Repose

[After this and this. Public, as 'Aubrey R'. With a non-verbal tone of exasperation.]

Super glad to see that home hasn't lost its touch for the dramatic, or anything. I was starting to worry that I might have to live a boring life.

Oh, did I say 'have to'? I meant 'get to'. My b.

[Patrick G/Ranger lock]

Hey. Care to share anything you know about this that I don't? Planning on going out for a run. [And no, he doesn't mean on two legs.] You know, say hi to the woods. Maybe flirt a little. Pee on some stuff. Any suggestions?

[Public]

Every place I've ever been, I've had a favorite take-out place. Not picky on cuisine. Mexican, Italian, Thai, Japanese. But I've had a favorite take-out place, not too greasy, no guys named Shane in the kitchen making noodles with unwashed hands, you catch my drift?

Got to find a new spot. Looking for recommendations. And if you're named Shane, sorry. Bad experiences with a Shane.

[ETA: Adrian M]

Hey, kid. Grown past my shoulder yet?

Who: Lou and Atticus
What: Post the world's worst town party ever
Warnings: likely nada, maybe language.

( FEMA had rolled into town )

[Locked to any Wolves in the area]

is there anyone out there, please?
what's wrong with this place?

[As chaos descends, a 911 call is patched through to local dispatch.

The recording goes like this: it's a young guy, asking for an ambulance at the highway overpass, up near the train tracks. Says he just witnessed a woman on a Harley going recklessly fast suddenly swerve and spin out on the on-ramp. As he climbs down into the deep roadside ditch, he goes through the details of the scene—lotta road rash, blood, the leg she fell on in bad shape but no, wait, she's moving, panicking, clawing at her helmet—the guy says hold on and calls out to the injured woman as he puts the phone down, jogs just out of range of the receiver. There's maybe a solid thirty seconds of relative silence. Nothing but the wind blowing.

Then, distantly, a roar.

By the time paramedics arrive, there's no woman. Just a pulled-over car, the battered bike, a helmet—and a body, the witness, torn up like confetti. Responders turn up blood and shreds of clothing in a nearby pond, fresh wolven prints nearby in the soft mud. However, any trail is quickly lost to the water and the woods.

With the military involved, maybe it's no surprise that the dispatch recording is scrubbed shortly thereafter. The motorcycle is quietly impounded. Though plates are run, no missing person report for the owner is filed. Not publicly, anyway.

And into the next evening, sightings of a very large, very aggressive black wolf (limping heavily on one hind leg) begin trickling in from the outskirts of town.]

[Anon]

If there are wolves running alone who are feeling the fall-out from whatever shit is going on now, say something. Pack takes care of the wolves in town whether they run with us or not.

[Public]

Anyone seen Pete in the last week? Guessing he might have skipped town, because the coffee in the diner on Ivy got a hell of a lot better and Pete can fuck up coffee better than anyone I ever knew.