Finding Home

"Good grief, woman, you never let me pay."

Warren's compliant was only halfhearted, more amused than anything as he let Cleo have her way. He shook his head in mock exasperation as they left the ice cream store, though, and then focused his attention back to his frozen chocolate treat. He'd not had chocolate in nearly six months and the werewolf had to stifle a moan of delight, the pure happiness lighting up his gray eyes much like Cleo's brown with pure bliss. Ice cream truly was the best thing in the world.

Well, maybe following meat.

Warren had to admit that given the choice between ice cream and a freshly killed deer...he wasn't sure which one would win. As a 'human' he craved meat and as a wolf he needed it. The combination was a powerful drive.

Just as powerful as the instinct that told him NOT to answer his phone when it rang. Warren growled, the sound possibly a bit more wolfish than he intended as he fished the device from his pocket and looked at the screen. His gray eyes narrowed in dislike before he shut the ringer off and replaced the phone back in his jeans, glancing at Cleo as he did with a small, forced smile. "Just work. I'll call them back."

Just his babysitters keeping tabs on him, unhappy that he'd delayed getting to his target. Warren didn't much care at the moment. The last thing he wanted to do was follow another snotty, rich teenage girl around and 'replace' her if she managed to get into trouble anyway - like when she snuck off, because all teenagers were that stupid. At least every single one he'd guarded had been. No, he'd much rather be here, with Cleo, for just a few hours before he disappeared again and she didn't hear from him for months. The agency could give him that...even if he'd not technically asked.

"So, do you have some place you have to be? Or are we going back to your place?" The blond grinned. "I'm afraid mine is a motel at the moment."
 
Cleo rolled her eyes at his 'complaints'. Most men now a days would love for it to have the woman pay. Warren was different though; he always stood out from the others to her. She knew he was not one to rely on others so often though, and she was more than happy to do this small thing for him. Heaven knows she owed him much more then a lousy scoop of ice cream, but she was willing to win what small battles she could with him. She was also glad he didn't fight her over this because they both could be fairly stubborn despite Cleo's more passive attitude when it came to disagreements.

Cleo paid promptly, leaving the extra in the tip jar because she was in a fairly merry mood. Being with Warren often did that to her, and these little moments would make her upbeat for the next few days. He just had that effect on her. Her eyes drifted from her favorite treat to the boy- no man- next to her. She saw his eyes brighten at the prospect of his own treat, and it warmed her heart that the smaller things still could make him happy.

As the phone started to ring, she noticed the brief flicker of distaste in his face and the slightly odd noise that came from him. She merely put it out of her mind since she, herself, had some weird sound effects when irritated. She returned his smile he gave her, but it was halfhearted. She didn't like the fact that he didn't appreciate his work. At the topic change though, her eyes regained their luster and a larger smile slipped across her lips.

"As if I would trade time with you for anything else," she snickered. Her eyes glinted in humor, "And if any other guy asked if we were going back to my place, I would have slapped them silly. But if you want, then yeah." She paused, "It may be a bit messy as always though. You've been warned."

She took a bite of her ice cream, moaning in pleasure. Mint chocolate chip was always a good thing to have handy. Especially when confronting an angry Cleo. She had a strange obsession with the artificial flavor of mint, and it could get that girl to do just about anything.
 
Warren had to laugh at her comment, but he also had to stifle the urge to utter another growl, this one completely different than the first. It would have been deeper, fiercer, wilder and he couldn't allow that. It would have stemmed from the thought of any man going home with Cleo and the werewolf knew he had to stop that kind of thinking before it got him into trouble and Cleo into a situation that would be harmful for her. Someday she would find someone and he was going to have to live with that, be able to function when he met the guy. He knew it would take every ounce of his self-control, but for Cleo...Warren knew he'd suffer it.

But that meant practicing control now.

The first step was not growling. The next step was to change his mindset and Warren forced himself to think merely of the teasing aspect of Cleo's comment. His smile was genuine again, only a brief flicker of rage having flashed across his face before it was gone again. Chances were that his human friend had not seen it anyway, wrapped up in her ice cream as it were.

He'd be sure to thank the mint chocolate chip later...when Cleo couldn't hear him.

