. Marco's claws dug tighter into his legs, cutting through his jeans and pricking the flesh beneath until the claws were tinged with red on the tips.
The moment was fractured as the front door opened and Fletcher moved in, his goldenrod colored sweatshirt saturated with water. His rust colored hair had lost all its styling, though he hadn't spent as much time on it as he had back in college. Marco sprung to his feet and moved over.
"You're soaked to the bone! Why were you gone so long?" Marco asked with concern.
"I had to wait for Mister Fahris to unpack the latest shipment. He wasn't expecting a music aficionado like me to come in so quick on release day." Fletcher smirked.
"You do know we have high speed internet and itunes, right?" Yom asked from the couch. Fletcher rolled his eyes and fished the plastic sealed CD from his pocket, the droplets clinging to the transparent film.
"There's something about actually having the tangible disc that gives me relief. I know I own it, I know it's right there... Plus I can still rip it to my computer." Fletcher grinned.
"If you guys want real sound you should try vinyl." Yuri said from where he was, leaning against the door frame of the hallway. The teenager's black sweatshirt contrasted with the brighter colors Marya had gotten the rest.
"Regardless, it's... not safe out there Rayne, we need to figure things out." Marco said softly, looking into Fletcher's eyes. Deep down, though, he knew that the fear was really inside his own heart. The world was changing so fast and he'd barely gotten a grip on how things worked before the eclipse. Now the rules were being re-written.
"It won't be safe anywhere for you boys if you don't come help with the dishes before bed." Marya said with a smirk, "Come now." she said in a loving but insistent maternal way. The boys groaned but did as they were told, rising to their feet. With the dishes done it would be time to wind down for bed. Somehow, even staying in the house all day it seemed like Marco was always happy to fall into a deep sleep. This new world was very tiring.
The storm raged on, the downpour threatening to fall in an endless torrent... but the sounds from the house had finally faded away. The inky blackness had only gotten darker, but for August it didn't really matter. After having his fill of snack food, his body was ready to make up for lost time in the sleep department. He'd managed to find a secluded spot hidden behind an escalade with a dust cover on it, curled up with thin, well used sheets that had been relegated to the garage for use in various projects. The air had a think trace of oil and cleansers, but somehow it was the first place in a long time that had felt safe. August turned around, his unkempt reddish hair falling across his forehead and cheek as a contented sigh escaped from his lips. His belly was finally full, he had a warm place to rest... and even if the place was now a mess of half-empty packs of chips and cans of soda, he didn't really care. Maybe one of the inhabitants of the house would find him there, but he could also come up with an excuse on the fly... or just ran away. He had done that countless times before, after all. The only thing that still worried him, he realized as he once again turned around in his half-sleep, was the saber tooth tiger: where the hell that thing came from? And why did it help him find a shelter? That didn't make sense... but, well, hardly anything made sense. "World has gone mad..." he murmured in a somber voice as a small shiver travelled through his body. The shiver, it seemed, came from his instincts kicking in again. There was movement outside the garage, something padding along the cement. There were heavy sniffs and then the metal door lurched up just a bit. The rust colored form squeezed under the gap, the door slamming back shut behind it. Once more August was face to face with the strange saber toothed creature, but this time something was different. A wave of warm, spicy, musky scent hit the werewolf youth. It smelled of primordial earth, of effort and skill, and of manliness. It smelled faintly of milk and very much of sex. The saber toothed tiger was breathing heavily as it slowly walked toward August. The metallic sheen of the light in its green eyes faded, revealing them to be far more hazel in tone. The cat slowed as it got a few yards away from August, looking at him. The young street urchin let out a small yelp, as he wiggled more towards the corner of the room. The beast clearly had seen him, no point denying that or trying to hide. And yet... the bouquet of scents the huge feline was giving off was strangely attractive; so much so that something started to shift a bit uncomfortably in his pants. "W-what do you want, huh?" he growled, his voice hoarse. "Do you wanna play with me? Am I your prey or something?" August fell silent for a second. "Fuck, I'm so tired and desperate I'm talking with an animal that's not even supposed to exist." The tiger seemed to delight in being talked to and suddenly lunged forward. Its mouth spread wide, but all August was assaulted with was a sandpapery tongue. A huge paw pressed against his chest, holding him as the tiger all