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Adventures In Living With The Mythical |
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A military veteran is adopted by a werewolf and brought into his pack. Insanity ensues. About "Life With A Werewolf" Life with a werewolf is a dramatic blog. As such the characters in this blog are not real but maybe loosely based on real people. The situations represented are not real but maybe loosely based on real things that have happened in my life. There are a multitude of ways to view life, this is simply one of the ways I have chosen to view mine. Updated Every Friday unless I can't or don't want to. |
| Much of Elouise’s house was still in boxes. There was furniture, but much of it was Ikea by way of Goodwill. Scratched and water-ringed particle board masterpieces in several shades of mismatched brown surrounded by boxes of clothing and other items. It was as if she had packed and unpacked in a hurry. Like she was running from something. She heard out my plan, with Crash behind me nodding and adding input whenever she needed. All questions were answered to the best of our ability. I could tell she was nervous, not just by how her hand shook when she held her coffee cup, or by the way she kept looking down. It was as if she was trying to hold herself together on that old threadbare torn up couch. Trying to hold herself together and hold out the world. “I just don’t think dat’s a good idea,” she stared down at her shoes as she spoke. “You see, they’s a reason why Marissa and Tarissa are so mad at me.” “Mad enough to kill,” Crash asked. She tapped her mug and stared down at her coffee. It had long since grown cold in her hands. Finally, she nodded. “Then it’s my job,” Crash began. “Your job is to protect them,” she said nodding towards me. “I’ll take care of myself.” “Don’t tell me what my job is Rogarou, I’ve been doing this a long time!” The volume at which Crash screamed that surprised both me and her. The only other time I’ve seen him that upset was with that thing with The Nobility. I looked up at him, expecting to see fur sprouting and a tail, but no. There was the beginnings of it on his face, sprinkled. It thickened his beard a bit, but no major fur. No tail. “Now talk.” Something about our previous encounter at the restaurant grabbed my attention just then. It had been nagging at me the way Marissa had said something like ‘the meth was your idea, not ours.’ I looked to Elouise, with as much concern in my voice and face and said “everyone makes mistakes. If you messed up in Louisiana, that has nothing to do with here. But if they’re dealing meth or murdering people or something, we need to know. Crash’s job isn’t just to protect humans, it’s to protect you as well.” She smiled at that for a moment, then closed her eyes as if she was building up courage. “I need,” she said, then took a long shuddering breath. “I need a moment.” She exhaled everything, staring down at the cold coffee, and set it down finally on a coffee table covered in boxes and packing material. “I…” “Anything from Louisiana, I won’t hold against you,” Crash said. “Even murder.” She nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I didn’t mean to kill him. And technically, I didn’t. Not directly. But, Marissa was right. The meth was my idea. I figured a little hillbilly heroin was going to be easy pickins you know? Cops don’t mess with us Rougarou, and guys like you,” she nodded in Crash’s direction, “is hard to come by down in the bayou. So, everyone like us tends to do what we need to as long as you follow the rule. Don’t hurt the little folk, and stay out each other’s way.” She looked back up at me first. “You see, he’d been a longtime user. I had begun using as well. You know meth for us a little don’t do as much as it does for you. I had to kick it up a notch. So, I began to try and figure ways to make it stronger. I found one. Me and this human, the man I had a crush on, sank a few boats. My heart raced, and I got the giggles for a moment. I think I was just so happy I got it right. His heart raced. Then exploded. I panicked.” She sighed, then stared up at the ceiling. “He loved to call me his lizard woman, heh. I’m sorry Beau, I’m sorry.” There was a tear in her eye as she looked back down, staring more at our feet than our faces. “It was my fault. I buried the body out back behind the old trailer where we did those things. Then I ran. Left Marissa, Tarissa and Garett down there with the mess. Finally got this place up here. Been clean ninety days, thank goodness, and I’m staying clean for the rest of my life.” “So, it’s not meth,” I said. Elouise shrugged. “Probably not. I figured they probably want revenge on me for leaving them with a body, a trailer full of drugs, and