Dew (open)

[Julian McAllister]

There was dew on the grass. Not a lot of dew, just a bit. It was still late enough to be considered early, the sun would not rise again in hours and, even when it did, the sky would remain dark with storm clouds. But in the hot humid summer air, there still were droplets forming at the tips of well manicured stalks, forcing each blade of each leaf of each flower to bend and sag beneath its weight. Water seemed to think itself such a powerful thing, yet dew drops, they seemed so small. Especially in the darkness, especially among the headstones.

Especially among the wolves.

His paws were massive among the bubbles of condensation, thick clawed fingers squashing both grass and dew into nothing but oblong shaped depressions in the soft earth. The land stank with a rank stench, the smell of rotting animals and forgotten souls, left crying into the already wet grass as the world moved away from them. It was far from a chosen source of prey, that was for sure. Particularly here, the memorial cemetery, where some of the bodies had lain for decades, some even centuries, dating back as far as colonists who had died of horrible foul tasting diseases. Some part of him was embarrassed for not thinking of that sooner, and blue eyes panned over the dug up remains of some woman or another with disgust and shame. But there was little to do about it now.

Crouched on all fours, the wolf bowed his great furred head to the dirt, as though to sniff, to poke the water droplets with his sensitive nose, to double check their existence. But instead, mighty jaws parted, barring massive white teeth which clamped shut around the base of a handful of stalks of grass. Immediately, the juices stung his tongue and mixed poorly with the taste of rotted flesh on his pallet, and the grey beast's thick coat of fur frizzed suddenly with the urge to spit the vegetation out. But he resisted, and the grass disappeared inside of his maw.

No human would ever call the brief movements that crossed the face of a beast 'expressions'. They were not the same, did not hold the same meaning or sense of intelligence, memory or sentiment that the wide eyes of an ignorant civilized being. No, they were all tense muzzles and barred teeth, dripping with saliva that ran brown with old blood. But, if werewolves could express themselves on the night of the full moon, and any man would live long enough to see one and tell the tale, they'd tell this one was in a perfect state of disgust. He shook himself in the summer air and condensation flew from the tips of his coat.

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[Jillian Moore]

A cemetery was perpetually a place of fear. Whether it was from fear of what awaited, or the fear that someone you loved would be there next. A fearful place. All her life, Jillian had been fearful. She learned recently, however, that fear did not have to cripple you. Instead of preventing you from continuing on, it could be your driving force. Learning this had been revolutionary. Not only could she be brave with the aid of fear, but she found that she was stronger. Emotionally and physically.

It came to the point where she searched for small rushes of fear. And, this cemetery had become her favorite haunt. It was so old, yet reeked of the modern times it now inhabited. She didn't know whether to respect or pity the establishment. It should be respected by all, yet it was so lonesome. But, it was all the better that way. Jillian would get to come and be alone in the early hours.

Though she had almost mastered her fear, Jillian could not convince herself to visit the cemetery at night. She knew it was a childish fear, and she would overcome it eventually, but she wasn't ready for it. Not yet anyway. So, she used her skills to sneak in before anyone else could. It was her refuge now. She felt at peace in the early hours, sitting amongst the dead.

Now, as she walked to her favorite bench, her feet were soaked with dew. The water was cold in the early morning, and Jillian wished that she had worn her boots rather than the tennis shoes she had on now. She shook off the thought and put her mind to where she was. The bench was at the edge of the cemetery, in the area where all of the expensive graves were. It faced the water. It had a beautiful view, and she was pleased to sit there every morning.

Today, however, appeared to be better than most days. Unlike the majority, Jillian favored the rainy days. It looked like a storm was brewing now. She sat down on the bench, blissfully unaware of her surroundings. She liked sitting like this, where she couldn't see what could be hiding behind her. The adrenaline could be induced from something as small as a squirrel running through the bushes. It was the perfect way to kick start your morning. With a little fear.

[Julian McAllister]

There was a long moment's pause as the moisture from his fur slowly drifted to the ground in a fine mist, and though pale eyes followed its descent, the lycan's attention was most certainly elsewhere, broadcast to the masses by the swift turning of one pointed triangular ear. The water settled into the ground at his feet, soaking into the grey hairs of his paws, setting their tone to a dark muddy sort of shade, and still the beast remained rigid and posed, as though frozen in time among the tombstones. Until his ear twisted again and the spell was suddenly broken. The lycanthrope dropped suddenly to a startled crouch, ears instinctively drawn back into the dark fur of his skull. He'd already been on all fours, for no reason in particular as his kind always had a choice as to how they choose to spend their time standing, but now pressed his belly to the earth, his body nearly flat against the grass.

He remained there, stock still, for what seemed like an eternity before glowing eyes were drawn up wearily. A figure stepped into his peripheral vision, easily thirty or forty feet away, far far out of immediate striking distance, but still his attention followed her carefully, muzzle tensed in a silent snarl and his eyes narrowed threateningly. The morning breeze, picking up with the on coming storm, wafted her petty mortal scent into the wolfen's waiting nostrils and unbashfully, he sniffed loudly, practically tasting her flesh despite the distance. A mortal girl, nothing more.

A far less upsetting prey than the dead bodies he'd been feasting on earlier.

The thought barely had time to register in the monster's mind before he began a slow stalk forward, slinking carefully into some bushes which provided shade and cover. Humans had pathetic senses, and even without the proper cover, the tall untrimmed grasses of the old cemetery were likely more than suitable for hiding in this case. But, stomach rumbling and his mind awash with the promise of fresh meat, the wolf could hardly argue with himself for being cautious. As the woman took a very leisurely seat upon a nearby bench, her silent predator carefully continued his slow, meticulous stalk forward, ears perked now and his paws gentle upon the soft ground, attempting to be silent.