The thought made the smile grow and the male slung his arm back across the female's shoulders with a sigh. "Well, we should take your car then. I don't want you walking back here to get it after it gets dark." He hated cars, but would tolerate one to keep Cleo safe. Besides, he could get back here a lot faster than she could, though, he couldn't tell her that.
 
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True to Warren's assumption, the human girl did not notice. She was not oblivious, per say, but the prospect of the mind ice cream had her completely enraptured. It took her quite the bit of time to even recognize what he had said, and even then it took her some time to process a response. She either had terrible timing at catching such a thing, or he was entirely too lucky. Either way though, Cleo was prone to not seeing anything inhuman about her dear friend.

Cleo nodded in agreement, rethinking the prospect of walking late at night. Although she didn't appreciate the fact Warren was acting as her mother by worrying about the dangers of night for women. She was independent and firmly believed she could easily take care of herself if the need had arose. That was the purpose of self defense classes, a taser, and pepper spray. Then again, it was her parents who forced her to get self defense classes, and a friend who had bought her the objects of pain. Still, she put them into good enough use. Or so she thought.

"My car is at the museum parking lot, and I am not racing back there. My ice cream might fall," she warned with a stink eye.

Cleo drove a Cadillac XTS, something a student working her type of job shouldn't be able to afford. She couldn't afford it either, but her parents could easily. It was her 16th birthday present, and it still ran like a charm. Her parents came from old money and education, and they were more than happy to dote on their daughter. Cleo was not happy with it nor proud to be spoiled upon, but it was one of the few rare gifts she accepted from her parents.

When she decided to quit schooling to become a lawyer and started in arts, they were exasperated. Jethan was going to be a doctor, she was going to be a lawyer, and their parents were going to be so proud of them. Then Jethan died, and Cleo quit school for a while. They were hit with a double whammy, and they were not happy about it. She got into fights with her parents often about schooling, that and Jethan's death had pushed them apart.

Her friends were just about the only people she had left now. Yes, she had her parents, but she didn't want to rely on them or deal with their constant disappointment in her. So Cleo kept her friends close as she could, trying really hard not to suffocate them in the process for she didn't think she could stand being left alone again.

That thought process led her to another thought that made her question, "How long do I get to steal you away, Forester?"
 
"I wouldn't dream of making your precious ice cream come into any danger of falling." Warren assured, flashing a grin to his smaller friend before he took another go at his own dessert, both of them continuing to walk in silence. The werewolf knew something was on Cleo's mind, though. She was being TOO quiet and he could smell her subtle, but shifting emotions, showing that she was not merely enjoying the walk, but possibly worried about something or remembering something.

Either way, he expected some kind of question or outburst from her soon and was not disappointed.

The werewolf wished it had been a different question, though, he answered truthfully, knowing it was only fair that she know now instead of being surprised later. She'd smack him pretty hard if she didn't get to work in everything she might want to do before he left because he'd not told her he was leaving soon.

But that was just Cleo.

"I have to report in tomorrow. You get me for the night, but then I have to go. I'll be gone a few months, unreachable." He forced a smile and ran his hand back through his hair, ice cream forgotten for just a minute in favor of the agitated habit. "This family is really private. No outside contact is just part of the job, a contract I had to sign. It was part of the reason I came to see you before I left."

Well, partly true.
 
Her heart sunk at the fact he would go away so soon, but she knew he had work to do too. Anyway, the reason why they hadn't talked much was because she couldn't force herself to get over herself and call him up. Cleo's brow creased as she thought. So much to do in one night, and she was sure that he wanted some semblance of sleep before work. Then again some time was better than no time, and she had him for the rest of this day and the night. She was happy he had chosen to visit her before going on some long mission to do whatever he did.

"Thanks for stopping by then, Warren," she mumbled graciously.

If anything, she found it flattering that her best friend had decided to visit her last before he had to go incommunicado with the rest of the world. It made her feel as though she was important to someone at least. That she really mattered. She also considered this line of thought way too emotional and barred it from her mind for later possibly.

Time flew by quickly, and Cleo knew that if she didn't plan well enough, they would probably end up passed out on the couch or something. She snuck in a few more bites of ice cream before considering what to do. She knew he looked a tad bit stressed out, so doing things that were too intense probably wasn't a good idea.

