isla lahey. (scarflette) wrote in blackpoint, @ 2014-02-27 14:19:00 |
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Alex Argent knew that as far as fully getting the whole werewolf thing went, he probably rated strictly ‘average’ on the scale. Sure, he didn’t hunt werewolves like his family had, and okay, he had gotten over his fear of them and knew they were people and blah blah blah… but that still left him a little awkward the morning after a Full Moon. What had happened? Was everyone okay? He hadn’t heard anything last night, and he knew that the wolves were in good hands with Major Beta and Scott-the-Older, but as one of the few humans in his circle of friends, he often struggled with how to address the issues. Sure, he knew how to ask Lyle about it, but Lyle was Lyle and appreciated straightforwardness. The last thing Alex wanted was to remind the pack of just how much an outsider he was, and for what reason.
Still, despite his misgivings Alex was no coward, so the early afternoon after Valentines Day and the inconveniently-timed Full Moon he knocked on the door to Isla’s apartment. In his hands he had some pastries from a French cafe a few blocks over (enough for several hungry werewolves) and two coffees - Isla’s done up the way he’d observed she’d made hers at the diner they’d gone to a few days prior. Food was, after all, a universal language all its own. Juggling the food and coffee, he let out a breath as he heard signs of life behind the door.
When she’d originally been approached by Derica Hale about the bite, all Isla had been told were the positives of being a werewolf. She was enticed by the idea of being able to heal quickly and the thought of having heightened sense. Mostly, she was captivated by the notion that she could finally no longer be helpless. She could be powerful, a threat, and she could defend herself. After so long spent literally and metaphorically hiding in the shadows, there was something so lovely about the thought of finally not having to do so anymore. It’d been rather quickly after the bite that she’d realized there was more to it than just those positives. Her very first transformation had been on a full moon. It’d also been the night she’d killed her father.
Some time had passed now, and she’d been through a few more moons. She gotten a hang of what it meant to be a werewolf, as much as she could. She, like the other teenagers, had learned mostly by doing, picking up information on what they were as they went along. It hadn’t been a particularly easy path, particularly with the heartbreak of being kicked out again by an authority figure and then losing Boyd and Eric, but she’d managed. Isla was rather resilient, after all. Still, the full moons themselves always were tinged by the memories of that very first, though she tried to ignore it as best she could. This one had gone as well as could be expected, though, and that was a relief. The next morning, she was a bit disheveled and tired, but otherwise fine. The knock at the door drew her attention, and she was fairly confident who stood behind it before she actually moved to open it (thanks to werewolf senses and a particular interest in memorizing the way Alex smelled). She brushed a hand through her hair, though it didn’t do much to tame the frizzed mess, and opened the door, offering a smile. “Hi,” she said, unable to keep from smiling.
“Hey,” he answered, letting out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he’d been holding, and shifted his weight. She looked a little tired, but hell, he did too after he’d stayed up most of the night. He’d rather her tired than running around half-feral and in danger; not for the first time he was glad (glad!) that there were so many werewolves here to help out. “I uh… figured you might need a pick-me-up after last night, so.”
The heavy bag of pastries sagged; Alex felt a little sheepish about the amount of SWAG he was sporting. At least everyone here would make good use of his over-enthusiasm.
Alex knew in the back of his head that the same over-enthusiasm was often what got him in trouble. He was a planner, a thinker, the sort of person who was utterly lost if they went to the store and forgot their grocery list. Part of it was just his nature, part of it was his upbringing, and part of it was a simple reaction to having been unpleasantly surprised one too many times by life’s various turns. He’d learned not to assume too much somewhere along the way, and that had invariably translated to his delicate treatment of his friendship with Isla. He’d heard her story even before their lives had been splashed over Google by the portal, and appreciating exactly what she’d been through had him second-guessing his every move. It was both annoying and an affirmation to see a different version of the same song-and-dance splashed on MTV every Monday night.
Isla’s head tilted a little at the sigh of relief, but it made her feel even a little warmer than seeing Alex at her door did. She’d been doing little more than lazing on the couch when the knock had sounded, and she wished she’d taken a shower and cleaned up a little, but she couldn’t really complain about the company. Especially since the company was handsome and came with food. “You won’t hear me complaining,” she responded, grinning.
She opened the door further for him to welcome him inside, closing it after him. “Oh my god, whatever’s in that bag smells amazing.”