but climbed up onto him, the weighty form producing an intense amount of heat. "H-hey! Come on, dude, stop that!" August protested, trying to push the beast away to no avail. "Your tongue is too fucking sharp! A-and..." One of his hands started petting the silky fur of the beast. "T-this is actually... kinda nice, y-you know..." the young man murmured, his cheeks reddening a bit. "It's been a while since I have, you know... slept with someone..." The tiger didn't seem to be dissuaded from its efforts, managing to force its rather large tongue into the werewolf's mouth, pressing down so its large, moist member was against his crotch. Despite the unwarranted advance, the silky soft fur and the heat of a body up against him was a welcome comfort after so long exposed to the elements. "Nngh... the fuck are you doing, man?!" August exclaimed after he had managed to get the tiger's tongue out of his mouth. "When I said 'slept with someone' I didn't mean that way! You are one pervert prehistoric animal, you know?" He couldn't deny that the tiger was, in a way, strangely attractive, and he could feel his own dick gaining a furry sheath in his very pants... but he still wasn't desperate enough to fuck some random beast, not even one that seemed able to understand human language. "Sorry. Not gonna happen." There was a short, sharp growl from the tiger but it backed up until its hind haunches were on the cement floor. The beast laid its head down on August's shoulder and dangled its arms across his side, essentially turning into a warm furry electric blanket with some heft to it. The young man, after a moment of hesitation, ruffled the fur on the tiger's head, right between its ears. "Yeah, much better," he said, with the faintest shadow of a smile on his face. "Sorry, cats just aren't my type," he added, sticking his tongue out for a moment. "But... thanks. For, you know... what you did for me." The young man pressed his body against the warm, muscled wall of fur, burying his face in it; it was like hugging a huge plush. The tiger started to vibrate, not quite a purr as tigers were incapable of that, but a gentle chuffing of the lungs that brought almost a massage like quality to their embrace. The tiger closed its hazel eyes and went limp against August. The young man relaxed and closed his eyes, the rhythm of his breathing becoming more relaxed and in synch with that of the feline, until he once again plunged effortlessly into a dreamless sleep. They were two impossible creatures surrendered to the embrace of sleep in the most of mundane places, but for August it might as well have been a luxury resort.
There was a great stillness in the Yashin household, perhaps more complete at five in the morning than any other time. Even Marya had not yet risen, though the last few minutes of that were ticking away. Despite the quiet, there was but one creature stirring. Yuri padded through the house barefoot, his toenails black and long, curved down into claws as he navigated the darkened dwelling. Only the glow of his cell phone lit his path.
Yuri had grown close to the first Varos student at his school, a living and breathing vampire. Much like the werewolves, the Varos had adopted a hidden culture to survive the fear and wrath of those that did not understand the paranormal. In addition to being exotic, Vale had captivated Yuri with his love of music, of video games, of art. It was rather common place now for the two boys to stay up all night texting one another, though it worked up quite an appetite by morning.
The blond Russian wolf brushed some of his hair out of his face, passing the couch where Fletcher was passed out cold. Yuri's clawed hands took a hold of the knob and turned it, easing open the passage to the garage. The teenager wondered briefly if he'd go for a bag of kettle chips or chips ahoy cookies before deciding both would be prudent, but as his foot touched down on the cold cement floor he froze.
Yuri's lips curled back to reveal forming fangs, his eyes shifting from blue to yellow as his ears stretched into tips and soft blond fuzz erupted from his cheeks. He smelled someone; a stranger, an intruder, a werewolf. August was still sleeping soundly in the middle of the mess he had created, his body curled up almost in a fetal position. Yuri looked through the darkness at the nest of torn open snack bags and empty bottles. No doubt the lone wolf was starving, but Yuri's instincts got the best of him. He ran forward and pounced, pinning August to the ground before letting out a window rattling howl.
August was suddenly ripped from his peaceful slumber like the page of a book. Still in a daze, he tried to understand what was happening, until his senses focused on the boy pinning him to the floor... or, to be more precise, on the werewolf. The street urchin growled: was the young lycan another vagabond, just like him? Or one of the inhabitants of the house? Either way, he needed to do something and show the insolent little prick who was boss: with a flicker of his fingers he unsheathed his claws as his teeth developed into fangs and his eyes burned gold. August pushed his opponent away from his, trying to get back on his feet.