the cops.” “Cops?” Me and Crash asked in unison, we looked at each other, then back at Elouise. She seemed to shrink into the couch. “I might have made an anonymous tip.” “So,” I said, standing up. I began to pace around the room. “What we have is a trio of Rougarou who are pissed at our poor girl here,” I nodded in her direction, “a body, an old trailer full of meth, and drugs.” “Don’t forget the blood in the restaurant,” Crash said. “And the money.” I looked at Crash. “Money?” He looked at Elouise. “How much?” “I dunno,” she said, “maybe, seven.” I walked over to Elouise. “Can I get some clarity here? Seven what?” “Seven hundred thousand dollars.” Crash said. “I’d say that’s a bit more than a little. I’d say that’s a lot. I’d also say that’s a big reason to have someone pissed at you.” Elouise nodded and held a pillow in her lap. When she shifted, she was honestly larger than Crash. She came close to him in height. But at that moment, Elouise looked tiny, like a scared little girl alone at a train station. “What we got,” I said, “is a whole lot of trouble.” |
| Well, I sincerely had hoped that Blogger would be the permanent home. It's interface was a little old and clunky, but I could deal with it. Then came the Squarespace deal. Squarespace, if you don't know, is a website hosting platform. They build them with their tools, let you buy domains and even can help you set up shops. They do the works. However sometime ago they altered their deal: They also get full rights to the information on your site. With the right to resell it to any AI company now and in the future. In their words "In Pertituity". I never intended to make a billion dollars off of this. But I sure as hell never intended for someone else to do so and make me pay for that right. So, I'm pulling my blog, Life With A Werewolf, off of blogger before it goes fully to Squarespace. I will be moving that blog back to here. This is the site with the easiest interface for me to use, that has the easiest interface for my readers, and I already have some of it here, already. So, starting tomorrow Life With A Werewolf will start moving back home. I'm moving the blog back in. I'll delete the blog on blogger no later than Friday, 23 February, 2024. When that's gone, I'll remove this message. Thank you, everyone. |
| I tried to stay out of Crash’s business. I really did. I kept my head down. I didn’t acknowledge the occasional weirdness that I would sometimes witness. I stayed good, in my lane and only focused on my own life. For my effort I got roped into settling a troll’s family dispute, timing a race for a gator lady that may have been hitting on Crash, and ended up at a restaurant run by former associates of said gator woman. The world, it seems, doesn’t want me out of its business; no matter how much I may want to mind my own. After our restaurant rendezvous Elouise met us in our driveway. She had words for what happened. Words like, irresponsible. Words like reckless. Words like insane. “You’re putting his ass on the line in ways he don’t even understand.” She waved her arms and shouted quite an awful lot. Spoke about me as if I was a kid. I could tell that Crash was getting sick of it, I could hear the growl building up in his throat. “Jesus, I could do your job better than,” she began. Before, Crash could explode, I did. The military has a saying. Slow is smooth and smooth is fast. This means you practice to be smooth, you don’t practice to be fast. You get smooth, you’ll be fast. I pulled my pistol out of its holster in one smooth motion and pointed it at her. Since I practiced doing it so much, it was pretty fast. Elouise’s words caught in her throat. I watched her muscular throat work for a few moments, as her brain processed just how fast that was. “I don’t think you understand,” I said. “I’m a veteran. What that means is that I’m a trained killer. This gun isn’t for show. I practice with it. A lot.” I couldn’t see it, but I knew Crash was nodding his head behind me. “I use it a lot too. I’m not helpless.” Then I turned to Crash. “And I’m not stupid. You want my help. Ask.” I turned back to Elouise. “And you. Start talking. Tell me what I’m stepping in the middle of.” She blanched then looked down. “I done said everything that needs being said.” “Maybe I didn’t catch any of that,” I said. “Maybe, we can start with the elderly couple that used to own that property out there who is now probably in the barbecue?” Her face turned red, but she didn’t say anything. “Oh, come on,” I said. “Crash smells a huge blood stain but see’s no blood. I sure as hell didn’t see a blood stain when we came in. I know what dried blood looks like, believe me. So, no visible blood, but to a werewolf it certainly was there. Now we want to pretend that it wasn’t