Maybe they could just catch up over a glass of wine or something. Watch a movie. Splatter paint everywhere. Blow up her kitchen. As she fadded in and out of the real world, they slowly gained closer to the museum parking lot. If she had been paying attention, she could see her car barely in the distance.
 
Warren merely nodded back to her, glad she didn't truly question him as he hated lying and didn't want to. Still, the silence unnerved him just as much as they walked, but again, the werewolf said nothing, finishing his ice cream, merely letting Cleo think as she would....because that was who Warren was with Cleo. Always putting her needs above his own, even when most the time she didn't realize just how above and beyond that went. Sure, she knew that he sacrificed the last cookie for her or stayed with her when she was sick instead of going out. She knew that he took care of her when they got together, when they saw each other no matter how brief the visit, but Cleo could not know the depth of how greatly he pushed what he was aside in order to make sure she was safe and happy.

And he'd never want her to know that. He'd never want her to feel guilty for it or ashamed. It was his choice and one he did not mind making. Not for her.

Warren knew he was about to make another as they came upon her Cadillac and he repressed a shiver of dislike, instead slipping right into the passenger side as soon as Cleo unlocked the doors. His stomach clenched the moment the engine started, though, and the hairs on his neck and arms stood on end, but Warren forced himself to breathe and rolled down the window. He told himself it would be over soon and tried not to grip the armrest of Cleo's car so tightly that he warped it.

He wasn't sure he'd be able to explain that one away.

"How far is it to your place?" Oh, gods, he shouldn't have eaten knowing he was going to be going in a car...

He was an idiot.
 
As they neared the car, Cleo dug into her purse with her only free hand. Grabbing her keys, she unlocked all her car doors by pressing the unlock button twice. Unceremoniously stuffing the rest of the ice cream in her face, Cleo unlocked the car and slipped in while relocking the door as a habbit. She didn't pay any mind to him opening the window and gulping in air as though he were about to die. He did however catch her attention when he broke the silence, and she stared into the rear view mirror as she backed out slowly.

"Fifteen to twenty minutes with my driving," Cleo chortled with an evil grin.

Cleo Bandit Squier was a notorious speeder, and being the lucky girl she was, she rarely was ever caught. When she was, who could ticket a young girl with such sad eyes. So the little she devil got away with it most of the time. She wasn't a bad driver, per say, but one would consider her enjoyment of fast speeds endangered her and others. Though she had yet to get into a car crash in the whole eight legal years of driving, which is quite the feat for people her age. Though she had possibly crashed the law mower a couple of times in her younger youth, but there was no evidence to support such accusations so it was soon laid to rest despite her parents doubts.

Her eyes passed over Warren for the briefest of seconds and she noticed he appeared as though he were about to be sick. She had a double take, reconfirming what she saw. After blinking a few times to make sure she wasn't hallucinating, she gaped before turning her attention back to the road for safety. She hoped he wasn't going to puke in the car.

She squeaked, "Warren, are you okay? You look like you are about to hurl! Do I need to take you to the doctors?"
 
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Warren had never driven with Cleo before. Sure, he'd been in a car with her before, but only once and it had been after Jethan's funeral, her parents driving and both of them in the back seat. She'd been oblivious to him and he hadn't let on that he was terrified and nauseous during the whole ride back to her parent's house. It had been nearly forty-five minutes of hell for him. But Cleo's driving was almost about to top that and despite his love for her - as a friend or anything else - that alone was not enough to quell the rising feeling within him.

He didn't shake his head to answer Cleo, didn't answer any question but one, actually, when he finally did speak. "Pull over!"

Cleo couldn't comply fast enough it seemed, probably wanting to save her car, and Warren opened the door, barely getting out in time before he was vomiting up chocolate on the side of the road, his hands on his knees, coughing and retching as his body told him how much it hated him. Warren wasn't inclined to like it right now either, so the feelings went both ways.

The contents of his stomach were soon gone and the werewolf dry-heaved a few times before simply breathing....and trying to keep his fangs from erupting and his claws from growing due to the stress. He coughed again before wiping his mouth and straightening slowly, his stomach still unhappy with him.

