#blamebears

@blamebears​

In spite of Laura’s suspicions, no one came busting down their door at Harbinger Motel. Their young, supple kidneys were intact come morning, and they even managed to drop off before two AM to the drone of static laced cable. All in all not the worst after the night they’d had, except that neither of them remembered to set a phone alarm; Max’s first day of summer started with an explosion of swears and thwap of joggers to the face as Laura tossed frantic changes of clothes from their bags.

They were almost an hour late. Too late to make it to the car park and catch the van pool in with their fellow counselors. Almost too late for the tail end of orientation hellos up at the Lodge.

Max was already sweating through his tee from the mad rush in and Mr. Hackett’s many words of Thorough Disappointment by the time he got his cabin number and slung his bag onto the designated bunk. Too late to even rock-paper-scissors over who got which mattress? Definitely, judging by the leg already dangling from topside.

… He had a pretty good guess which guy from orientation it was from length of limb alone.

        what.  the.  fuck.  it had now been nearly twenty-four hours since those telltale symptoms had made their reappearance  —  the sickeningly dark lines rippling under their skin with increasing frequency, the brown of their eyes melting into gold, the distinct magnification of their personality traits  —  and kaitlyn is still just as confused as she had been then.  what the fuck.  this nightmare was supposed to be over, to be buried and forgotten about  —  only it’s not.  because this month, she’d actually turned into a goddamn werewolf, and it’s a process she never wants to repeat.  “ i must have woken up in some kind of alternate fucking reality because i thought this was supposed to be taken care of.”  there’s an edge to kaitlyn’s voice as she paces around the apartment she and dylan share, schrödinger watching her with dull interest.