"The fuck do you want from me?!" he roared, now fully in his wolfman form. At once the occupants of the house sprung up out of bed. Marco bolted down the hallway, Marya nearly ripping her door off its hinges as she moved after him. Yom and Udo followed after with Fletch stumbling off the couch, looking around with bleary eyes as they made it to the garage door.
"STOP!" The command was deep, resonating with bass in the voice that August and Yuri could feel in their ribs... but the command felt even deeper than that. It was the command of an Alpha. Marco stood in the doorway, his eyes a brilliant turquoise, his fangs exposed. Yuri slowly released the intruder and crawled off. Even without being a part of Marco's pack, he respected the Alpha's authority. August, however, didn't seem that eager to obey... probably because he had never had an Alpha since he had been turned into a werewolf. With a swift movement he crouched into a corner, his fangs exposed, his eyes full of flames; he looked like a trapped beast, ferocious but surrounded by enemies stronger than he was.
"Look at him... All those packages, he must have been starving." Udo murmured from behind Marco. Fletch squeezed up to the door frame, looking into the garage with curious hazel eyes, eyes that seemed oddly familiar to August. Marco, however, was staring down the beast.
"We won't harm you, but we do want answers." Marco growled, standing his ground. The street urchin growled through gritted fangs. There was no way he could escape from that situation: all the people gathered there were werewolves, too, that was what his nose was telling him... well, all except for the hipster next to the door: he had a different smell attached to him, something that August definitely knew but couldn't point out. The most dangerous of all them, however, was the young bearded man in the center, with his mesmerizing blue eyes; it would have been impossible for him, August realized, to challenge him or his authority. The young vagabond lowered his head, his rust colored hair falling over his forehead, his fangs sinking in his lower lip.
"Whatever..." he murmured. "If it's money you want, I don't have any," he added, his tone openly confrontational.
"Of course we don't want money, don't be absurd..." Marya said with a huff, pushing through the barricade of boys, surprising even Marco. The mother moved over and crouched down before August, looking at him before taking a sniff. Her nose curled just a bit at the scent, "On the run for god knows how long, starved, water logged... You're going to come in and have a hot bath, not a shower, get into a spare change of clothes and have a proper breakfast. Then we'll discuss everything else." Marya explained. It became apparent to both August and the assembled pack that no aspect of Marya's statements were requests. They were simply the order of events that were to unfold.
"I..." August was confused and, most of all, extremely conflicted. Sure, he knew how to deal with other guys; he had done that his entire life, since he was a kid... but a mother? He had no idea how to deal with that. The woman in front of him might have as well been an alien. "Y-yes, ma'am..." he murmured, rising on his feet, his eyes lowered. His fangs, claws and pointed ears vanished, leaving behind only a dirty and miserable-looking young man who, after one last glare of pure disdain towards the five boys gathered in the garage, meekly followed Marya inside the Yashin mansion.
The boys looked a bit surprised, but they too knew not to mess with a Russian mother once her mind was made up. They parted to allow the intruder through, Marya marching him off to the bathroom. Yuri remained behind and decided to make himself useful cleaning up the garbage that had accumulated, though he sniffed at the air in the garage, finding an odd tang to the scents gathered there. One by one the rest of the pack filtered into the house to figure out how their evening was going to unfold.
The bath tub had been running off and on for almost an hour; apparently giving it time to drain away the cooling dirty water and refill the basin with something warmer and fresher. Yom knew his mother's mentality enough to know that the deep soak was meant to wash away more than just the mud and grime. It was supposed to wash away the mental film that built up being on the run for so long. It would leave him vulnerable, like a wound cleaned out, but the risk of his soul getting infected would be lessened.
Udo was working away in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher with the next load while Yom put the clean dishes away where they went. Yuri was in his room, texting away again after his closet had been raided for a fresh outfit for the young man and Marya was making up a guest bed in the room she had set up for the boys. With them all off in their own worlds, it left Marco and Fletcher alone in the living room. Marco was sitting on the couch, his arms crossed over his muscled chest, his eyes having reverted back to their rich, natural brown. Marco's style hadn't changed all that much since leaving college; his hair was still black and wavy, but his beard put most from the islands to shame. It was thick and luxurious, Marco finally letting it grow out.