Gray eyes finally looked back at Cleo and Warren offered a small smile. "Sorry." He grimaced at the taste still in his mouth - what a waste of ice cream! - and cleared his throat. "Cars and I...don't typically mix."
 
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Cleo tried to pull over quickly, but there were cars in the way and she was not intent on crushing Warren between to bulks of metal so she could pull off the the side of the road. She had noticed he looked as though he was going to puke, but she was not expecting him to actually do it. When she finally got to the side, he vomited everything in a fit, and her mouth dropped open in surprise and her eyebrows drew together in astonishment.

She couldn't believe that out of all things he was apologizing to her.

Cleo starred horrified at him, did he have food poisoning? Was he sick? Was her driving THAT bad? She felt so absolutely horrible for driving her friend till the point of sickness, literally! She was warned her driving was not for the lighthearted, but never for those with weak stomachs. Though one could argue those feelings were the same. She hadn't drove anyone to heart attacks yet, but now she could boast about making her best friend puke his guts out. That was if she didn't feel so utterly bad about it.

Turning on her emergency lights, she scampered from her side of the car to the trunk where she conveniently carried bottles of water and a bag of clothes. If anything, Cleo was usually prepared. She grabbed two bottles and rushed over to Warren's side like a lightening bolt, although someone of his ilk would probably believe she took ages to get there. She timidly handed him a bottle.

The commenced the blubbering mess, "I'm so sorry, Warren! I didn't know my driving was that bad! Or that they poisoned your ice cream! Or that you were sick! I- I- I-" she stuttered off. "I didn't mean for you to waste your ice cream, I swear!"

This was not how a reunion between friends was supposed to go, let alone childhood best friends. Cleo's mind temporarily stopped working for a moment, completely shell shocked about what happened. He had even tried to brush it off lightly and take the blame away from her. If she wasn't so ashamed of herself, she may have considered that super sweet of him, but she was terribly ashamed to it went unnoticed.
 
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Warren took that bottle with a genuinely grateful smile, but the first thing he did with it was not drink but rinse his mouth out. After that was done, then he took a few sips of the liquid, but didn't take more than that, much as he wanted to. His stomach would just rebel again if he did and he knew it. Being stupid once today was enough for him in the nausea department and definitely one time too many in the vomiting department. He'd rather not do that again.

The werewolf shook his head at Cleo's words, though. "C.B, it's not your fault. I'm not sick and I haven't been poisoned." He knew what that felt like and this definitely was not it, thank the stars. "I just don't like cars. They..." He didn't think the word 'terrified' would be a good one to use and so picked another one carefully. "stress me out. It's been that way since before I met you. I used to puke in the foster parents' cars all the time." And scream like he was being murdered all the way to their destination, but he didn't mention that.

There were reasons he was passed around a lot.

Warren set a hand on her head, ruffling Cleo's hair gently as he gave her a reassuring smile, far more genuine this time and no longer so strained....though, knowing he had to get back in the car wasn't exactly something he liked. "Don't worry about it. It's not your driving." The werewolf hesitated then and tilted his head a little this way and that.

"Though, perhaps, for you own safety, you should at least make an attempt to go more toward the speed limit. You're not a self-healer, Cleo." He tapped her nose, clearly being affectionate and moved back toward the car.
 
Cleo considered his words carefully, and weighted them. It made sense, the reason why he was bounced from family to family and even puked in her car. But then again he could have easily been trying to comfort her on her terrible driving abilities. He had the tendency to try to do such things, but then again being nervous of cars would not be the first excuse she would have come up with.

"Oh, I didn't know," she uttered in a quiet voice.

Cleo had mixed feelings about not knowing for it seemed like a really big thing to not know about. Then again she didn't have any right to demand to know everything about Warren, so she pushed whatever she felt to the back of her mind. She didn't need to ruin his day any further, and she would have preferred to keep them from arguing at all.

As he ruffled her hair, she came back to this world. She took his smile and gave a small one of her own back, trying to accept his authenticity as it was. She would take his advice too for now at the very least for there was not need to add to the stress of him being in the car. She was not eager to further agitate her friend, nor did she enjoy his pain.

Letting out a small, "Okay," was the only signal that she had understood and heard him.