Isla was actually a bit of a planner at heart, she was just terrible at it. She had the tendency to make great, elaborate plans and goals and then fuck them all up with her awkwardness when she got the first opportunity to do so. Most of the time, she messed things up because she was trying so hard not to. Isla wanted to please everyone, and she tried really hard to do so. It was a carryover from her upbringing, where pleasing made such a huge difference. However, she couldn’t seem to help sticking her foot in her mouth or becoming a bumbling idiot. And once the process was started, it was hard for it to stop. She thought she was getting better, though. At the very least, she was much better at internalizing her freak-outs. “How are you?” she asked, leading the way back to the couch and curling a long leg beneath her as she sat on it.
“Umm… eclairs, croissants, Bichon au citron, croquembouches… think I saw a cruller or two….” Alex rattled off as he took a seat beside her, cupping his hands around his coffee to shake off the chill from outside. “I basically told the guy behind the counter to do his worst. It’s a good shop. Très authentique,” he said in a decent French accent self-mockingly, a little self-conscious about the whole “Argent family vacation in France” deal that sounded a lot more glamorous than it was. He’d never felt like he’d grown up with money, even though if he thought about it he really had. His family weren’t showy nor were they big-spenders, but the resources of the hunter network apparently went pretty far. It explained how seamlessly they had moved around growing up, how he’d never had difficulty getting into local private schools in the middle of the school year. Beacon Hills had been only the second public school he’d gone to.
“Everything went okay?” he asked, settling in and flicking his eyes over to her. It had, of course - she’d have mentioned otherwise - but he was interested and wanted to show that her being a werewolf wasn’t intimidating or a turn-off or… whatever. “I’m gonna guess you would have led with ‘so there’s been a tragedy’.”
Isla made sounds of pleased approval as he listed off the available pastries, the very thought of them making her nearly squirm in anticipation given just how starved she actually was. She grinned at his little self-deprecating words. “That sounds très amazing,” she responded. “Thank you for bringing it.” Isla didn’t really judge her friends for what they had or didn’t have, mostly because she knew she really couldn’t compare. She was technically a homeless orphan back home, after all. Anything the others could offer was incredibly generous. Alex’s family was intimidating, but she couldn’t make an assessment on much else.
“As well as can be expected from our end,” she responded, shrugging. “I was nervous about it, since this is New York and there’s so many more people, but nothing bad happened.” She pouted then. “Well, that’s a lie. My cardigan didn’t survive.”
Alex peered at her out of the corner of his eyes with a decent impersonation of a poker face, but it dissolved fairly quickly at her cardigan-related sadness. “Aw, I’m sorry,” he said, even if his voice was tinged with amusement as much as anything else, and he tried not to smile at her general poutiness and failed utterly and completely. It wasn’t that he took pleasure in her suffering so much as that… well, the destruction of a cardigan (while sad), was sort of a lighthearted romp considering the last few weeks of utter angst that had been steadily doled out to them.
“I am sorry,” he said, attempting to smoosh the smirk still tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Does that happen often? Ah… werewolf wardrobe malfunctions?”
In the grand scheme of life, losing a cardigan was a minor loss – particularly given everything else they were going through at present. And while she definitely hated when it happened, bringing it up like she did was absolutely meant as a light-hearted anecdote. She wrinkled her nose in mock-offense at his failed attempts not to be amused, secretly glad to see it even if it was at the expense of her fashion-obsession.
“You are not,” she said, reaching to nudge him lightly, but she broke the expression to laugh at his phrasing. “Werewolf wardrobe malfunctions,” she repeated, amused. “So often. It’s very tragic, really. I should know better, but alas. Even my least fashionable clothes are just too fashionable.” She sighed with feigned arrogance, tossing some wild hair over her shoulder for effect.
He couldn’t help but grin, lowering his chin at her and trying not to chuckle. “The world at large just isn’t ready for your fashion genius,” Alex consoled her. He’d never paid much attention to labels beyond the basics of what other kids were wearing, what was comfortable, and what was easy to move in. That didn’t mean that he held any rancour toward anyone who could make sense of fashion. Heck, if someone knew the difference between their cravats and their cumberbunds he figured that couldn’t be a bad thing, and Isla’s devotion toward fashion was endearing considering all the other things that were twenty times darker she might’ve concentrated on.
