These days Lou's a (lawmaker) wrote in repose, @ 2018-09-14 21:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | *log, atticus mcvickers, lou reid |
Lou & Atticus: wolfing
Who: Lou and Atticus
What: Post the world's worst town party ever
Warnings: likely nada, maybe language.
It was like the shittiest party to ever issue a country-wide invite and where every federal agency had RSVP'd. FEMA had rolled into town. They took over but they took over the way feds did anything big-time. It was a dick-measuring contest in official-issued boots and Lou had no goddamn time for dick-measuring. Hers was giant, swinging and metaphorical and she had clean-up that was small scale and didn't take hazmat suits. She had about a week maybe two for the wolf-pack here to stay tight before the guys who'd thrown her in, threw her out. It was what it was, but the fact of it was like a lighter-flame flicking at the edge of a cigarette end, tickling the edges of her adrenal glands. Done a lot of roaming, didn't have any ties to the place, didn't have a lover or a house or a pack that ran smooth. Should be easy just to pack up and roll on. But the idea of being tossed out on her ass, it didn't bite Lou. It just tickled over and over that place where she dug in like a fool and it skimmed fingers over the trigger on her temper.
There was clean-up and clean-up. There was a dead guy in the morgue who had rotted more than the other dead guys who had piled up after. That guy, he was wolf-kill. Knew what to look for, knew who to palm fifty bucks to take a look. Lou saw, she was certain. Wolf-kill and that was going to get her tossed out of the set-up she'd put together. Lone, because none of the pack had gone fur and teeth solo then. They clubbed together, the way they'd been taught. Fear taught a guy a lot of things and the guy before the nice one, the alpha who'd been tossed out of the territorial line, he'd taught a lot.
Then there was clean-up. The guys who'd taken to fur and teeth when the sound was a pile-driver and the town acted like it was rolling. A couple, maybe. The guys who had stayed behind long enough to get the ones who would be furry early out of town, beyond the sound. Lou appreciated a hand but it was her fight. Maybe that was the stubborn thing, she didn't know but it was hers. She came to it after the sound deadened and after, jeans and worn leather over sweater she walked the line of the forest out of the way of feds. In where it was dark and deep and the fur would flee. No smoke, no dead fish just predators who freaked on being prey. Lou looked for the pack.
She stopped for the wolf. She saw it, and it registered somewhere. Back of the neck, pit of the stomach. Lou smelled like woods and mulching leaves and like pack, the scent of the wolves that ran through the woods wrapped around something smokier and distant. She smelled of her own place, lone wolf trailing lost and old packs written into her scent like a tattoo fading on skin. Stopped. Stood. Found a tree, sat.