As she slipped back into the car, she opened all the windows including the sun roof and placed the water bottle in the cup holder between them. The drive would be longer since she was set to going a normal pace, but she was sure that he would prefer a slower speed with less jostling over racing and maneuvering through cars to get home faster. Cleo withheld her road rage as best she could, even as some idiots cut her off. She could do this if it was for Warren, it wasn't impossible to do, so she would withstand this as best she could.
 
The ride back was silent and Warren could not wish more that he'd simply had more control over his body. Cleo felt guilty now and he didn't like that in the least, but there was little he could do about it. That's what he hated the most. He wanted to fix the problem he felt he'd caused, but there was no solution to it but to wait and let the memory of the incident fade as it would so that it wasn't so sharp anymore, so biting. The werewolf just disliked - immensely - the waiting part, especially when he knew that Cleo was feeling bad the entire time.

He couldn't decide if going slower was better than going faster, but he did know that having the windows down was helping a lot more than he would have suspected. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that there were no walls around him at all and so the werewolf kept them closed for long increments of time.

Still, he was never more grateful than when Cleo stopped the car and turned off the engine.

Warren managed not to bolt from the car, giving his friend a grateful kind of smile and forcing himself out at a civilized pace, but he couldn't help the shake - a very dog-like shake - that he gave when he was free of the vehicle. The fact that the action might look strange didn't enter his mind for once and the werewolf looked around at the place Cleo had brought him, turning back to her with a raised brow.

"Which one's yours?"
 
Cleo withstood the silence, carefully watching the roads and exits ahead of her. Despite the fact that they were not saying a thing, time seemed to fly by. Next thing she knew she was parked in front of her apartment complex, closing all the windows and watching as Warren quickly slipped out. She locked the doors and got out herself, inspecting the ground before her and slipping the keys over staring at her friend.

The artist lived in a modest beige colored three story apartment complex, with small patios fenced in an earthy dark green half wall, and medium sized rooms. It was not a poor rundown thing that was falling apart, but it was far from the seven story towering building found near malls that were grey in color and had glass objects everywhere. Because of that, Cleo was glad for she never one for overactive too modern things which was surprising since she was an artist.

One of the major reasons she lived in this place was because it was reasonably priced. That and she loved the feel of the building, and the people who lived in it. Most were elderly couples or middle aged people who were quiet but sweet.

Motioning to one of the building at the side where the stairs led up, she breathed, "Second story, 5A."

She slide over to the green stairs, smiling fondly at her own home. Climbing up to the second floor, she fumbled with her purse searching for keys she had earlier put away. After unlocking the door, she motioned for Warren to get inside before going in herself.

The apartment hall that led to the living room and conjoined kitchen was a light mustard yellow with dim lighting. The living room and kitchen was a burgundy color. The living room had lush cream carpet containing a cream couch in front of a small TV and a clutter of things ranging from paints, brushes, clay, screws, and springs on the table and floor. The kitchen was decently clean, having a small breakfast bar in the center separating the kitchen from the living room other than the tile that also did the job. Other household appliances stood here and there, on the counters of the kitchen.

She motioned to a corner of the room, "There's the bathroom if you want it. Toothbrushes are behind the mirror if you want to, you know."
 
It was easy for Warren to see how much Cleo loved this place and such a thing made him smile as he watched her, pleased to see her content. That's all he ever wanted for her and it had shredded his heart when her brother had died, leaving her so broken and hopeless. Just being around her had made him want to howl his own grief to the moon and Warren remembered doing that often when he was away, as if her pain were a constant part of him. Sometimes he wondered if he'd not been imagining that....because he'd known without having to be told when she'd started feeling better, when she'd found purpose again.

And now, it seemed to him like he could feel just how fond she was of this place, how much love and thought and detail had gone into it. This was a special home to Cleo and Warren felt humbled in a way to be there, to be trusted in such a place. It was probably something that Cleo would laugh at him for - in a teasing way - if she knew and Warren was very aware that it was an entirely wolfish thing that made him think thus. It was the instinctual respect of the territory of another wolf or pack.

This was Cleo's den and he wasn't part of her pack, a lone wolf, and yet she was letting him come here. That was how his mind worked about such things, whether they made sense humanly or not. As long as he could behave like a human, it didn't matter that he didn't think like one.

