/ * PCLYMCRPHCUS

Yet the idea of having to sit by Colson’s bedside as he fought the virus was not one he’d ever entertained, or wished to entertain. He took a deep breath as he steadied his own thoughts. He scanned Colson’s injury for only a moment, before turning to his face, trying to figure out if he knew what the results would be of getting the bite. 

He took a deep breath, though it entered him ragged. He did not feel steady. “You were picking a fight with a Werewolf?” he asked, swallowing. “Why?”

Hoping his folly was plain to see, if not articulated in a single glance, Colson broke the heavy silence with a rueful chuckle. "It was, perhaps, more clever in my head," he admitted, the weight of his actions sinking in. "I had intended for a calculated exposure to the virus, thinking that…" His gaze dropped shamefully to the floor, struggling to find the right words to justify his reckless actions. "I thought that instead of our time being divided by work, I could offer a reason for you to bring work home, or even assist with your research in a distinct way." He imagined himself under the microscope, blood drawn and vitals scrutinized, a willing subject for Bijan's studies.

"I believed that provoking a wolf might lead to infection, transforming me into… well, you know," he faltered, realizing the inadequacy of his execution. His attempt at martyrdom had been ill-calculated, the supposed self-sacrifice almost costing both of them dearly. "I was under the clear impression it would benefit us, especially your research and your work." His words hung in the air, tinged with regret and a hint of desperation for understanding. "I overlooked the... temerity"

She kept her arms close to her body, kept her body language open, and waited patiently for Nohemi to either tell her to leave or to stay. She'd give in to whatever, she'd decided. Even if she did not wish to leave, because she did want to make the three new witches more safe in the city, especially since they'd finally gotten out of the woods when it came to the mysteries in the past two years.

Upon the agreement, Helia remained seated, carefully taking a sip from her drink and thinking about how to answer it without further generating fear. "Yes, in this city," she said. "I'm sorry it makes you sick," she expressed. "I am certain none of the witches would want you to be sick," she said. "But in a normal month, we don't do that much magic, aside from during the full moon." She made sure to keep her voice low, not to ask the spirits to muffle their conversation, afraid Nohemi would feel that too.

She decides to probe further, her trenchant gaze peering out from beneath furrowed brows, curiosity mingled with skepticism. "But how are you so certain?" She fidgets in her seat, tugging at the cuffs of her black cardigan, a nervous habit that betrays her curiosity showing her inner turmoil. "Where I come from, covens aren't so nice to me." She has horror stories- bloody and gruesome, but she hardly shares those among breakfast. In fact, her mother's coven's tactics often involved making the younger Valdez sister weak, hoping it would slow her down, make her easier to track, and quicker to remove from the delicate fabric of the world.

"W-what kind of magic do you do?" Her voice trembles slightly, a blend of fear and fascination, as she leans in, her eyes wide with a mixture of hope and dread.

The young woman knew nothing. One weird text from her brother to stay home that night only made her more inclined to go out. Just because he was no fucking fun at all didn't mean that she should also be a social outcast. She could try out a new restaurant, stop by a wine bar, she didn't have to go clubbing to go out, maybe she would even stop by a bookstore.

Of course, once she was in the center of town, and the sun had set, it was aparrent that her brother had been right. The woman's stomach churning as she stepped from the bookstore and onto the sidewalk, before her eyes an animal; a wolf. Surely no wolf would be brave enough to leave the woods, as to her it looked as though it truly were just a simple wolf and not anything more. But it's confidence grew as it stepped towards her, growling through feral fangs. Chellam turned immediately back into the bookstore, locking the door behind her.

What could change in a month? A great deal, indeed.

As the alarming mention of wolves reached his ears, Colson instinctively shielded himself with "A Planet of Viruses: Third Edition" by Carl Zimmer, retreating into the security of a rolling cart of books. "This can't be happening… not again." His voice quivered with the strain of suppressed fear. The memory of his previous injuries, still fresh and aching, haunted him. "I can't endure another injury, not while I'm finally recovering." His eyes darted around frantically, searching for an escape, or perhaps salvation. "Someone call animal control," he implored, his voice edged with desperation as he sank in a pile of books upon the ground.

Margaret Atwood, from The Door: Poems; “My mother dwindles…”

Leona stood at the entrance of the Museum of Mythology & History, a group of children from Starlight Sanctuary gathered around her in eager anticipation. The museum, renowned for its vast collection of artifacts and tales from ancient times of Fenrirs Wood, beckoned with promises of adventure and discovery.