Fletcher sat on the floor in front of Marco, facing him, his legs crossed and his hands holding his knees. If anything Fletch's personal style had gotten a bit more simple after the exodus from Echo Creek. He no longer had his earrings or his nose piercings, going for a more natural look. The battle with Demeas inside of him had taken a toll on the hipster. He was thinner, paler, but he was alive and every keeper from Echo Creek had given him a clean bill of spiritual health, though Marco's pack was particularly keen on the feedback from Ren. Marco's only regret was not having her sage wisdom at his disposal.
"I don't know if scaring him into line is going to work." Fletch admitted, "He's been on the run for who knows how long..."
"I wasn't trying to scare him, I just couldn't let Yuri get hurt by some stray. We don't... know anything about this new world." Marco said softly. Fletch looked up at Marco with a soft chuckle.
"We didn't know anything about the old one either... I mean, one day you're campus security and I'm a basement dwelling game addict, and then I walk in on a masturbating werewolf." Fletch grinned. Marco rolled his eyes.
"Next thing we know we've got a love sick Russian wolf and an adorable emo wolf to add into the fold... and I love you all so much." Marco said. Fletch smirked softly at that, nodding in agreement. Marco, though, softened again, "And then... everything else happened." Marco murmured. Fletch frowned a little.
"I'm okay, all that's behind me... You saved me, my whole pack saved me." Fletch grinned softly. Marco nodded at that and started climbing off the couch, sinking down to the floor, reaching out to touch Fletcher's smooth face.
"And that's what I want to keep doing, I want to keep you all safe. I just don't know how. We didn't go feral during the full moon, direwolves are coming out randomly, Rising Sun is killing more lycanthropes than ever, and..." Marco trailed off, his eyes drifting to the television, his eyes going wide. The news had finally cut to commercials, but something caught Marco's attention. A opalescent background filled the screen and a stylized company emblem appeared in the center, filling with blue gel. The emblem looked sort of like an F and Z forged together into a lightning bolt. It was an emblem that Marco had grown up around. He fumbled for the remote and unmuted it as the cool, peaceful emblem cut to black and white footage of the riots and violence around the world.
"In this time of uncertainty, fear, pain and confusion, the people of this world deserve something better. They deserve answers, they deserve the truth, and they deserve the hope for a better future. Futurza is dedicated to helping everyone discover that truth and work toward that future... together." The announcer explained as the images cut to an eight year old werewolf boy holding hands with a crouching female U.N. relief worker. The image faded out, leaving only a hashtag on the screen; #HopeInHouston.
"Futurza, where have I heard that before..." Fletcher asked curiously.
"It's... It's my dad's company, pharmaceuticals..." Marco murmured, his arms slipping down, hugging himself across his stomach. Why was his dad's company aligning itself in the center of the werewolf debate? The risks were immense, but the coincidence felt even more uncanny. Marco didn't know what to think. Fletch moved over to the nearest laptop and started searching for any information he could find on the subject, knowing that he could help one way or another.
The mirror of the Yashin family's main bathroom was indisputably fogged over. Drop by drop, the tub trickled more water into the proverbial sea that surrounded the household's newest guest. August was sitting in his third consecutive bath, his reddish hair falling over his forehead and eyes, his arms circled around his legs, his chin resting on his knees. He didn't even remember when it had been the last time he had bathed properly, and to be honest the whole situation sucked; everyone was too gentle and kind with him, and that kind of attitude threw him off big time. From where he came from, nobody did something for free or just because they were good people: there was always a catch.
"Oh, what the hell..." he murmured to himself, raising on his feet and letting countless rivulets of warm water falling down his lithe but toned body. He was sporting a chubby, and in the soft lights of the bathroom the thick steel ring that pierced the top of his dick glistened enticingly, along with the thin bar of the industrial piercing that travelled horizontally through his right ear like a tiny arrow. August titillated his Prince Albert with absent-minded gestures, murring a bit as his canines honed into fangs and sank gently into his lower lip; as much as he wanted to, he had to refrain from masturbating after the bath... that woman - Marya, that was her name - would've smelled his cum from miles away. He didn't care much about the guys' opinion, but... a mother was a completely different matter.
