Post by Wyndi on Nov 11, 2015 3:48:27 GMT
"Apple turnovers - I hope you like them!" Aren pressed the container into Ben's hands, beaming ear to ear. "I made them this morning since my class got canceled." That, and he'd needed a break from baking apple pie.
He turned to peer at the agave plants with renewed interest. "I've never used agave before. In baking, I mean. But let me know when you start making syrup and I'll buy the first bottle! Or if that doesn't work out, what about candied flowers? I've seen them on a lot of desserts lately. Or" - Aren was a roll now - those teas where you put a flower at the bottom of your cup, and then when you pour boiling water on top, the flower opens? I have a friend who likes the ones with jasmine. But it'd be great if you could make the food angle work! It'd show people that flowers can be used for more than just presents or, you know, decoration.
"So anyway," Aren added, finally pausing for breath, "what've you been up to?"
Trivia night always meant a bar packed full to bursting, and tonight was no exception. Sam worked through his stack of orders on autopilot - his hands flying from bottle to glass and back to bottle; his mind, glad for the chatter of his regular customers. Every little distraction helped right now, keeping his thoughts from spinning round and round in a wheel of worry.
Just two hours ago, he'd called a mandatory pack meeting at Aline's request. His betas, along with Aline and Ava, had crowded themselves into his apartment, raided his kitchen cabinets for chips and homemade salsa, and seated themselves where they could on his mess of secondhand Ikea furniture. It was a familiar routine, and though Sam knew what was coming, he couldn’t help but smile just a bit.
And then Ava and Aline had dropped the news. Some of the older pack members, used to this kind of violence, seemed resigned: of course bloodshed would come to this town too, as it always did. But the younger ones, especially little five-year-old Shayera, just looked tired and scared.
"So what are we going to do?" Mitch asked from his precarious perch on a sofa’s right arm. “Aurelie’s got dibs on actually killing this guy, but we can at least help her pack catch him.”
Nods of agreement rippled through the room. Sam looked at the ragtag bunch before him, the motley crew of werewolves (plus one banshee and one druid) that had somehow become his family over the past few years. So many of them were so young, he thought – over half of his pack was in their mid-teens or younger, and a good deal of the rest had yet to finish college. But no matter their age, almost all of his betas had come to him as downtrodden omegas, kicked out or left behind by their former alphas, and he’d promised them all his protection. And he wouldn't be protecting any of them by letting them run straight into trouble.
But they were also werewolves, forced to grow up too fast, and every one of them had handled stickier situations before. Sam sighed and crunched into a salsa-laden chip, running his thoughts through one more cycle before voicing them.
“Look, I’m not your dad, so I’m not going to tell all of you to stay out of it. Just be careful once you start digging – I don’t want anyone to go poking around alone. Work in groups. Let Aurelie’s pack take the lead. And stay alert. If anyone wants to sleep here for the time being, they can; just bring your bedding and your toothbrush. And help out with the cooking and cleaning once in a while.” Most of the middle schoolers crashed at his place anyways – a few more wouldn’t make a different. Sam glanced at Aline. “Did I miss anything?”
“Keep your phones on at all times. Ava will text as soon as she senses something. If she does, everyone should check in with their current locations within five minutes and find the nearest pack member.”
Sam had had to leave for work shortly after, a vaguely uneasy feeling hanging over his head. And though he was now being kept busy mixing margaritas for the gaggle of college girls taking over the big table in the back, he still couldn’t shake the queasiness that had wormed its way into his stomach.
This wasn’t his first rodeo. He should’ve listened to those instincts right off – called in sick so he could work out a plan to keep his pack safe. He should’ve –
A lone howl pierced the ruckus of the bar, clearer and shriller than most.
Shayera.
He turned to peer at the agave plants with renewed interest. "I've never used agave before. In baking, I mean. But let me know when you start making syrup and I'll buy the first bottle! Or if that doesn't work out, what about candied flowers? I've seen them on a lot of desserts lately. Or" - Aren was a roll now - those teas where you put a flower at the bottom of your cup, and then when you pour boiling water on top, the flower opens? I have a friend who likes the ones with jasmine. But it'd be great if you could make the food angle work! It'd show people that flowers can be used for more than just presents or, you know, decoration.
"So anyway," Aren added, finally pausing for breath, "what've you been up to?"
---
Trivia night always meant a bar packed full to bursting, and tonight was no exception. Sam worked through his stack of orders on autopilot - his hands flying from bottle to glass and back to bottle; his mind, glad for the chatter of his regular customers. Every little distraction helped right now, keeping his thoughts from spinning round and round in a wheel of worry.
Just two hours ago, he'd called a mandatory pack meeting at Aline's request. His betas, along with Aline and Ava, had crowded themselves into his apartment, raided his kitchen cabinets for chips and homemade salsa, and seated themselves where they could on his mess of secondhand Ikea furniture. It was a familiar routine, and though Sam knew what was coming, he couldn’t help but smile just a bit.
And then Ava and Aline had dropped the news. Some of the older pack members, used to this kind of violence, seemed resigned: of course bloodshed would come to this town too, as it always did. But the younger ones, especially little five-year-old Shayera, just looked tired and scared.
"So what are we going to do?" Mitch asked from his precarious perch on a sofa’s right arm. “Aurelie’s got dibs on actually killing this guy, but we can at least help her pack catch him.”
Nods of agreement rippled through the room. Sam looked at the ragtag bunch before him, the motley crew of werewolves (plus one banshee and one druid) that had somehow become his family over the past few years. So many of them were so young, he thought – over half of his pack was in their mid-teens or younger, and a good deal of the rest had yet to finish college. But no matter their age, almost all of his betas had come to him as downtrodden omegas, kicked out or left behind by their former alphas, and he’d promised them all his protection. And he wouldn't be protecting any of them by letting them run straight into trouble.
But they were also werewolves, forced to grow up too fast, and every one of them had handled stickier situations before. Sam sighed and crunched into a salsa-laden chip, running his thoughts through one more cycle before voicing them.
“Look, I’m not your dad, so I’m not going to tell all of you to stay out of it. Just be careful once you start digging – I don’t want anyone to go poking around alone. Work in groups. Let Aurelie’s pack take the lead. And stay alert. If anyone wants to sleep here for the time being, they can; just bring your bedding and your toothbrush. And help out with the cooking and cleaning once in a while.” Most of the middle schoolers crashed at his place anyways – a few more wouldn’t make a different. Sam glanced at Aline. “Did I miss anything?”
“Keep your phones on at all times. Ava will text as soon as she senses something. If she does, everyone should check in with their current locations within five minutes and find the nearest pack member.”
Sam had had to leave for work shortly after, a vaguely uneasy feeling hanging over his head. And though he was now being kept busy mixing margaritas for the gaggle of college girls taking over the big table in the back, he still couldn’t shake the queasiness that had wormed its way into his stomach.
This wasn’t his first rodeo. He should’ve listened to those instincts right off – called in sick so he could work out a plan to keep his pack safe. He should’ve –
A lone howl pierced the ruckus of the bar, clearer and shriller than most.
Shayera.