just lean back and let it go

Ronan North & Harley Chapman

It seemed like every time she and Ronan made this trek, the distance was farther and farther. Obviously, she knew it wasn’t true, but the night was starting to wear on her. Her head pounded, altering to her more animalistic counterparts. Her eyes glowed now, night vision coming in strong. Her teeth ached, a sign the canine fangs would soon make themselves visible. 

Harley heard Ronan stumble slightly behind her, but she knew he’d call out if he seriously needed help. She focused on putting as much distance between the two and the town as she could. Hearing his cursing and question, Harley glanced behind to see him struggling. “Just a little further, Ronan–” Her words cut off by the pain of her hand cracking and reforming. Gasping, she managed to get out, “–Or here. Here is good.” 

“Here’s good, ‘kay, good,” Ronan echoed. Relief hit him instantly as he sank to his knees, soaking in the coolness of the forest floor. He pulled his back pack off and his loose tank top followed suit. For a few moments, he held still, reveling in the breeze against his hot, shifting skin. The sharp pop of his shoulders took his breath away as they began their migration. As the sensation passed, he kicked back into gear.

Shoes and shorts were next to go, and were quickly stuffed into his backpack, which was then stuffed into the hollow of a nearby fallen tree. Stark naked, mooning the full moon, all that was left for Ronan to do was... let go and give in to the wolf. Ronan took a deep breath and braced himself, but even after all these years, nothing would ever prepare him for the pure agony that came next.

Liquid fire lit up his spine, burning as it slid down his limbs and squeezed a sharp gasp out of him. Arms and legs snapped, stiffened, and shortened where they shouldn’t. Finger and toes cracked, twisted, elongated into paws and claws. The worst were the muscles, though--God, Ronan hated the muscles. Through it all he could feel them as they slid over ridges of bone and the ligaments moved to fasten all the sore parts in their newly shifted places. Amidst the agony of the shift, his new coat of dark, dense fur grew so easily from his skin, he hardly noticed.

Her close proximity to the other were caused her senses to spike again. The rustling in the trees, the animals moving around, smells assaulting her from every which way, it was exhausting. She stood up to meet him eye to eye, her body aching with the need to Change. Due to her heightened senses, she noticed she shift in Ronan’s voice, expressing slight concern at the possibility of more people in town. “I sure as hell hope not.” She added in a matching tone. 

Bending over to snag her over the shoulder bag, she situated it on herself, ready to get moving. “Yeah. Let’s go.” The two began walking toward the larger clearing behind the subdivision. The distance was perfect, putting as much ground between them and the town as they could. Harley walked at a quick pace, antsy to get started. 

Harley’s words did little to ease his concerns, but there wasn’t anything to do about it now as the moon crept higher in the sky with each passing moment. Ronan let Harley take the lead. He scanned the area as they pushed on and noted no significant change in the amount of litter and debris. It seemed Olympus wasn’t the party hub it once was--lucky for the local werewolves. 

He made a mental note to come back some day and at least try to clean up the area. A sharp searing pain cut his thoughts short as it tore through his calf muscle, seizing and contracting--Changing. 

Ronan stumbled a little, cursing and just barely catching himself before he lost his balance entirely. After a couple hard shakes the sensation loosened its grip, but maintained its hold. The itch of protruding and receding fur began to spread down his arms. Not good. 

“Shit.” He cursed again. “Harls, how much further you wanna head in?”

A low whistle passed his lips as he looked out at the cars for show. Cars had never been an obsession of Russell’s as it was for many other men of his age. However, he could appreciate the nice makes and models of the cars present. Dahlia had decided to meet up with Frankie to practice. As such, Russell was left to peruse the show himself.

As he walked past a particularly stunning vehicle, the sound of an engine revving caught him of guard. The graceful attempt to turn, turned into a clumsy stumble over a rough patch of concrete. Which then sent the ice cream in his hands flying…only to land on the vehicle he’d been admiring. “Ah fudge,” he grumbled, seeing the mess he created. Thankfully, he spotted some rags someone had left out and began to clean up the mess. Until he heard footsteps approach and stop behind him. “Look, I’m really sorry, it was a total accident. Beautiful car, by the way, anyways, I’ll be sure to get this all cleaned up…uh, is this your car?”

“Wh--huh?” Dread pooled in Ronan’s stomach, chilling his insides on the way down, as he watched the ice cream sail in slow motion before landing on the hood of the car. The shock of it all had Ronan’s mind and ears lagging. It took a moment for him to comprehend what the would-be vandal said, and another for him to figure out what to even say in a situation like this. Ohhhhh man, his father’s ghost was going to haunt him big time for this. “Oh, fuuuuck, man, it’s my dad’s car...--” 

Somewhere in the logical part of his brain, some of those brain cells thought about all the times that car paint stood up against bird poop and vomit. Ice cream was small potatoes compared to that, but the rest of Ronan’s brain disagreed. As he swiped another rag off the table and started wiping up melted  dairy, that same logical part of his brain wondered if such a reaction had anything to do with the (lack of) coping with his grief. 

