Parker Ramsey, Speed Racer, (hereshecomes) wrote in repose, @ 2016-05-30 00:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | *narrative, pj ramsey |
Narrative: Parker Ramsey
Who: Parker Ramsey
Where: Her apartment
What: Oh, just werewolf problems
When: Nowish
Warnings: Language maybe
The windows were open, mostly to get the smell out of the apartment, there was a first aid kit open on the dining room table and little pieces from the packets of ointment and bits of bandages were littering the area. Parker was sitting in a chair, wrist and hand wrapped up messily and surveying the carnage in front of her.
Her heart was still beating heavily in her chest, the stress and frustrating of the preceding few hours had come to a head just a handful of minutes prior. She was coming down from it all, but she wasn't there yet. Her eyes were wide as she looked from her dining room into her tiny kitchen. The mess. Fuck the mess. Some of it was to be expected, the bits of flour and chocolate chips and baking cocoa on the floor. Egg shells where they shouldn't be and just general mess. She had a shoebox kitchen and a tiny oven, and hips for days. It wasn't easy to move around in on the best days, but this afternoon had been especially heinous.
It had all started simply enough.
Or rather not simply enough. Not simple at all. There was nothing simple about what had gone on in this apartment today. And as she leaned forward, elbows on knees, and looked at her throbbing wrist and hand - nice burns covered in ointment and bandages now - she tried to replay it all back.
She'd meant it, full stop, when she'd said she didn't bake. It had been playful and funny, but it was still the truth. She didn't know how, didn't care to know how, didn't like it, and didn't want to do it. Not at all. So, why, that morning, had she gotten up and gone baked good shopping? Why? Because she wasn't an alpha that's why. Not that Atticus was some mystery alpha. No. That was ridiculous. But he was her friend. Someone she was close to. the only person she was close to. The only thing her instincts were telling her was close to having a pack and for eight years she'd been doing things to keep her pack happy. Fucking bullshit. She couldn't have really fought it if she tried. And honestly it wasn't terrible. But she was angry. All day in that kitchen she was angry. Was she god damn Ella Enchanted now? No, not just anyone could boss her around. This wasn't even being bossed around. This was different. She knew it. But she couldn't fix it or control it, or trust it. She just wanted to do something right because her instincts were telling her she needed to. The only experiences she'd ever had were telling her that if she was going to run around with no alpha and a pack of one human, then her one human was going to get some baked goods.
But she didn't know how to bake. Didn't enjoy baking. And hated everything about it from the burned brownies to the deflated cake to the brick like cookies, and the last plate of soupy brownies that were currently sliding down her kitchen wall in globs into a pile of gross mixed with shards of glass baking dish. This was not the kind of mess one cleaned up. This was the kind of mess you threw away. Every dish was getting chucked out. For good measure she threw a plate of destroyed cookies - plate and all - right out the open window onto the gravel footpath below and listened to it crash. She would find out later when she left that not one of those god forsaken cookies broke.
She almost hopped on her bike and went right back to Nebraska. Her pack. They'd take her back. Not without ... Issue. But they would. She'd apologize. They'd accept it eventually. She'd learn. This was the alternative? It wasn't her friend's fault, he didn't know, hell she didn't know. And he never would. She'd spent hours angry at him earlier, but as she calmed down it wasn't his fault, it was hers. This was what she'd been warned about she supposed. The reason why she couldn't be close with people in general. The reason why she needed to be on her own or in a pack. The reason why if they were on their own they were so...weird. God she was a weirdo. She was a weird werewolf. She was one of those werewolves that was going to turn out all dangerous and crazy. She'd lock herself up for the full moons going forward. She'd finish Atticus' car and go back to the shit show in Nebraska. No one would really notice, it would be a nice quiet exit, she'd sell the Fill - Up Station, and call it a day.