parts of them cooking up out there in the special sauce?” “We don’t do that,” Elouise snarled. “Not usually.” “Let me guess, your guy back there twists their arm for the land? To do what? Meth?” She didn’t answer, and suddenly began to find something interesting in her nails. “That’s it, isn’t it? Fucking meth? Again?! What the actual,” “Jason,” Crash said. I looked over at him. His eyes said a whole lot. “Don’t.” I tucked my pistol back in its holster. “I’m willing to help,” I said to him, then to her. “But, I’m not stupid. I know when I’m being used. Either talk to me and tell me everything, or you don’t get my help.” He held his hands up, “you said you didn’t want to know,” he said. “And you said no more treating me like a pawn,” I snapped back. “Remember?” “You can both include me in when you start treating me like an adult,” I growled, then stomped back into the house, slamming the door for full effect. I admit, it was a little childish. But, I was upset. They didn’t tell me a damn thing, just kept stringing me along as if I was a puppet. If you put up with that, they may as well tie strings to your limbs and drag you around the house. I went to my room, and closed the door, staring out into the mural in my bedroom of the Tuscany coast. My mind though was far away from Italian food and sunny beaches. In these types of things on television, it takes about two minutes, there’s a knock at the door, and some sort of cheesy eighties touchy feely music plays while Bob Saget attempts to give a heartfelt speech without cursing for five minutes. But fortunately, life isn’t like a sitcom and I got a little space to calm down. He played it smart. He waited till morning. Brewed me coffee. Even cooked breakfast. So, with a plate full of crispy bacon, burnt eggs, and a couple slices of toast in front of me, I was a little less growly. Even though there was two pans in the sink, a dirty bowl and a stove covered in werewolf fur, grease and dried egg splatter. “Can we talk,” he asked. He was even in werewolf mode for this, the chair flipped around backwards at the table with his ears down and tail tucked. He looked like the worlds largest dog had just been scolded. “Sure,” I grumbled, then bit into the eggs. And immediately grabbed the hot sauce. “Jason, you never want to be involved, but you always want to help” he said. The morning sun began to rise just a bit, touching the horizon, and began to shine on his dark fur, giving the black fur an almost chocolate look in the early light. “You took off work for this,” I said. He nodded. “Well, yes. I don’t like it when you’re mad at me.” He blew air through his nose and out his mouth, wrinkling the lips on his muzzle a bit. “Shit dude, I was trying to fulfil your intentions, but there’s only so much I can do.” I swallowed my food, then paused with a piece of bacon in my hand. “And Charles?” “You’re not the first person Charles has approached with his problems. Why do you think his family was there so long? It was after New Years and they were still there for a Christmas party.” I bit into a slice of bacon. It was cooked to a crisp perfection. Hardly no black on it, either. “So, Charles bothers others for advice?” Crash’s ear tilted a bit in what I interpreted as humor. “He’s asked half the town for help. He’s been bothering people since Christmas day. You’re just the first one to actually do anything.” “Ah.” I finished the piece of bacon. It was pretty good, but I just wish he didn’t burn the eggs. Or destroy the kitchen in the process of cooking them. I let my “ah” hang in the air for a moment while I chewed. Crash waited, his ears down and back, his tail in that small wag dogs get when they’re trying to apologize for doing something bad. I swear, sometimes being a werewolf is a cheat code. “Oh come on, stop it! I forgive you, okay? I forgive you for not including me in your plans, and I forgive you for the bad eggs.” He brightened up for a moment. “Yay!” He said, hopping up. Then it dawned on Crash what I said about his eggs. “Wait a minute, I thought those eggs were pretty good.” “I don’t mind helping,” I said. “But, did I really have to be there?” “They almost attacked with you there,” Crash said, “imagine what would have happened without you being there.” “So,” I said, “rip their heads off. Problem solved.” Crash rolled his eyes. His ears went flat when he did that. I didn’t know a werewolf’s ears to go flat for that before I moved in with Crash. Then again, I didn’t know werewolves existed either. “In front of humans. Plus, technically without a probable cause, I can’t even investigate, much less punish. Right now all I have is a bunch of maybe’s.” “So, the blood?” Crash shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a barbecue restaurant. Maybe it’s