"Are you ready, everyone?" Leona asked with a warm smile, her voice gentle yet filled with excitement. The children, a mix of ages, backgrounds, & species, nodded eagerly, their eyes shining with curiosity as they took in the grandeur of the museum's architecture and the mystical artifacts displayed in every corner. Leading the way, Leona guided them through the first exhibit hall, where statues of Norse gods stood tall amidst shelves of ancient scrolls and relics. She paused before a replica of Mjölnir, Thor's legendary hammer, and explained its significance in Norse mythology. The children listened intently, their imaginations sparked by tales of gods and heroes.

As they moved deeper into the museum, Leona encouraged the children to touch and explore some of the interactive displays—a map depicting the realms of Yggdrasil, the World Tree, and a puzzle of runes that challenged their problem-solving skills. She answered their questions with patience and enthusiasm, fostering an atmosphere of learning and wonder.

Near a window overlooking the tranquil gardens outside, Leona gathered the children for a moment of reflection. "Imagine what life was like for people who lived during these times," she mused aloud, her gaze sweeping over the young faces before her. "Their beliefs shaped their world in ways we can still see today."

With the full moon approaching, Leona sensed the heightened energy in the air—a subtle hum of magic that seemed to resonate with the children's excitement. She knew these moments, where history and imagination intertwined, were precious reminders of the rich tapestry of Fenrir's Wood's cultural heritage.

"Imagine what it was like here, all those years ago in this place you call home," Leona's voice carried a hint of awe as she spoke to the group of children from Starlight Sanctuary. "Someone else once called this home and life was so different than what it is now."The children's eyes gazed back at her in wonder and thought, their young minds grappling with the concept of an ancient Fenrir's Wood. Some furrowed their brows in concentration, trying to envision a time when the world around them looked vastly different.

Leona smiled warmly at their reactions, cherishing the moment of contemplation and discovery among the eager faces before her. She let the thought hang in the air, allowing the museum's atmosphere to envelop them with its tales of ages past.

Glancing down at her watch, Leona gently redirected their focus. "Everyone, stay with your assigned volunteer," she instructed, her voice carrying a gentle authority. "You'll have the chance to explore more of the museum in smaller groups at your own pace. We'll meet again for lunch, and each group will get to share what they've discovered." Excitement bubbled among the children as they eagerly awaited their assignments, each one ready to delve deeper into the wonders of the museum. Leona gave them an encouraging wink before nodding, signaling them to disperse into their designated groups.

As the children scattered with animated chatter and curious gazes, Leona took a moment to soak in the scene before her. In guiding these young minds through the ancient halls of knowledge, she felt a profound sense of fulfillment, knowing she was nurturing their curiosity and fostering a deep connection to the history and magic of their beloved Fenrir's Wood.

Leona watched with a sense of pride as the children paired off with their assigned volunteers, each group heading off in different directions within the museum. She could hear snippets of excitement and curiosity in their voices as they discussed which exhibit to explore first or speculated about the mysteries they hoped to uncover. Turning her attention to the museum surroundings, Leona took a moment to appreciate the intricate tapestries hanging from the walls, depicting scenes from ancient myths and battles. The soft glow of ambient lighting accentuated the artifacts on display—rune stones, ceremonial masks, and ornate jewelry—each telling a story of its own.

She wandered toward a display of ancient spellbooks, their weathered pages preserved under glass. Leona traced the delicate script with her fingertips, marveling at the knowledge passed down through generations. The scent of old parchment mingled with the faint aroma of herbs, creating an atmosphere that spoke of both mystery and reverence.

Lost in her thoughts, Leona found herself drawn to a corner of the museum dedicated to the legends of Fenrir the wolf, guardian of the woodlands in ancient times. A life-size statue of Fenrir stood sentinel, its eyes seeming to follow her movements as if imparting wisdom from ages past. Leona paused before the statue, feeling a profound connection to the stories that shaped her upbringing in Fenrir's Wood. She whispered a silent prayer of gratitude to the ancestors who had safeguarded their traditions, ensuring that their community thrived amidst the ever-changing tides of history.

She turned to the person closest to her. "Excuse me." Her voice is soft but inviting. "What do you think of Fenrir?"

