Who: Mercy Thompson and Jeremy Danvers Where: Pack House When: Early evening What: He wanted to speak with her Warnings: Low/None Status: Closed, In Progress
Curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought it back. That was the saying. It was an apt description for those who descended from Coyote, too. She wasn't able to contain her curiosity for very long after Thanksgiving. She'd tried to see if Clay knew anything but he was as solid as a rock wall if he knew anything. He'd sworn on her brownies, after all, who could disbelieve him then? So she'd reached out, then after work she'd padded down to Jeremy's office.
She hesitated at the door - it wasn't often she was asked to come see him. Usually when she'd been hurt and overdoing it, but then it was a disapproving look and not a conversation. It made her a little nervous as she thought over everything. She hadn't offended anyone (that she could think of) and she hadn't crossed lines (that she could think of) and she had no clue. Which made her want to know exactly what was on his mind. Maybe it was as simple as thanking her for all the food and the storage for food. She wasn't sure that was it, though, it felt different.
The voice that was Coyote lingered in the back of her head, nudging her to stop pondering and just knock. So she did and carefully opened the door. "I know you said your door was always open, so I hope it's still a good time?" she asked carefully, stuffing her nervousness back into a box and not quite meeting his eyes, looking just below them as she had practically been trained to do with Alphas. Even if she stared Bran down enough, this wasn't the time for that shenanigans.