"I don't know, they're pretty against scrapping it," Mercy said. "I don't care either way, but there's no way I can fix it." She tugged on her bracelets just a little. "Something about the last thing they scrapped laying a curse on them or something." Of course, cursed items were usually pretty visibly cursed if the juju was bad enough to make people sick or hurt them--or at least, that was Mercy's experience.
Mercy's experience didn't really add up to a hill of beans here, or so she was ready to assume. Better to assume the worst and be pleasantly surprised. At least that way she'd be prepared for the worst.
The only werewolf she knew, and she had great control? Mercy shifted her weight and looked back at the car, eyes narrowing a little. She must have been a different kind of werewolf. What she was describing didn't sound much like a werewolf from her world, although a werewolf in control could pass as a big dog. (They had, when necessary, at Bran's orders.)
"Our werewolves are... big." She turned her attention back to the woman. "If they don't have one hundred percent iron grip, they are dangerous. And that control can slip any time. You only trust a werewolf you know." Mercy had turned her trust to werewolves she didn't before, but it was not something she enjoyed doing. After all, a coyote didn't stand a chance against a werewolf.
She cleared her throat. "You, uh, you sound more like a shapeshifter than a werewolf, really."