Werewolves of the City

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FaithLeafCat

FaithLeafCat

She/Her
Original poster
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Invitation Status
  1. Looking for partners
Posting Speed
  1. Multiple posts per day
  2. 1-3 posts per day
  3. One post per day
  4. 1-3 posts per week
  5. One post per week
  6. Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
  1. Beginner
  2. Elementary
  3. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
  2. Female
  3. Nonbinary
  4. Transgender
  5. Agender
  6. Primarily Prefer Male
  7. Primarily Nonbinary
  8. No Preferences
Genres
Modern/Supernatural, Fantasy, Modern, Horror, Magical, Mystery, Action Adventure, Scifi, Romance, Angst (but with happy endings)
Warren Booker pulls his tattered grey hood over his messy, light brown hair, ducking his head to get out of the rain as best he can. He huffs and wipes rainwater from his eyes. This is a new city for him, and it's harder than usual to find food with the constant showers.

Still, at least he has shelter waiting for him. As long as he can keep whoever owns the abandoned, crumbling barn from finding him, he'll have a safe place to stay for weeks to come.

He pulls his hood down slightly and tries to sniff through the rain, his ears flicking back and forth. At least humans are less likely to be out. That's one good thing that's happened to him today. He heads on his way through the quiet park, skirting a stone fountain before heading towards a line of distant buildings.
 
He's crying - No, sobbing his eyes out. Hunched over in the bushes, in a fetal position with his spine poking out of his back as paper white skin is splattered with crimson blood. Images of intestines caught in his teeth, images of bones splintering like wood as he crushes them with ease, images of fingers being gulped down his throat - All of these things flash into his mind and he can't chase them away. He can't stop them from invading his conscious and causing his body to tremble even more with the wrenching sobs that are causing such an uproar, early morning joggers could hear it.

Good thing it was only morning...That meant he had time to stop crying and enough of it to slink back home and back into the shadows of a hazy, smoked house. With picture frames hanging off walls where the wallpaper was slowly peeling. Where the lights would flicker and would be so dim it wasn't even worth turning on - Yeah...That was his home for now...

Klausen didn't even notice as the man approached his bush - He didn't see or hear anything as he laid up inside the leaves, trembling and crying. He wouldn't know if they were friend or foe until it was too late.
 
Warren's ear flicks back. He slows to a stop, tilting his head as what sounds like crying floats through the rain. Then there's the scent of blood. He swallows and yanks his hood further over his face, glad his tail is already tucked beneath his jeans. The last thing he needs is a human realizing he's a werewolf. As long as he looks human himself, though, everything should be fine.

Then he pushes aside the bushes in his path. He stumbles backward with a sharp gasp, eyes wide. There's a boy all but buried in the twisting vines and leaves with blood all over him. Warren takes a hesitant step back, making extra sure his ears can't be seen.

"H - hello? Do you need help? Can you hear me?" he asks quietly.
 
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