“It is a nice car...” He murmured, staring into his reflection on the hood.

One of Maxine’s greater skills was finding gifts for people. She loved finding peculiar objects at flea markets. And Ashland was not disappointing her. Already on her side, she had a bag filled with various gifts for friends outside of the city. 

But since Spence and Nic hadn’t been able to come, she wanted to get them both something they’d enjoy. In her time searching, a table full of old clothes caught her eye. “It’s going well, thank you. And yourself?” As she began small chit chat, her eyes wandered over to the shirts. “What sizes would you happen to have in the plaid shirts in?”

“That’s good, that’s good. I can’t complain, really. Nice weather, great turn out, what more can ya ask for,” Ronan answered Maxine with a warm smile as the witch surveyed his wares. From plaid and flannel button ups to actual vintage print t-shirts, a... decent selection still remained. “Mostly larges. I think there’s a few XLs in with the flannel and mediums in with the t-shirts, if you’re interested in those.”

Claudia didn’t have much interest in buying any clothes at the various set-ups, not much of a fan of secondhand clothing. Still, she was curious to see what people might have to offer and made her rounds with a careful eye out for anything that might still have tags on it. She was so caught up in looking at the objects she didn’t even realize the people she was passing until someone spoke to her. “Oh, hi,” she greet, automatically smiling as she looked up. She motioned to the clothes that were set out. “Is this pretty much all men’s clothes?”

Ronan answered with a short nod and made a sweeping gesture from the front table to the side table, and the clothes racks beside him. “Yeah, mostly. Flannels and shirts are mostly larges, but think I saw a couple XLs and mediums in with the t-shirts over here.” He replied, pointing to the table on his left. The arrangement of faded, printed tees had been picked over several times, but a modest (and recently folded) assortment still remained. “Got some ball caps back here too if you’re lookin’ for hats.”

Harley could already feel the effects of the full moon. Her skin felt claustrophobic, she was achy and itchy, and just general in a bad mood. It had taken her so long to get enough control of the wolf that she could remember what happened during her full moon shifts. 

The only thing that could lighten her mood was getting together with Ronan so they could go through it together. Their friendship started with coming across one another during a shift. It wasn’t Harley’s territory, so she couldn’t do anything to defend it, but luckily Ronan wasn’t there to end her. They would only really see each other when it was the full moon or if they needed to go run. Their friendship kept growing from there and he was the closest friend she had in Edgewood. 

Harley arrived at the clearing earlier than normal. She was itching to get out of the town and went to their meeting location as soon as she could. Massaging her temples, her too heightened senses picked up the crunching of small branches and a familiar smell. “Took you long enough.” She said in a teasing tone.

@ronan-north

The drive up to the abandoned subdivision hadn’t been a pleasant one; Ronan’s fingers ached from the white-knuckled grip he’d kept on the steering wheel. He hadn’t Changed since the last full moon--the opportunity just hadn’t been there, and he was paying dearly for it now. The serrated itching below his skin was intense enough to drown out Harley’s own tense emotional state as he entered the clearing (a small blessing).

“Sorry I’m late,” Ronan returned with an apologetic smile. “Traffic was a bit of a bitch--I didn’t think there was anything goin’ on in town tonight?” Translation: he sincerely hoped there wasn’t anything major going on in town tonight. 

The last thing Ronan wanted to worry about were townies wandering into the woods. He needed to not have to worry about them, not tonight. After being cooped up for so long, his wolf was demanding to run, and hungered for a chase. His stomach churned at the thought. 

"You got everything you need?” Ronan adjusted his backpack, sliding the other strap over his shoulder in anticipation of the short trek ahead. “’Cause I’m ready whenever you are.”

Raiden had trawled past an assortment of stalls by this point. Glancing with disinterest at the majority of what was on offer, and what skills the townsfolk had wanted to share with everyone. From cooking stalls that had drowned his senses with what he assumed was supposed to be sweet pleasantries to the newfangled fashion that had taken up this decades trends. 

If it didn’t make him feel like an outsider, the plaided stall most certainly did. He had nothing against it, but it was so very townsy, he had resided in a city for the most part of a century. Nobody wore lumberjacks attire. Markets - in a loose sense, he had done before, but ones that sold every colour of plaid were not where he figured he’d be. If Harken had ever asked him what Raid would be doing in the ending years of the ‘10s. Oh how things change.

