Tristan J. Moore (tristan_moore) wrote in the_obscured, @ 2014-07-22 12:49:00 |
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It was an awful lot like poking a very grumpy bear with a very pointy stick. Tris knew that. He knew he was risking a thing or two by even being in that area once he'd heard about the protests. But he wanted to see for himself. The darker part of his mind, the part that was a wolf angered by the wrongful imprisonment of a packmate, wanted to mark the scents and faces of the people there, to make them hope they never saw him in his fur in a dark alley. Tris told himself he'd never do anything like that, but he had to wonder if he'd hold to that if things kept getting worse. So he'd dressed for the weather -- shorts, a tee-shirt under a button-up golf shirt left open. It was going to rain, but not until later. He walked, because it wasn't far and he didn't want to deal with being tracked to his car if he had to beat feet out of the place. Strolling up toward the crowd, hands tucked into pockets with the occasional, casual glance toward the gathering as if he was simply a passer-by not in the know, Tris was content enough to simply pass it by. More, he needed to pass it by before he wound up baring his teeth or flashing a glare at someone. Drawing attention to himself. He was just a teacher to them, after all. Not a wolf. He had no concern with this affair. But his wolf knew otherwise. He wanted to howl at the injustice of it, but he kept himself in check. He would've simply kept walking, had he not caught sight of a few of his just-graduated students. A wave of dismay crashed over him, and when one of them met his eye and hurried over, Tris stood and waited. "Mr. Moore! Do you need a sign? There's a chick over there making them," the boy gushed. "Sign for what?" Tris responded as if he didn't have the foggiest clue what the crowd was here for. The boy frowned, then smiled uncertainly. Was his former teacher joking? "There's a werewolf in jail! He killed someone, some girl." "Didn't really answer the question," Tris continued, his brows arching slightly. "What're the signs for?" The boy's uncertain smile returned. "To ... you know. Get them out of town. To get him executed." "Which is it?" Tris asked as his eyes drifted over the others present. Most weren't paying them any mind, but a few of his former students were watching. "He killed someone," the boy said. "Was he put on trial and I missed it?" "Well, no but ..." "Were you there? Did you see him kill someone?" "No, of course not." "Then how do you know?" "He's a werewolf," the boy pressed, as if that was the only answer he needed. "You know there've been werewolves here for a long time, right? They didn't just show up in January, Matt. And you know plain old regular guys kill girls all the time, right?" The boy shifted uncomfortably, glancing back toward his friends. "Yeah. I know. I just ..." "Don't be a sheep, Matt." "I'm not a sheep," the boy sneered. "Funny, because you're baa-ing just like the rest of them." The boy glanced back to the group, then to his former teacher before he shrugged and turned to retreat to his friends. Tris caught a mumble about being a 'monster sympathizer' and he sighed faintly. Maybe he hadn't done anything at all, but he liked to hope he'd at least planted a seed of doubt. That maybe the boy would go home and think about it. Maybe even change his mind. Probably not though. It was just so much easier for them to be sheep. But maybe. Maybe. Tris let his blue gaze play over those present once more, and he marked them all despite his own active conscious desire not to start down that path. Would they be safe, he wondered, if he did chance across them some night? He thought maybe for the next few months, he'd find somewhere farther away, somewhere more isolated to run. Just in case. Turning his back to the group, Tristan started an aimless wander along the sidewalk. He had no particular destination in mind, but he wanted to clear his mind, maybe see if he could ferret out some company. Maybe he'd venture to one of the less-known were hangouts to see if any of the youngsters needed a hug or something. Keeping his gaze more or less lowered, Tris wandered where his feet took him, wherever that might have been. |