The offer of the toothbrush made him chuckle. "I think I'll take you up on that offer." He went where she'd directed then and brushed out the taste of bile in his mouth, feeling better for it as he emerged from the bathroom again. Moving to where Cleo was, Warren tugged a lock of her hair playfully, relaxed once more, probably more-so than he'd been in a long time.

"Your place is beautiful, but I would expect no less from an artist like yourself. You have an eye for details."
 
Cleo glared at him playfully, "Flatterer, I know what you are trying to do!"

Her head leaned to the side where he was pulling on reflex. For she did not want to pull the other way and rip strands out like a normal person would have done. She had gotten used to the consistent hair tugging, disheveling by him, and it had become a second nature to respond to it. Most likely a habit she had obscured in her younger years, much like his habit to pretend her punches and fake violent tendencies actually hurt.

Cleo allowed her hair to be tugged and ruffled, mainly because it was something she had known Warren to do so often, but it got her curious. Did he have a thing for hair pulling? Did he have a fixation with other people's hair? All the constant mussing of her own hair by him had her curious, and there was an impish impulse in the younger Squier that got her to speak up.

In a teasing tone while fluttering her eyelashes at him, "Warren, I noticed something. Do you have a thing for pulling and messing up other people's hair?"

Cleo refrained from snickering and giggling, mainly for the sake that if it was, she didn't want to offend him. She enjoyed poking fun at people, but not to the extent that there were hurt feelings. It wasn't in her ability to be purposefully rude, much like how she wasn't one to lean towards actual act of physical violence.
 
The question made Warren blink, something within him instantly drawing back in caution, his gray eyes searching her brown for anything negative like exasperation, anger or rejection. He found none and almost just as instantly relaxed again, barely any time at all to see that he'd been momentarily frozen with fear, expecting harm. Physical, mental or emotional, it didn't matter. It was hurt and his life was such that he expected that more than he expected anything else.

He didn't see any kind of intent of harm from Cleo, though, and Warren silently scolded himself for it. He should have known better.

Inwardly shaking the reaction off, he let a smile curl at his lips, eyes narrowed just a little. His voice was equally as teasing, but holding an element of serious truth, too. "No, just yours." And with that, he ruffled her hair completely and chuckled, moving away with a fluid grace that verged on unnatural, but was just controlled enough not to seem too inhuman. He wasn't the only species who had to control that. Elves, vampires, Sidhe and Nymphs had to constantly be aware of their bodies, as well.

The werewolf settled on the couch and resisted the urge to first stretch and then curl as his species was wont to do and instead forced himself to simply lounge like a normal human male would. Warren scratched his head a bit, tilting it slightly as he truly thought about the question then. "In all truth, C.B., I don't think I do. I just....it's, well..." Warren had started going a bit red behind the ears and the color crept into his face, something that was very rare for him. He didn't blush easily.

He cleared his throat, though, and made himself speaking. His eyes didn't meet Cleo's anymore, however, looking anywhere but at her.He managed to speak clearly somehow. "It's just affectionate, I guess."
 
Cleo pouted, her assumptions all in all were seemingly wrong. Her disappointment was short lived though, and before she knew it, she was leaning against the back of the couch, poking him lightly. Her eyes glimmering with humor as she did it.

"You are such a dork," she stated in a non-malicious tone, humor and teasing filled her tone. "If it makes you feel any better, you are the only person I punch and kick, Forester. Everyone else get the slap," she tried to comfort in her own awkward way.

It was true, for the most part. Though the only time she had the tendency to slap someone was to knock some sense into their heads, and even then that would only occur if they would not listen to words. Cleo only teasingly hit Warren, an old habit from when she was in her youth, one she could not expel from herself when he was around.

Almost everyone who met Cleo would assume she was a quiet bookworm who was all too shy, not a rough girl who could scare even the roughest of men. Shy was not something that Cleo even understood for the most part. She just was distant with others for the sake of not getting involved with the wrong people or people with the track record of leaving. She couldn't stand being left alone forever, that's why the few friends she had, she had kept. It was by a miracle that Warren still talked and visited her.