The average person collects memories to retrieve during moments of reverie, particularly when little vignettes of people-watching unfold before them. Celestina, however, with her mind riddled and ammonia-fueled, has lost the ability to recall such bright memories. The cigarette toxins clinging to her hair and teeth, mixed with the alcohol which nightly ruined her veins and organs veils any instance of reticule or decency. Her childhood, though comfortable and replete with luxuries few could afford, was not built upon happiness. The few memories she clings to are of her brother Angelo, the caring and doting substitute parent when their own parents were off indulging in their revelries and carousing.

As she watches a woman and her ducklings tour the museum, Cece remains ensconced in her corner, doodling on her Chuck Taylors with a black permanent marker surreptitiously pilfered from a convenience store. She meticulously outlines a tiny upside-down rainbow on the side of her shoe, complete with clouds and four placeholders for color—she only needs a few more hues to complete her artwork- markers that needed stealing when she had more free time.

The sounds of children’s voices flood the marbled floors and hallowed halls as they engage with their myriad assignments. Cece wonders if she’ll be disturbed and, as if on cue, the other poses a profound question.

A tug at the corner of her mouth precedes her response. “What do you mean?” she asks. Fenrir had its charms, but it was also a place where time and space seemed to relentlessly press upon her existence goading her into more misery. “Are you looking for a nice bed and breakfast or an underground fight club?” Her low chuckle suggests this is a joke, but the look on her face, drawn into a more sinister smirk, isn’t so convincing.

Fenrir was the place where she reconnected with her brother, so it held some significance. “It’s home for now. Decent.” Naturally reticent, she offers few insights about the town but takes a mischievous pleasure in mocking her birthplace. “Way better than Fuckrona, Italy,” she snickers, the laughter blooming into a full flourish. “First time visiting? Or are you one of those reflective types?”

“New machines are great in theory,” Rex said, his voice laced with irony. “But they always take forever to get delivered, and you end up stuck using the old, dangerous ones anyway. Or,”  he gestured to the locked door, “a closed gym.”

A smirk spread across Rex’s lips when Amir mentioned not wanting to punch police officers. “No? Not even if they deserve it?” He asked, tilting his head slightly in curiosity. “I’m not sure what they have down there at the station, but I do know they’re lacking in brain cells,” he added with a roll of his eyes.

Rex glanced between the boxing gloves hanging from Amir’s gym bag and back to Amir. “I’m decent,” he said, regarding Amir thoughtfully. “But where do you suggest? The gym is still closed.” He pushed himself from the door, fixing the strap of his own gym bag to sit more comfortably. “Unless you’d rather get a drink instead.”   

His eyes narrowed slightly at the other's smirk, concern flickering beneath his composed exterior. He hoped this person wasn't a regular rabble-rouser causing unnecessary trouble. Despite his tumultuous history with law enforcement during his alcohol-fueled days and the undeniable injustices within the system, he had always been advised never to give the police a reason to suspect him. His complexion alone was a constant reminder that he couldn't afford to pick fights with law enforcement. "They're just trying to do their jobs…" he said, the words lacking the full confidence he wished they held. "I imagine it's hard trying to preserve the peace of the community," especially with the hidden supernatural elements the town seemed blissfully unaware of.

He hummed thoughtfully, hesitant to admit the truth, so a white lie slipped from his lips. "I'm cutting back on drinking," he confessed, his voice tinged with the weight of past struggles. In reality, he had been steadfast in his sobriety for years now, the scuffles with intoxication relegated to the shadows of his past, and he was determined to keep them there. "I'm sure we can find a couple of empty mats at Fenway Pool." His optimism shone through, a beacon of resilience and hope.

He took another sip from his coffee. "Do I look like I work out?" he asked, though it was said with a whole lot of amusement because he kind of hoped Amir would say yes.

Looking back at the club and then at his phone, he did a quick search and held up the Facebook page for Amir to see. "Looks like the owner has a wedding this weekend," he said, smiling. "So don't be worried, he seems to be okay."

Taking a peep at the social media update, Amir is satisfied with the information and chuckles to himself. "Congratulations are in order for when I see him next." He grips the strap on his gym bag, pressing his mouth into a thin line as he considers his next move. The subtle shift in his expression reveals a man contemplating the intersection of past routines and future possibilities.

The idea of joining the digital age tugs at him, a reminder of how far he has come from his days of isolation and self-imposed exile. Succumbing to more small talk, he ponders aloud, "I should really make one of those things, huh? A Facebook." The words hang in the air, blending with the absent noise of the gym—their were no rhythmic clanging of weights, the hum of treadmills, nor the faint murmur of conversations; just a blank glass and his reflection staring back.