"Oedipus complex is a fucking bitch," August proclaimed in a low voice, before drying his body off with a huge and soft towel and getting dressed in clothes that clearly belonged to the younger of the werewolves... the one who had pounced him, the street urchin realized as a growl escaped from his lips. For a moment he pondered about tying his hair, but decided against it: he wanted at least some protection from the stares of the other lycans... especially from Marco's. What was wrong with him and those chilling turquoise eyes anyway? And there was also the hipster, the only one who wasn't a werewolf... his eyes were disconcerting too, but for different reasons altogether. With one last sigh, August put on a tough facade and stepped outside the bathroom, right into the lions' - well, wolves' - den.
Standing outside was Artyom Yashin, the tallest of the werewolves. His dark brown hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, showing off his rugged features. His beard was kept short on the sides, but it had been left untamed around the chin, forming a much longer and puffier extension. He looked August over, giving him a small smile.
"If you're hungry, we pulled some pizza out of the oven a minute or two ago. It's pretty hot still, but... Should be good." Yom offered. He was a little unnerved the stranger was wearing his brother's clothes, but he couldn't fault his mother's idea. With the chaos in the world, he couldn't imagine a lone wolf wouldn't want to be on the run. August, at first, simply glared at him, but then shook his head.
"I... yeah, pizza would be nice, I guess," he muttered. The smell of food was indeed coming from the kitchen, like invisible but delicious fingers tickling his nose. "And... I'll find a way to repay you, okay? And when we're even, I'll give your brother his clothes back and go my way. You won't have to see me again. Happy now?" The street urchin turned around and took a couple steps towards the kitchen, his expression sour and bitter. Yom didn't bother replying, knowing that would only spur the youth on. If the idea of getting equal was what it took to get him to eat properly, then that's what it would take.
During the early lunch, August was silent and almost completely unresponsive, aside from a few appreciative grunts as he wolfed down slice after slice of the homemade pizza. Any attempt at dragging him into a conversation fell completely flat; the only other thing he did aside from eating was looking at Marya from time to time with a puzzled look on his face, as if he could not believe that something like an actual loving mother could exist. After there was no more pizza left on the table, the street urchin got up and walked towards the sink.
"I wanna help," he murmured in a sullen tone. "I'll do the dishes." Yuri looked up from where he was texting, leaning in the corner.
"Alright. The garbage can is beneath the sink for the scraps, and the dishwasher is over here." He said, moving to open it up for August. Yuri had encountered a lot of wolves in his life, at least several dozen. August smelled wilder than all of them. The young vagabond glared at the youngest of the Yashin brothers, but he refrained from doing anything else: after all, Yuri hadn't done anything wrong right now; also, he was wearing the guy's clothes, which made him feel a bit uncomfortable.
"Thanks," he said, somberly. Still in silence, August collected all the dishes, cleaned the table and even carried the trash outside; then, after he had come back inside, he stood in a corner of the kitchen, his arms crossed over his chest. "So? Is there anything else I can do?" he asked. It was pretty clear he wanted to repay his supposed debt as fast as he could. The boys seemed conflicted as to what to think at first. It was their nature to shelter, to protect, but clearly their guest wanted nothing to do with it. Yom, however, seemed to cut through all that.
"How do you feel about washing a car?" Yom asked curiously. It was an odd thought given the perpetual rain outside, but August knew better than the rest of them just how muddy things had gotten. The vagabond shrugged.
"I'll do it," he simply said. "No problem, really." August walked towards Yom and raised his face, staring at him in the eyes as if that was some kind of challenge. "I don't have time to waste. Show me where it is," he added with a small and not particularly friendly grin.
"In a hurry to get somewhere?" Yom asked, forgoing his coat. He opened the front door and moved out onto the front steps. The rest of the pack watched with somewhat wide eyes at the unexpected display. The water beaded as it hit Yom's dark hair. He maneuvered along the walkway as far as he could before he grabbed the hose and started unspooling it. Most of the Yashin vehicles were safely and neatly tucked away in the very same garage that August had spent the night in, but out front was a mud caked yellow Volkswagen bug. It had been set up with additional lights in front and had apparently been well used over the years. August stared at the old car and then at Yom, rolling his eyes.
