- Invitation Status
- Look for groups
- Posting Speed
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Writing Levels
- Elementary
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Male
The city grew and changed, the skyline unrecognizable to what it once was. As humans moved outward, werewolf territory began to shrink. They demanded to be given land within the city for their pack, a demand which was unanimously rejected by the other species. Tensions built. Fights began to break out, and with the rapid technological advancements of human society, it was only natural that they were soon discovered by humans. Werewolves, in the first place, were not the greatest at blending in. It was why they did not live amongst humans in the first place.
Every day another person seemed to be outed, forced to run away from those who knew them until they were forgotten. Just a short while ago, his spellcaster had called him, tearfully apologizing for her abrupt departure. It seemed her family had discovered her magical inclinations and she was going up north to find a commune she'd heard rumours of.
Mara raged every night. "Those dogs don't share a single braincell between them," she often said, generally while butchering some mysterious piece of meat. With the increased scrutiny on their society, Mara couldn't prowl bars and alleys for her meals anymore. She instead made do with animals procured through various sources. Pamet didn't ask, but he did think there was an increased number of missing pet posters in their neighbourhood. Animal blood, according to her, was disgusting, and the fact that she was forced to rely on it for sustenance had made her quite irritable.
Though everything around him changed, Pamet remained the same. He worked some odd jobs, though he never stayed anywhere for more than a few years. Every quarter century or so, he enrolled himself back into high school to learn about advancements in human society, as well as to have a steady source of food. Mara always scoffed about it, saying that there were endless other activities he could do to fill his time, but she helped him anyways, using her connections to provide him with fake records.
He was quite content with quietly going through life as he did. But of course, the world continued to change around him. One morning, Pamet noticed a distinct taste in the air, harsh and rancid. Conversations stopped as he walked by. The girl who usually sat next to him in art moved to the back of the room. Pamet went through his morning classes filled with unease, but he tried to tell himself it was just that what he'd been feeding on as of late had overwhelmingly been the trepidation which oozed from everyone around him.
He'd just sat down on the floor under the stairwell where he spent his lunch periods when Mara sent him a message. The words flashed in his peripheral vision; after some damage to his eye recently that he did not have a spellcaster to fix, he had decided to cut his losses and take it out. Mara had called it stupid and rather gross, but he quite liked the replacement prosthetic. Although it did not improve his vision as much as it supposedly did for humans – possibly because it was inserted by a young vampire who most certainly did not have any sort of medical degree – it did have rather convenient features, such as a warning system which kept Pamet from walking into too many walls. And it did, at least, improve his vision so that he could even see the leaves on the tree outside their apartment, which was something Pamet was quite pleased with. His least favourite feature were the ads which hid in his peripheral, brightly coloured and distracting. Unfortunately, he couldn't figure out how to get rid of them without paying a monthly subscription, so there they stayed.
prblm cming ur way, read Mara's message.
The messages were followed by some screenshots taken from some sort of social media site — Pamet was never able to keep up with those trends, but Mara insisted it was an essential part of blending in.
for you consideration::this weird dude in my bio class whose pulse is impossible to find and who texts like a grandpa VS this guy whose picture I found in my grandma's scrapbook (apparently tied in an art comp with her then immediately disappeared off the face of earth). Same first name and everything. Are we thinking mutant vampire or some other type of monster???
Following the text were two images, side-by-side. One seemed quite recent, a photo of him staring blankly at a textbook. The image looked like it had been taken from across the room. The other was another photo of him, standing next to a girl, holding up art pieces, though the details had faded with age. He remembered that moment, her pride a sharp and refreshing taste like ice cold water on a hot day. He was also quite certain that that was not a recent image. He made an effort not to draw any attention to himself nowadays. No, it had to have been at least 50 years ago. Perhaps a bit longer.
told u gt hs was stupid
Pamet sighed, pulling out his phone – he never could figure out how to send messages without typing it physically. If you went to school as well, maybe you would learn to spell correctly, he sent back.
He stood, Mara's messages falling away into his peripheral vision among some brightly coloured ads. He was sure Mara had more to say, but it was quite rare for Pamet to have the mental wherewithal to get into a lengthy conversation over text. He'd be seeing her soon enough, in any case.
Pamet walked slowly up the stairs, signing himself out of school through their attendance line and sending an excuse to the manager of the fast food restaurant where he worked. He would head home and figure out a plan with Mara. It would be fine.
But when he pushed open the door that should have lead outside, he was not faced with the irritatingly warm and bright sunlight, but rather the cold and harsh glow of fluorescent lighting. Pamet looked up, and– "Oh."
He had looked for the diner, casually, for the first few years. But he had never seen it again, and eventually he had stopped thinking about it so much. He had all the time in the world, after all. If it wanted him to find it, then it would show up eventually.
It seemed now was the time, although the diner in his memories did not quite seem to match what was before him now. On the surface, it was quite the same, and Pamet couldn't really put his finger on what exactly about it had changed. It was simply different.
He was not alone, someone else just a few steps ahead of him. But judging by the apprehension which fell off her in waves, Pamet didn't imagine that this person knew any more than he did. The woman was familiar, in the way that people from memories long past were. It had, after all, been quite a few years, and Pamet felt he could be excused for the amount of time he spent just thinking, unblinking and unbreathing.
Really, it would have been fair if he couldn't quite pair names with faces (or with the distinct taste of their emotions, which Pamet found to be a much more reliable method of identification). If they had met under different circumstances, he surely wouldn't have. But he was fairly certain that he was correct as he said, "You're Louelle, right?"
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