Most of their relationship as friends was not from vocal standpoint, most likely because Warren was a guy. A majority of the guys she knew did not enjoy talking about their feelings or other stuff, so she assumed Warren was the same. If she recalled from their youth, they often wrestled or did a bunch of other physical activities together such as running or throwing a ball at each other or frisbee.

She leaned back after poking him, moving to the other end of the couch. Then sliding onto the sofa so her back was on the seat and her legs were dangling on the back. She grinned from ear to ear, looking at a partially filled canvas of nothing in particular, just lines, swirls, and dots of different colors. Something clicked in her mind and her grin softened to a more dreamlike appearance.

"Maybe I'll do a painting of you sometime," she thought aloud.
 
Warren had given Cleo a very wolfish grin indeed at her jest, rather warmed by the affectionate insult, but he said nothing, only watching as his friend came to the couch herself, snorting softly at her positioning, but not commenting. That was Cleo. At least some things had not changed. In fact...he felt like they'd never parted. It was strange, the level of comfortableness he had around her. Yes, they'd had a few mishaps, but nothing not easily fixed and no, he didn't know everything about her anymore, but...the underlining vibe that had kept their friendship going all this time, despite lack of contact...was still there.

And for that, Warren was grateful.

Cleo was the only friend he had - not that she knew that - and he'd be devastated to lose her.

A brow rose at her comment, the werewolf pretty sure she wasn't truly talking to him, rather just speaking her whimsical thoughts out loud, but he answered anyway. "Good luck with keeping me still long enough. You'd have to catch me sleeping for that." he joked, knowing Cleo had never seen him sleep. There had never been sleepovers and never had he stayed overnight when they were adults. It was strange....but her seeing him as a wolf once he fell into a deep sleep cycle and shifted into his canine form would be even worse.

The werewolf ran fingers back through his hair as he thought about that. It wasn't in the nervous, harsh way he did when agitated, though. Rather this time it appeared to be merely to half-scratch, half-rub his own head for a moment. The truth was that Warren had the beginning of a headache. Nothing that would distract him for long, but there anyway.

"What are you painting right now, exactly?"

Gray eyes scanned the room, as if to find the evidence for themselves, but instead caught on all the various other paintings and sketches done. A smile tugged at Warren's lips as he rose, power and grace in one movement alone before he walked to an abstract water-color mural and tilted his head this way and that, trying to make sense of it. In all honesty, he never could with drawings like that. The canine in him was too strong, needing something more...solid, something that made sense.

But the colors were nice.
 
Cleo scoffed at his resistance at being her muse, but let it lie where he had left it before he started asking something else. In all honesty, Cleo rarely ever knew what she was painting at first. Usually she would start off with a color scheme and then just go with it, that is if she was doing something out of work. She had a deep love for the abstract arts, but now life like paintings and portraits along with sculptures had gained her interest.

She spoke honestly but also sheepishly, "In truth, I usually just put five or six different colors on my palette, grab ten brushes and just randomly draw lines and shapes. Whatever I feel looks good at the moment is what I go for. Small images, puzzles, large hidden messages." She continued, "For my work and practice though, I usually do backgrounds."

Cleo motioned to a pile canvases covered by a piece of cloth. If one looked underneath it, one would see pictures of beaches, mountains, sloping hills, fields, and forests. Unlike the undefined paintings she did, these ones had purpose and a particular target. Usually the lighting, or possibly shading. A way to improve her own skills. On occasion there was an animal in the background, most often flocking birds, but on occasions dogs and cats walking across the cement. Despite her fear of dogs, Cleo could easily paint them and not be afraid. For whatever reason, she was not sure why.

She tapped her index finger to her lip as her face scrunched up in thought.

"I don't know what took me so long to get into painting," she muttered in a dream like tone. "But I have someone to be thankful to for getting me there."

Her memories drifted to Jethan, and despite most of her depressing thoughts when it came to him, these ones were lighter and almost happy. Her brother had helped her discover a passion she had within her, and it was something she would be forever grateful for. As often as she painted, she usually let her mind drift to her brother.

She stretched, still flopped on the couch upside down. It gave her a different perspective, staring at her paintings like this. One of the things she was taught in art was to look at things differently and with a more open mind. Some people thought art was silly, but she highly disagreed. It was a good stress reliever, and a better way to express yourself than most other things.
 
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