"You kidding me?" he hissed. "You talked about a car, not Herbie the Love Bug."
"If it could drive itself, it'd do a better job than Fletcher does." Yom said, turning on the hose, "But does it matter what it is if it gets you even? If it cuts you free of your obligation?" August's brow furrowed, but then he shrugged.
"Heh. Guess you're right. Gimme that hose." August began to try and clean the old Beetle, even though the mud all over it probably belonged to different geological eras. "Shit... seriously, where did you drive this thing? The La Brea Tar Pits?" he muttered as he tried to clean the tires with next to no success.
"Most of it came when the storm first hit, the days after the eclipse." Yom said, "My pack had to get out of Colorado and we took some more back roads than we should have... The last layer's just Fletch going to and from the stores in town." Yom replied, grabbing a plastic wedge to start scraping the mud off of the windshield in chunks.
"Hey!" August growled. "What are you doing? I was supposed to do it, wasn't I? If you help me, there is no point."
"Of course there is... I said there was a car that needed washing, I didn't say that you were doing it alone. You'll be out here for six hours if you're doing it yourself, but together we might just get it down to one." Yom replied, "Do you think that the hard work you're putting in isn't worth it?" Yom asked.
"I'm just... not that good when it comes to working with someone else," August admitted, his copper hair falling over his eyes. "Not a team player at all." He went back cleaning the tires, his aura of obstinate animosity still surrounding him like a thundercloud. Yom nodded, using his fingers to scrape mud out of the slats beneath the windshield.
"I remember those days myself... When I first left home, even loosely working in a campus pack I kept to myself, beat up my pack mates, and eventually went rogue. It takes the right circumstances to teach us new tricks." Yom replied. August groaned.
"We need to clean a car, this is not a therapy session. If you think I'll join you guys in a group hug and sing Kumbaya around a campfire, you're so wrong," he retorted. "Also, you know what? Even back then, at least you had a family. Not everyone can say the same."
"No, they can't... But if this isn't a therapy session, we don't need to be paid back for doing something for our fellow man. This is just for your sake." Yom replied. August's growl almost covered the last few words.
"For my sake? You don't know shit about me," he said gloomily. "You don't know how hard it is to keep going even though... even though there's probably nothing waiting for you at the end of the road." The boy hit one of the muddy tires, but it was just a weak, pathetic excuse for a strike. "Fuck..." he murmured, pitifully.
"I lost myself... into being a direwolf once." Yom whispered softly, saying nothing more than that.
"A... a direwolf? You mean those... those things that attacked during the eclipse?" August's voice, for the first time, was expressing genuine concern. "That sucks, man. I'm... sorry." He had never had a keeper, nor anyone who could explain to him what being a werewolf entailed, but even August knew what happened to Yom was something really, really bad.
"I almost lost myself to it forever. I was... lucky." Yom said, "I don't know where you're headed, or what you'll do when you get there, but if you find yourself in trouble I want you to think of this place. You don't have to pay us back. You could even consider it selfish of us to get fulfillment from helping others." Yom shrugged, flicking more mud to the ground.
"If it's any consolation, I don't know where I'm headed, either," August grimaced. "I'm sorry, I'm just not used to people helping other people just because..." A long moment of silence. "You know, I think I... I think I eat least owe you guys an explanation. Or maybe I just want to vent with someone after such a long time, I dunno."
"I think that'd be good... I mean, I felt better after venting to you." Yom admitted, reaching up to untie his water soaked hair.
"Heh. At least the therapy session helped someone," August replied in a dry tone. "So, what should we do? Finish the job or go inside and wait for when Mother Nature won't try to drown us?" The question concerned Artyom as he looked up at the clouds above. It was as if mother nature herself knew that the balance had shifted. No doubt from space the planet was no longer a little blue marble, but instead a fluffy white dot. Yom looked back at August and shrugged a bit.
"Well we're already wet and dirty, might as well finish off real quick before we go in." Yom offered. August nodded and got ready to face the encrusted tires once again.
"True," he said, while thinking a bit reluctantly that Yom was right: working in a pair was going to make the task much easier and quicker.