“Was there an era where you wore nothing but this?” Raiden replied to the stranger, fingering one of the fabrics, his eyebrows raising with a little humour. He hadn’t considered the remark to be an insult to the man, but Dryad was not one to be subtle, ever. “People are paying you for these?”

Ronan cocked an eyebrow as turned his attention to his latest customer as the man inspected the goods. Not the first comment on ‘his’ wardrobe he’d heard today, he doubted it would be the last. Nearly a year had passed since his father... passed, and talking about it hadn’t gotten easier yet. So, as Ronan had done all day, he gave a short laugh and humored the man in picking on ‘his’ fashion sense. 

“Flannel’s almost the dress code ‘round these parts, you must’ve missed the memo on that.” Ronan replied lightly, casually giving the man’s attire a once over. It was in that moment, as he gave the stranger his undivided attention, Ronan realized how... quiet it was around him. This kind of quiet usually meant one thing, and given how late in the day it was--or evening, rather, it was seeming more and more likely. “--And I sure hope they’ve been payin’, I’m not running a charity here just yet. Why, are you interested in bringin’ your wardrobe up to Midwestern standards?”

Tristan didn’t really mind rummage sales. He certainly wasn’t ever going to be one of their primary customers, but he was always curious about what sorts of unusual things you could find in such places. It was a good idea for Dante and Hallie suggest this event as their mutual outing. They were sure to find something here to bring home to tinker with if nothing else.

What caught Tristan’s attention at this particular vendor was not the merchandise though. It was hot guy behind the booth. And Tristan being Tristan, well, now he had to go “browse”. Thankfully the other two figured him out immediately, and left him to self destruct on his lonesome.

“Alright, how’s it going,” Tristan smiled at the other amicably. “Busy day so far?”

Ronan returned the man’s smile with a polite one of his own. It was the best he could do after a taxing day of maintaining his shields around the heavy crowds. They were starting to slip, and he could feel the man might’ve had interests outside of bulking up his fall wardrobe. Could be worse, Ronan thought; Least he’s hotter than the cougar from Barstow...

“Yeah, it’s been good, been out here all day. Had a steady steam browsers and buyers earlier, which was great. Less for me to take back home.” Pocketing his wad of change, Ronan approached the table separating him from the newcomer and leaned against it. “How ‘bout you, keepin’ busy bargain hunting?”

          He hadn’t been in town long enough to know what else went on during the year. Sure, Claudia could probably tell him, but that wasn’t the kind of thing the two of them usually discussed. He’d find out as time progressed. One of his favorite things about events with rummage sales, was seeing what sorts of things people wanted to sell during them. There was junk, but occasionally he’d find something interesting. Although Lucio wasn’t planning on buying anything unless it was interesting, he’d probably end up buying something either for Claudia or just because he wanted to support the town. 

          “Great,” he replied to the question, looking at the items for sale. Lucio smiled. “What’s with all the plaid?” 

“Good, that’s good,” Ronan replied casually, sizing up the newcomer as looked over the sea of flannel shirts spread out on the table. Some of them probably needed refolding, especially after the last herd rolled through. 

“Apparently these’re a staple for all Minnesota residents. They’re all my dad’s. He, uh...” passed away a while back and I’m finally letting go of his shit? Yep, because who doesn’t want to know they’re wearing a dead man’s clothes. “He’s headed permanently south for the winter. Thought this’d be as good a way as any to clean out some closet space.”

Out of all the people Harley expected to see selling clothes, Ronan was not at all one of them. On top of that, he was one of the only ones that happened to be selling clothes she would actual wear. Used or thrifted flannels were cheap, comfortable, and easy to work in, also a staple of Harley’s wardrobe. 

She smiled as she approached, hearing his standard greeting. “Just peachy, especially now that I see you brought out my entire wardrobe to sell to the public.” She teased as she ran her hands over the soft fabrics. 

The polite smile on Ronan’s face became a genuine grin as he recognized the voice beside him. Plaid was like catnip for Harley--or, er, a juicy T-bone for a werewolf. He watched as she circled to the front of the booth and sized up the selection of flannels. 

“Oh--yeah, don’t worry, I left all the rest in the hamper for you.” Ronan teased right back. “I can think of much better venues to air your dirty laundry at.”

As Ronan counted out the cash back and sent another satisfied hipster on their way, another figure in his peripheral vision near his set up. “Hey--how’s it goin’?”

Edgewood Challenge: Wardrobe

In his younger years, Ronan’s style was a rather eclectic, thrift shop chic ensemble. If it had no holes and was bright enough to pick him out of the sea of school children, it went in his closet. Though he still hits up the bargain bins and clearance racks, Ronan’s earned more say in his wardrobe since those days...