[ it's a party! but derek hale doesn't do parties. (not anymore.) he lingers near the edge of the gathering, watching and waiting for... god knows what, but he feels much more at ease playing silent sentinel than he does assaulting his oversensitive ears with whatever garbage is being blasted from that sound system. ]
XII.
[ he's bleeding. there are numerous cuts and slashes across his back, arms, and abdomen, but he doesn't seem too bothered by them. in fact, some of the wounds seem to be slowly closing up, as if he's on the automatic mend. he doesn't know what he just fought, but it was big, nasty, and probably didn't realize it was trying to take a bit out of a werewolf. ]
I hate this place. [ sourly. ] And I need a new shirt. Great.