Closing time…(WoD)

Jack Dalton, The Shadow, Silver Fang ahroun, surveys the crush of people surrounding him as the shock of what his packmate, Amelia, has just told him finally sinks in.

There were tears visible on every face, some of joy, some of sorrow, some of both. There were shouts of pride and victory, there was laughter borne of relief and exhaustion. The circle of humanity atop the hill carries with it a festival yet funereal air, and the contrast is tangible in each smile, each embrace, each wailing cry.

The battered alpha wants to wail with them. He wants to scream, cry, tear his hair out, punch someone in the face. Frustration rises up and sinks sharp talons into his chest; he can feel his breath shorten and his fingers flex in response to the sudden surge of adrenaline flooding his veins.

Katharine was gone.

The impact of those words strikes him and he falls to his knees, a howl of anguish escaping his throat as he buries his scarred fingers into the frozen ground.

********

The Lady called Soleil, also called Dawn Walker but born a metis Black Spiral named Eats Mice, stares blankly out the window of the manor house at the throng of people rushing back and forth from building to building. She stares from shadowed grey eyes grown old; from her vantage point there has been much won but so much has been lost. Pulling the blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms closer to her body, the tiny girl watches the movement of light and sound outside her window, a small part of her wishing she was a part of it, wishing that there was a way to lift the weight anchoring her heart to the ground.
 
********

Olivia watches.

That is her modus operandi, her purpose, and she does it with the enthusiasm of the true fanatic. It was what a man’s life was worth to attempt to walk up on Samuel Albrecht unawares, for she walked one step behind him, in his shadow, and no one but herself put themselves in his shadow if they could help it. His shadow was sharp, deadly and without mercy, much like the boy himself.

The raider girl grins as she glances in his direction. The boy(no, the man, she thinks, he’s lost his boyhood) was a power to be reckoned with. She shudders as she thinks of razor claws rending flesh and lips curling back from dagger teeth the length of her forearm. He was massive in his war form, even for a werewolf, and over the past few months she’d seen a few of those. He’d stared down Skinner, put himself in as leader of the raider band, throated half-a-dozen dissenters, and ruled the band with a fist of iron and an eagle eye. They’d even started getting recruits from bands following Lucas there at the end, Sam’s ruthlessness gaining them respect and strength. And he’d grown in the past two months, from a moderate five foot eight to a solid six feet, with shoulders like a linebacker and hands blunt and square as whole hams.

Not that he didn’t have a few strange quirks. Despite being surrounded by men who spent whole periods of their lives soused in booze, he would never drink. Not even an ounce. There was no drug abuse in his band; violators of this tenet put their lives on the table for a high as he would execute anyone using. He would tolerate no abuse of children; slaves taken had their injuries treated and were fed well, then were sold to other places, but children were kept by the band. Kept and cared for, and watched over by this strange angel, this warrior king of thieves.

Olivia remembers the look in his blue machinegunner’s eyes as he laid these laws down. She shudders again, this time in delight. He really was a monster, but he was honest, and that was what this world really needed.

What she needed. She blinks in sudden understanding as she follows her man.

What she needed.

*******

It had been a long two months.

Sam shadows his eyes with his hand as he scans the horizon. The moment the attacking army had fallen back he’d sent runners to track them and follow them to see where they holed up. He knew it would likely be a while before they’d get back, but a nervous flutter in his gut kept him out here watching and waiting for word of his enemy’s rallying point. The blocky ahroun rubs his eyes and stifles a yawn. He had no intention of backing off now, just because they’d run; perhaps the pack of Garou in the Black Hawks would agree to help him eradicate Lucas’ army once and for all. It certainly seemed they had the firepower.

A wry smile curls his lip. What he could do if he had that kind of ammunition! Talk about armed force…. he could stabilize this entire region if he had that kind of help. He quells the thought mercilessly. He had no designs on world conquest, had no plans to set himself up as some kind of king, and he sure as hell had no intention of being humanity’s police officer. He’d seen what that done to his old man. And to his mom.

No woman was really safe around him. Him or any Albrecht. There was too much anger there.

He remembers the first time Olivia had tried to shiv him. He’d stepped on her toes, said something that pissed her off, and she’d slid that knife between his ribs like a hot fork into butter. He’d reeled back, pain dulling his eyes, and as she stepped in to stick him again he’d punched her so hard he’d felt the bones of his hand crack. Her head had snapped back, blood blooming on her lips like roses as they split and her nose broke. She’d fallen like a marionette with the strings cut.

He shakes his head. There was just too much anger there. He hadn’t needed to hit her that hard. He was Garou; there was no worry that ‘livia was gonna kill him by poking with something sharp. The resilience of the Garou metabolism was well-renowned for a reason. He’d overreacted and in consequence his tough little ‘livia had to walk around with a face like a beaten prizefighter for two weeks.

Sam didn’t spent a lot of time beating himself up over it. She’d stuck him, he’d hit her, life moved on. He puts his hand over his blue eyes and scans the treelines again. He just hoped that a few displays of the famous Albrecht temper would keep people from testing it too much. Preemptive strikes, if you will. No one could say he hadn’t warned them. The proverbial heads on spikes should have done the trick.

He narrows his eyes in the growing dawn light as he waits for word of his enimies retreat. A reluctant general at the head of a ragtag army of criminals and thieves. Somehow, the thought soothes him.

Damn the torpedoes, and all that. Tally ho.

*********

(This is not finished, but I wanted to get it posted so I could think about what’s next. Will finish it later -Rebecca)