Bijan hadn't been someone who actively hid who he was, neither at home, nor now in the UK. He'd always been truthful to who he was and who he wished to spend his time with, yet it hadn't always been as easy, and watching the work presented by local students of the Dulant College did struck a chord. An emotional one at that.

He was glad he'd brought a package of tissues, because the last act to have graced the stage was just done with her amazing piano and vocal performance. Talking about the misunderstanding she received and how she felt like everyone was wrong and she was right.

He spotted a fellow Fenrir University faculty member and approached Lilette while still dabbing away the tears. "That was beautiful, don't you think?" he asked.

He wasn't the only one dabbing at misty eyes; several others were equally affected, their emotions plainly visible as they discreetly wiped away tears that threatened to spill. The poignant beauty of the performance had woven a palpable sense of community among the audience, uniting them in shared sentiment. "Indeed, so beautiful," she murmured softly, as if savoring the lingering echoes of the experience. "I think it's been my favorite of the day."

With a gentle pat on Bijan's shoulder, she endeavored to console her colleague and friend, infusing the moment with an air of tender camaraderie. "It's a bittersweet feeling, isn't it? Seeing all this, finally carving out spaces for ourselves."

despite his wariness towards his roommate, he does his best to keep the smile plastered on his face. they only have to get through a little more conversation, hopefully, and then all they'll have to worry about is getting through their shift at work. that is assuming everything goes well, which is a strong assumption for him to make given cece. they can tell based on her appearance that she probably had a night out, possibly feeling hungover. a small part of him feels bad for her, though that's mostly just the intrinsic sympathy he feels for most people. no matter, they're already doing her a favor by covering shifts for her when they can.

"i'm working a double, so i'll probably be back around 9 or 10 at night. the aspirin and wolf burger is no problem, but is that too late?" it's a question he probably doesn't have to ask, but he does anyway.

"Can't you just—" she muttered, her Italian pinching fingers emerging from beneath the bed sheets like a ghostly apparition. She looked like an ethereal Italian spirit caught in a deep, restless slumber full of the appropriate quirks. "I don't know—leave early."

The topic of discussion was a sore subject. Celestina's chronic irresponsibility rendered her a subpar employee. Rather than diligently manning her station and serving burgers, she frequently left Benji to shoulder her duties. But who would cover his shift? And would Benji even entertain her suggestions? "I'll be rotten—fully decomposed by the time you get here," she lamented, her voice a blend of theatrical despair and genuine exasperation. She pulls the blankets over her head and pouts, "How about this- just don't go in."

This goddamn coven. What about Evanora screamed team player? Yet it was better to have eyes and ears everywhere, than deal with the aftermath of whatever chaos this godforsaken place was going to get pulled into. Exactly why she remained a part of it — contributed when needed, poured her kind of magic into laced hands and offered the spirits whatever was left of her soul.

Kept Helia happy. For the time being, at least.

Up until she got dragged into some other bullshit.

The distant sound of voices stopped her in her tracks — ears pricked up, she diverted from her way home and followed a scream that ripped through the air around her.

Magic prickled at her fingertips, lightning that could never be tamed rushed through her veins at the sight of foolish humans and their pray — a witch, young and inexperienced, timid and vulnerable. Innocence and unlikely charm was a beacon for monsters.

An easy target, they had thought.

She twisted her wrist and a flash of green struck one of the men that had cornered the witch. With his knife dropped, he stumbled backwards weaponless.

"Don't move." her eyes met Nohemi.

The gleam of the knife against the overhead lamplight elicited a cry from her, "Please—no, no, please!"

She's ready to bargain, anything for her life, anything to avoid being struck with that cold sharp steel. But then, miraculously, she's saved. Holy hell, she's been spared, and she feels the rush of breath returning to her lungs. She doesn't have to surrender her life to this man. She doesn't have to hand over her bus fare. She didn't need to scream until her voice gave out. She was saved, and she had someone else to thank for her salvation.

At first, she assumes her savior is her sister. "Sofie!" she cries out in vain-stupidly, even. Everything happens so fast. She hardly has time to process what’s transpired—that her protector is not her sister, but a stranger, someone else with powers that are benevolent. Yet her eyes widen in horror as the flash of green disarms the attacker, fear still evident in her face.

