"I don't really like being petted either," she said. Her eyebrow rose. "But it was that or 'here, boy,' and I think I made the right choice." She nodded her chin forward. "That way, past the inn and just on the edge of everything. Last house on the right."
She started walking. At a human pace. On this planet, she didn't have her usual intimidating ensemble, but she did have pants on rather than a dress like the other women, and she did have her daggers slung on her hips.
"There's a house that was abandoned when we got here." Dean and Mary knew where it was, but she could deal with them later. "You can get out of the open. Also, there are pants." ------------------- The low growl that Peter let out when the woman said 'here' boy,' made it pretty clear what he thought of that idea. She'd definitely made the right choice. He turned to look where she gestured, one ear flicking irritable as a fly buzzed around his head. Goddamnit, he really hoped he didn't get fleas. Again. If he was gonna catch them anywhere, it'd be a shithole like this.
He appreciated the fact that she'd told him where they were going; if he wanted to make his own way there, he could have. He wasn't just blindly following a stranger. That, and the promise of pants, had him walking beside her the entire way there. It gave him time to think, and time to more closely examine the daggers at her hips. Again, there was something familiar about them, and when he looked more closely, he could see the work of his people. The blades were clearly well-looked after, the handles lovingly polished, cherished. It was unlikely that she had stolen them, then. Which meant that she was a gypsy, or descended from one.
Mulling that thought over, he barely noticed when they arrived at their destination, a rather run-down looking house on the edge of town. The porch steps groaned under his weight, the quiet complaints of an old house settling as it cooled down from the heat of the day. Still at her heel Peter padded into the house. It was quiet, and relatively secure. If it wasn't a trap, maybe he could finally relax. ---------------------- Phaedra was pleased to see that he didn't run off. This really wasn't the place for it. Some of the planets, he'd have been fine. The islands, for one.... as long as he hadn't tried to swim for it. But overall, this place was a little bit more complex. The old west had a lawlessness to it and a distrust of outsiders. Other places did, too, but this was a bad first planet.
Once at the house, Phaedra nodded at the door, then opened it. Once it was open, she went it and left it open--though it couldn't stay that way for long. She lit a few of the lamps inside, and it was clear now that there was a notice on the house about it being property of the bank for someone not settling his debts. It was a dated notice, but there was no year.
Once she was inside, Phaedra checked the rest of the house, both for visitors and for any breach of the windows she'd boarded up. When it was clear, she came back to the main room and removed the belt with the daggers, setting them on the table. Only then did she make any eye contact with the wolf.
She was as disarmed as she could get. She didn't mention that her fangs did not retract; she wasn't going to draw any attention to her vampire traits while he couldn't speak. Even if Phaedra could survive having her throat ripped open, it wasn't like that was a good time.