A
Acorn
Guest
"Eh," he said, lifting a hand to make a so-so gesture. "World's stopped spinning, at least." He expected to be feeling much better soon, because the good stuff Rita had mentioned earlier had turned out to be narcotics. The last time he'd been on anything that strong was after he'd had his arm pulled back together and mended. They'd loaded him up with so many painkillers afterward that he'd ridden euphoric waves to a land of blobs and he was declared King of blobs, all without leaving the comfort of his own bed.
That's also when he'd discovered the Enforcers kept the best surgeons on their payroll, because they'd managed to turn the raw hamburger meat they'd been given back into a functioning arm. All the scars left from where he'd been stitched up were still dark pink and raised, but he'd been promised that they'd fade with time. He didn't mind them all that much, though; they were a great conversation piece, and he'd come up with some elaborate stories to explain their presence since he couldn't lead with, 'A pissed off werewolf crashed into my campsite' and end with, 'I was the only one left alive'.
Not that anyone would believe a story involving the fabled creatures, but the Enforcers had made it crystal clear that he wasn't to breathe the word werewolf when he was talking to civilians. He'd laughed at them when they'd used that term to refer to people not in the know, but they hadn't joined in the laughter. Humor wasn't something they looked for in their employees, he guessed. Beyond Rita and a couple others, he hadn't encountered many who would even respond to a smile positively.
"Didn't realize someone else hadn't made it in. Wonder who it was," he said. He wasn't really on friendly terms with the other werewolves, so didn't know if he'd recognize a name even if she gave him one. He'd long suspected there were secret werewolf coffee meetings that he never got invited to, but it was more likely everyone just wanted to get out of the base as quickly as they fucking could. That was certainly the case for him.
"Explains why I got left like that, though." He smiled at Rita, and it was the hint of sunshine on an overcast day. "But hey, I'm glad you made sure I didn't die."
That's also when he'd discovered the Enforcers kept the best surgeons on their payroll, because they'd managed to turn the raw hamburger meat they'd been given back into a functioning arm. All the scars left from where he'd been stitched up were still dark pink and raised, but he'd been promised that they'd fade with time. He didn't mind them all that much, though; they were a great conversation piece, and he'd come up with some elaborate stories to explain their presence since he couldn't lead with, 'A pissed off werewolf crashed into my campsite' and end with, 'I was the only one left alive'.
Not that anyone would believe a story involving the fabled creatures, but the Enforcers had made it crystal clear that he wasn't to breathe the word werewolf when he was talking to civilians. He'd laughed at them when they'd used that term to refer to people not in the know, but they hadn't joined in the laughter. Humor wasn't something they looked for in their employees, he guessed. Beyond Rita and a couple others, he hadn't encountered many who would even respond to a smile positively.
"Didn't realize someone else hadn't made it in. Wonder who it was," he said. He wasn't really on friendly terms with the other werewolves, so didn't know if he'd recognize a name even if she gave him one. He'd long suspected there were secret werewolf coffee meetings that he never got invited to, but it was more likely everyone just wanted to get out of the base as quickly as they fucking could. That was certainly the case for him.
"Explains why I got left like that, though." He smiled at Rita, and it was the hint of sunshine on an overcast day. "But hey, I'm glad you made sure I didn't die."
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