They were—no, it couldn't be— a witch?

where: angel's house

angel wasn't exactly sure what these periods were, but he referred to them as "being in a funk". they were times when he could go days or weeks on end without the motivation to do much of anything, even get out of bed. he still managed to drag himself to work and put on a convincing enough façade, but when he was in the confines of his own that demeanor slipped away completely. the cheerful man who hosted parties every weekend could hardly be recognized now, being replaced with a tired, gloomy person who could hardly muster up the courage to cook a meal.

glancing at his the clock in his bedroom, angel sighed when he realized it was noon and he hadn't left his bed. he had been drifting in and out of consciousness, when he was awoken by an insistent knock at his door. assuming it was someone in the neighborhood who needed something, he neglected to look in the mirror before answering the door, leaving his appearance completely disheveled. the door swings open and he's met face-to-face with someone familiar, a partygoer and newfound friend. suddenly, he regrets not having freshened up. "amir," he greets, quickly forcing a pleasant smile on his face. "is there something i can help you with, amico? i am afraid that i will not be hosting a party tonight."

He assumed their schedule would repeat this week—they'd hide away in one of Angel's studies, where a grand piano stood sentinel in the corner of the room. Angel would play beautiful music that made Amir's heart dance with the prospect of a new life as the party continued outside of the room. Perhaps he'd muster the courage to finally spend the night with the other, finally taking steps toward that big R-word (relationship) they had yet to speak of. But when Angel opened the door, Amir's eyes faded into a lighter shade of worry. A bottle of sparkling non-alcoholic aperitif was placed on the doormat as he raised his hand to feel the other's forehead. "Hm…" he murmured, misunderstanding the situation. "You're not warm—a little clammy, but…"

The party was more of an excuse to come over, to show up early and spend time with Angel. Now that those plans were ruined, he couldn't help but show disappointment. "Oh, I just…" wanted to see you is how he should have finished that sentence, but instead, his concern flooded from his mouth. He wished he could convey everything he felt in that instant—the yearning, the hope, the fear of rejection—but all he managed was a simple, "Is everything okay?" His voice, usually steady and reassuring, now carried a tremor of uncertainty.

Amir's hand lingered near Angel's forehead, the coolness of the other's skin a stark contrast to the warmth that always radiated from their interactions. He withdrew slightly, his fingers brushing against his own lips in a subconscious gesture of worry. The sparkling aperitif at their feet glinted in the dim light.

The Little Duck was a bar more than a club, but plenty of people loved to hang out on the wooden benches and chairs, drinking beer from the tap, and ordering dish after dish of fried food. He did enjoy the last few hours, when most people went home and it was mostly those who should probably be home that stuck around.

And Angel's little sibling.

"I know," Nishant told her, pouring her a Jameson though not filling it up all the way to the brim, she didn't look like she could use a whole lot more. Should he call her brother now. "Last one," he said, as he placed the glass on the counter top, sliding it over to Cece. He blushed, then shook his head. "This is still your last one."

Giving the glass a sneer, she hastily slides it over the wooden bar top, continuing to needle at him. "I wanna know." Truth be told, she assumed plenty of people had complimented him so. If Cece wasn't as gay as Sappho herself, she might have even tried to dabble in taking him home once or twice. She could almost taste that warm sweetness as she stared at the pretty brown hues of his eyes. But then she remembered a different pair of eyes—green, vivid, and arresting. Beatrice, with her slight five-foot-three frame, button nose, and the scent of what Cece assumed were roses (though she didn’t know much about flowers just yet), had become her current, and all too permanent, source of brainrot.

"Okay. I get it. Last one." Rolling her eyes playfully at him, she offered a Cheshire grin. "You don't have to be mean about it. You know I'm your favorite." She continued to pick at Nishant's all too kind demeanor, worsening her chances of getting kicked out. She swayed slightly, her balance a delicate dance on the edge of chaos, her eyes bright with the reckless abandon that only intoxication could bring. "I guess get me a soda too- plain so I can sober up."

location: dirty pete

"it's good to see queer owned businesses, isn't it?" he asks another patron at the restaurant. hector had only come to pick up his order, but he couldn't help but notice the addition for pride month on the menu. "personally i like to support them whenever i can, i think it's good cause. plus, it helps that the food here isn't half bad. have you tried the new menu item?"

"Nah," she said, shaking her head while chewing on the viscid, tacky gum in her mouth. "I don't really like trying new things when it comes to food…" Yet, Cece was anything but simple. Her curiosity was insatiable when it came to new drinks, drugs, and people. "What is it anyway?" she asked, leaning in closer with an air of careless intrigue. Her question, though straightforward, carried an undertone of challenge, as if daring the world to present her with something that could surprise her.