PSL: Night is falling like a bloody axe

[stillcounts]

It was true that Julius Selwyn had gone to a party that night, as would be gossiped about liberally the next day. He'd gotten a bit drunk and flirted with Amanda Welch, who encouraged it, and Susan Martin, who permitted it, and - a few people claimed - Ben Hightower, who had not appreciated it in the slightest.

It was also true that he was not drunk at all now, so-late-it-was-early, and that he was wandering a mostly deserted street in St. John's Wood in a distinctly more utilitarian getup than he'd been wearing earlier in the evening. He had a loose-fitting leather jacket over what the very sharp-eyed might identify as a holster housing an antique pistol, giving him the air of a boy who was unsure whether he was playing a Hell's Angel or a pirate. The image was further confused by the large, antique book under his arm.

There was plenty of moonlight. That not entirely incidental.

Comments

[gotbottle]

"That's why I get the best scoops and the occasional award, and others don't," she says, offhandedly--standard journalistic procedure, please--so offhandedly that it's pat, it's clear it's what she always says when this is brought up. It's a show of bravado that also neatly sidesteps the legitimate question of her safety that observation carries.

"So say I do take werewolves as a given." She does, at this point. "What doesn't add up?"

[stillcounts]

He gave her an arch look, at her answer, but didn't press. Instead, he tackled the question.

"When werewolves are on their own, it's usually because they're so new they haven't attracted anyone's attention yet or because they're old enough they choose not to bother being social. But this M.O. doesn't look like either of those. Too messy for the latter, not messy enough for the former."

A simplification, but that was the gist.

[gotbottle]

She was entirely used to arch looks by now, though his gave her fleeting pause. She liked him, or something, she supposed.

Rachel nodded, still keeping her attention on their surroundings. "So something's not right. Is he injured? Cast out? ...Not a werewolf?"

I thought I responded to this a week ago *sob*

[stillcounts]

"Possible, worrying, unlikely but can't be ruled out," he responded, in order. "I don't know if I want to know what a werewolf would have to do to get shunned by other werewolves."

Just kidding, Julius wanted to know everything.

"Whatever the reason, though, the longer no one checks, the greater probability they infect someone instead of just killing them."

no worries no worries

[gotbottle]

"...Oh. Good thinking." Good thinking that she hadn't done because, you know, while the possibility of werewolves was one she was willing to entertain, it was just a possibility. Leaving her not at all well-versed.

"For the sake of curiosity--" The silence around them is once again pierced by a howl, closer now. "How does one get infected? Tell me in the abstract so I can do my best to keep it from becoming an actuality."

[stillcounts]

Rather than a deep dive into shifter lore, to the extent it was understood by outsiders at all, Julius goes for the simple answer.

"Scratch or a bite from an attack you survive. There's some debate as to whether the skin has to be broken, though frankly I'd prefer not to find out firsthand."

He exhales. "The salt barrier should slow it down and the glyph should, in theory, clear its mind but I'd appreciate it if you shot the thing in case it looks like it wants to maul either of us. There's not a known cure."

[gotbottle]

"Well. That's sobering." Note to self: consider the possibility of gun ownership before the next bout of hey that's a crazy-sounding story, let me go out in the middle of the night to check it out. As much as running into Julius had been a potential wrench in the works, she was suddenly glad she had.

"I may have to let him get a bit close, if it comes to that." She gave him an apologetic look. Movies, you know.

[stillcounts]

Julius shrugged. "I wasn't planning to have any help at all, frankly, so if what I'm trying fails, I'd just have been out of luck." A massive understatement, considering the stakes.

After a pause, he said, "I suppose that, assuming we survive, it would be a bit much to ask you not to write about this." He sounded rueful but resigned.

[gotbottle]

The pause on her end stretched longer. Part of it was the realization that she hadn't been the only one sort of flying by the seat of her pants with regard to backup or personal safety.

She wasn't sure, really, if that was reassuring or not.

But part of the pause was her giving careful consideration to her answer.

"...The Times isn't interested in publishing this kind of story. Don't worry."

He probably noticed the neat evasion of whether she would have written about it despite his request.

[stillcounts]

Julius raised his eyebrows, surprised. "Well, I suppose that's - "

He broke off abruptly as the sound of claws on pavement, like those of a very large dog, became evident. He whirled just as a wall of dark fur and muscle hit his salt barrier like a battering ram.

[gotbottle]

She heard the sound, processed it to recognition a fleeting moment before the creature hit the barrier. Her arm flew up immediately but it took all her willpower not to fire off the shot right away.

Like she'd told him: all her experience with flintlock pistols came from seeing them in the movies. She was no expert. But she seemed to remember that they were a one-shot kind of deal.

As much as she wanted to fire, she retained just enough presence of mind to realize maybe this wasn't the right moment.

"Out of curiosity..." She'd raised her arm, her jacket had bumped against her hip, the weight of the stun gun reminding her she'd carried it tonight just in case.

"Not that I intend to get close enough but if it came to it, what are my chances with a stun gun?"