human. Maybe it’s bovine and swine.” “The lye and the fertilizer.” “Maybe it’s to cover a grave. Maybe they just planted fresh plants around the property and used the dining area to prep them.” “You smell something though,” I said. “Yes, but there’s no evidence of current distress in any of the local humans or mythicals. All their paperwork is in order with city hall. I don’t like them, but I can’t just kill someone cause I don’t like them.” This was a problem. One that would require finesse and intelligence. A cunning plan to draw them out into the open. Crash’s ears went back as soon as I began to grin. “Oh no,” he said. “No. This is why I didn’t tell you what was going on in the first place. No.” “I didn’t tell you my plan yet,” I said. “The answer is still no,” he growled. “I know your plans. No.” “Come on,” I said. “Just hear me out.” He did. He wasn’t happy when he heard it either. But, without any other choices present, he did accept. Now, I just had to get Elouise to play along. That was going to be difficult. |
| Crash doesn’t do restaurant reviews or ratings. In fact, he doesn’t eat out all that much. He’d prefer to just catch it, he says. Or to just have something here. So, him asking me if I’d like to go out for barbecue was a bit strange. What was stranger was when he told me “Bring your pistol.” “So, this isn’t something you’d like the rest of the gang in on,” I was strapping my shoulder holster on when I spoke. Crash shook his head, still in human form. His beard had been trimmed up for this, making it look like a dark chin strap across his chin. “No, I’d rather they stay home. With you next to me, they should play nice. But we’ll see.” “So, myth owned, then.” “Yes,” Crash shrugged. “Rougarou.” “Rou ragu?” “No, Rougarou. Louisiana. Cajun country shape shifters. They’re weregators kinda, but the locals attribute their legend to us werewolves.” “So, a shapeshifting gator. Like Elouise.” Crash slipped on a jacket as he spoke. “Like, her. Come on. We got a booth to grab.” I followed him out the door and took his cue to wear a jacket. We were taking his Cadillac, and he never drives that thing with the top up. At least the weather was cooperating. It may have been cold, but it also was sunny, which gave us that nice paradox of a beautiful sky with a few fluffy clouds to go with our almost subzero temperatures. Crash never seems to feel this sort of weather, but he wears the jacket like a perfunctory type of thing. Everyone expects him to be cold and wear a jacket so he wears one. I have seen him shiver, but that was usually from pain, not the cold. But what would you expect from someone who will run through the snowy woods at night ‘in the fur’, so to speak. The trip was to the next town over, which was thankfully short. We took backroads the entire way, Crash letting the V-8 sing out a little bit, revving the engine up as if he was mentally preparing himself for something. His unnatural quiet shifted my demeanor, and by the time we pulled up to the shack, I was glad to have my pistol with the silver rounds in it. It was the kind of rundown shack on the edge of town that everyone local knows is trouble. A converted hay barn of sorts that they had purchased from a big box hardware store like a Lowe’s or Home Depot, the interior left little to be desired. The flooring was finished though, the tables were old, and the walls had insulation and cheapest paneling they could get away with. In the back outside was a smoker, and you could smell the sweet scents of meat and fat sweating long hours over hot coals. When we arrived, there was a few people there, but quite a number of tables were empty. It could have been the odd hour we arrived at, the dead zone between lunch and dinner, or it could have been the place just hadn’t caught on yet. Behind the gravel parking lot was more trees that perhaps would one day be bustling businesses, but chances are, would just be more trees for years to come. We took a table near the door, sat and waited. It was a counter service type place, with an old-fashioned eighties style register on it near the back by the smoker. Green LEDs stared out the number 0.00 at me, as if attempting to beckon me to make a sale. Two beautiful women were working the counter, with someone else outside working the smoker. I couldn’t see him but could occasionally hear a gruff Cajun voice mention about serving this or that up. The wait didn’t last for long. The door opened, and a very gruff and disappointed Elouise came, twisted a chair around, and sat down over it, glaring at Crash from across the table. “I’m here,” she growled. “I suppose this is the thanks I get for doing my civic duty.” Crash arched an eyebrow. “No, this is the thanks you get for holding back information.” “I told everything I know,” she snarled. Crash tapped his nose and smirked. “I can smell when you’re lying, you know.” I watched as one of the women from behind the counter walked towards the table. Elouise growled deep in her throat as the woman approached. “Elouise, as I live and breathe, how are you sugah,” the woman said. “Why, I thought you said, ‘I’ll never step foot inside your hellhole again.’ That’s what I remember hearing. Yet hear you are.” “Hello Marissa,” Elouise snarled. “Still pretending you’re a blonde, I see.” It was a pretty bad dye job. You could see her brunette roots. Her eyebrows were still brunette. It looked as if she dyed her hair blonde to look like she dyed her hair blonde. “Blondes have more fun. I keep telling Tarissa that, but she keeps dying her hair brunette. You know how sisters are.” Elouise rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything. “Meet my friends. This here’s Jason,” she said nodding towards me. “And that’s Crash,” she said. Marissa looked towards me, “You’re the blogger,” she said, then smiled at Crash, “and you’re the cop,” Marissa threw her hands up, ‘Don’t shoot! Don’t chew, I give up,” she said, then chuckled. “Why’d you bring the popo here, Ellie, you trying to blame us for something? The meth was your idea not ours, and it’s why we had to leave Louisiana in the first place.” “I was younger. Dumber,” Elouise said. “I don’t do that stuff no more. I’m clean.” Marissa looked from Elouise back to Crash. Annoyance began to break through her pleasant ‘how do ya do’ smile. “And I run a respectable establishment. Go ahead dog, sniff around. You won’t find nuthin.” Crash laughed. “You gators are all the same. You look at me and think that I can’t possibly, oh, I don’t know, smell the human blood from the blood stain you bleached out then tried to refinish. Two people, I do believe. Man? Woman, I think? Now, if I shifted and took a big whiff, I’d find out more, but, I mean, why bother? Who needs to scare all these good people here?” Hands on her hip, a glare in her eye, Marissa said “Well, that’s the sorta stuff I’d like to see a warrant for, isn’t it?” It came out all jumbled together, with the words ‘isn’t it’ sounding more like ‘idn’t it’. “Order something, or get out.” “I thought this was a counter service,” I leaned on my fists, resting my elbows on the table. She glared at me like she wanted to bite my head off, looked at Crash, then stomped back to her counter and glared at me from the other side of it. “How much you want to bet they’ll spit in our food,” I asked Crash. He smirked. “You wouldn’t get that lucky. Rougarou spit has been known to have healing properties.” “You’re kidding,” I said. “Spit in my old neighbor’s stew in Louisiana all the time. Helped her with her arthritis,” Elouise said. There wasn’t a hint of a smirk on her face. “You’re kidding,” I said to her. “Am I,” she replied, arching an eyebrow. “Are we,” Crash said arching his own. It was right about then that my brain betrayed me. Images of the cook in full gator form began to run through my head. In my head, I could see him spit into a to-go box full of BBQ, then put the dish into the window so both waitresses also in gator form of course, could spit into the dish. In the scene in my mind, Marissa smiled sweetly as she placed the dish on the counter. “That’s a half pound of pulled pork, extra saliva, sugah. Anything else,” she asked, grinning. The elderly woman reached in and grabbed a big handful and took a bite, saying “no deary, that’s perfect,” between bites. Both began to laugh at my full body shiver as I tried to shake the thoughts from my brain. “Alright, I’m out of here,” I grumbled, “let’s go to Micky D’s.” Their laughter followed me out the door. Most of the trip back was made in silence. I didn’t bother asking Crash why he even invited me. I think I know. His office probably doesn’t have a lot of humans in it. But he needed a human near him for this. That exchange between the wait staff, Elouise and Crash was particularly icy. I didn’t have a lot to say or do there. Normally it’s me ramping up the tension with some stupid flex or threat. But this time Crash was the one talking. So, it’s like he wanted me there as a check. To keep them or himself calm. That exchange with Elouise and Marissa too, that was something else. If I hadn’t had been there, would they have started fighting? What does Elouise have to do with them? Obviously, there is some history there. I have no idea what’s going on, but I can tell when things are getting out of hand. This time, I can honestly say I have nothing to do with it. But if I’m going to start going on jobs with Crash like this, I hope I’ll at least start getting paid for it. I could use the money. |
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