“I’m glad it all went well,” he said after a beat, his expression relaxing into something that was rooted more in fondness. “I mean, we don’t know how long we’re here for. Some say forever. And if this place works out well, for everyone but your cardigans…” A slow shrug. “Maybe it’s not so bad, never going home.”
The thought was a sobering one. Alex missed his mother, of course, but the rest of his family… well, he’d never really known them, anyway.
“They really aren’t,” Isla responded, sighing. Truthfully, Isla didn’t have all that many skills to bank on. She had a lot of trouble in school, both in concentration and in actual understanding of material. It was the sort of thing that likely needed some additional intervention, but her parents had (unsurprisingly) not taken those steps to get her extra help. She could get decent grades when she tried her very hardest and put in effort for extra credit, but it was hard to keep up that motivation. Without her father to try to appease, her grades had suffered quite a bit. She was good at fashion, though. She could draw and paint as well, and perhaps (if she were actually honest with herself and not so overcome by a self-deprecating lack of faith in her abilities) she might’ve fantasized about being a fashion designer some day. For now, though, it was just enjoyable.
“Me too. I haven’t heard of any great tragedies from Hawaii either, so that’s good,” she said, though there was that unspoken possibility still, especially with the time difference. “I don’t think I’d want to go home,” she said, shrugging a shoulder. She had Boyd and Eric here, and everyone else she cared about was represented in some way or another. It would’ve been nice to have their Scottie and Melissa, but she couldn’t really complain.
“So what’d you do last night while we were running around like wild animals?”
Alex wasn’t surprised that she’d settled in here. Her family was here - her real family, as far as he was concerned, and besides that she had friends here that were long since gone from home. New York wasn’t a bad fit for her, even with the huge population of people, and in time Alex was sure that even that would be easier for her to deal with. He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about staying here permanently, and figured that working it out was going to have to be something he did on his own time.
At her question, he smiled, chagrined. “Homework,” he answered. It was a predictable response given how seriously he took his studies, but he figured that it was probably extra-pathetic on Valentines Day. “I figured I could be available if there were any problems, so…” Even if he was glad that his phone had been silent.
Isla was so happy in this world. While she’d so loved and appreciated living with Scottie and Mr. McCall, it wasn’t the same as having a home of her own with her own family. She had that here, an apartment with Eric and with Boyd. She was so close to the others, too, who she adored. She felt like she could really have a life here, and that was an amazingly optimistic thought. The fact that the troubles of Beacon Hills weren’t as much of an issue here only amplified the loveliness of it all.
And then, of course, there was the fact that she’d gotten to go on a date with Alex, and it’d gone so well. She hadn’t quite gotten over that. She grinned at his response, her expression completely endeared by it. “I’m glad we didn’t have to call you, though not so glad you were alone,” she admitted, shrugging a little. “This Valentine’s Day was such a wash, wasn’t it,” she added, sighing. “It’s a cheesy holiday, I guess, but it’s still sort of nice in sentiment.”
“It’s no big.” Alex had never minded being alone. Or rather, it was something he was bad at, and he viewed being alone a trial that was probably good for him in the longrun (the Argent family tended to do that when faced with situations they didn’t much like).
Her comments regarding Valentines Day were right on the mark. Alex’s smile ran sideways. “Yeah, the timing was really awful,” he agreed. A few months before and he might not have had much sympathy about it, but he’d gotten to know the werewolves and saw the annoyance for what it was. “I never hated the holiday,” he admitted, crossing his legs and taking another sip of coffee. “I mean, sure, pink everywhere, but I’m not a pink hater.” A shrug. “And hey, candy. At least you guys can participate the day after, but yeah. Bad timing all around.”
“It really was. I’m sort of hoping not to have any more full moon holiday clashes, but I guess we’ll just have to go with whatever happens,” she responded. There were definite pros and cons to being a werewolf, and the inconvenience of the moon was certainly one of them. “I think there’s another lunar eclipse coming up over the next few months, too.” The thought of that was an unsettling one, given the way the last lunar eclipse had gone. She just hoped that this one wouldn’t involve them piled into a collapsing root cellar.
“I really like Valentine’s Day,” she admitted, grinning. “My sister went through this phase where she’d do nothing but toss glitter at me every time she saw me on Valentine’s. It was her favorite holiday.” She shrugged a shoulder, then grinned a bit more. “And yes! Candy is always a plus. And I’m certainly not opposed to morning-after French pastries.”