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[Jillian Moore]

Memories danced like sprites, in and out of her mind. They were all bad. The bad memories were the only ones that bothered visiting. Jillian was frustrated by the memories. No matter what she tried, they never stopped coming back again and again, fresh as ever. No place was a refuge from memories. No medicine was a remedy. However, she found that it was easier to forget them while working her body. The physical exertion often took up her whole being, forcing thoughts and memories away and bringing her to a more bestial part of humanity.

So, as was her custom, Jillian stood up from the bench, walked towards the water and stopped. She closed her eyes, breathing in the salty air and feeling the humidity that warned of the coming storm. It was bound to be a good day. Absentmindedly, she reached up to her head and smiled, glad she had braided her hair back early today. Nothing stood between her and mental relaxation now.

Her exercise routine consisted of jogging in place, crunches, leg lifts and other things that didn't require a machine. She knew it was easier to work with a machine, but she didn't have one in the cemetery, so it was just as well this way. Jillian had a lot of stamina, thanks to her experiences as a stripper. Perhaps she wasn't proud of having done it, but she was proud of the way it had taught her how to work out properly. In her opinion, however, a pole was the best exercise machine invented.

Jillian worked up a sweat easily. She unzipped her sweater, glad she had dressed in layers. It wasn't always easy for her to tell what the weather would do. Having come from Michigan where the weather varied every hour or so, she had yet to get good at understanding New York's weather patterns. She didn't like asking other people about that either. It was just better to be prepared. That way, she didn't have to talk to anyone personally and she didn't have to be uncomfortable during her morning work out.

After her first encounter with a supernatural being, she had been meticulous about keeping weapons on her at all times. In her pockets were two items. One, brass knuckles made of silver. The other being a small, yet high powered UV flashlight. She knew that neither of the two weapons would protect her fully from the creatures, but they could give her a chance to flee. Maybe she should keep stronger weapons on her, but she couldn't seem to be bothered to. Least of all on the island where there were so many other Hunters. Surely, she was safe here.

[Julian McAllister]

If wolves had been capable of language, the beast might've cursed to himself quietly where he'd frozen in the shade of another large grove of bushes, watching over the crest of his silent snarl as his prey for the evening stood from the bench and moved off a ways. Humans always made things so difficult. Now she was farther away, across an open expanse of grass and on the other side of the relatively well-cleared path. No amount of stalking or hiding would keep his massive body concealed for such an expanse, even if lycans had been designed for stalking prey from the shadows. As it were, stalking was more of a feline activity and the lycan found his joints shouting at him angrily where he'd paused, frozen by the concept of what to do next. The distance was still too great to attempt to run the mortal down, she'd have plenty of time to attempt a race to a motor vehicle or duck into one of the nearby mosoleums, which were far too small to accommodate a supernatural creature. This would've been so much easier if she had been overweight or encumbered by something.

Laying his ears flat against his skull for the second time, the lycan lowered himself to the grass until his flat light-furred belly was resting among the drops of dew, literally flat against the ground. Steadily, and without much prior planning, he crept forward despite himself, moving slowly, his steps careful. He slinked around the outside of the bushes until he was somehow squeezed beneath the bench that the woman had been seated on. It was a completely impractical hiding spot, no mere bench could hide a few hundred of snarling animal from view, and sheepishly, he gave the short tail that hung from his spine a brief wave knowing that most of his rear end was still exposed well beyond the wooden slats. It was not of a concern. The woman seemed to have her attentions elsewhere anyway as she moved about strangely in the grass a few lengths away. Still an awfully far distance to sprint but at this point, the hungry werewolf had little else to choose.

Unless he wished to return to the ugly task of grave-robbing.

Crinkling his nose at the mere thought, the wolfen hesitated for a split second before launching all six hundred pounds of muscle and damp fur from its place beneath the bench, shoulders flexing and his sheer mass and force of nature causing the bench to explode into splinters above him, ripped and shredded from its very foundation. Mud clung to his face and paws, stung a bit where it neared sensitive eyes, but the glowing blue gaze remained unblinking and focused as the beast barreled across the path and into the field. He could worry about dirt and grime once this gnawing hunger was sated.

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[Jillian Moore]

The sound alerted her to the predator. Jillian's eyes snapped quickly back to the bench she had been at before. If the situation had been different, it would have been hilarious. There was a werewolf in all it's giant glory, under a fucking bench. She had no clue how it had squeezed under the bench. The wolf gave a twitch of it's tail. All it had to do was move, that was all the push that Jillian had needed. A twitch of a tail later, Jillian was running.

There were many things she knew about her opponent. No matter how strong it was, it was mortal. That was the most important thing to remember. No matter how impossible it seemed, she could kill that mother fucker who was undoubtedly chasing her now. Daylight wouldn't stop its pursuit, but a nice bit of silver sure could. Jillian reached into her pocket and slid her fingers into the brass knuckles. Thank God for prior planning.

Should the beast catch up with her, Jillian had the capability to knock it senseless at least. It would give her the chance to get up and moving again before it was able to hurt her for real. Honest, she didn't care what it did to her, as long as it kept its damned mouth shut. The last thing she wanted was to be the same as the beast that was attacking her. Silently, she cursed her luck. The first being that she had met that wasn't natural was a bloodthirsty wolf. Her only friend at that time had been torn up by the wolf. And now, the next contact was with another fucking werewolf.

Jillian's mind was working. She knew the mausoleums were her best bet. She could see them nearby, but she also knew what awaited her on the inside. Darkness, and death. Though she had become a master of her fear, she could not convince herself to commune with the dead. Even if she were to sneak into one, there came the problem of when she could come back out. As much as she hated it, werewolves were smart. They knew how to hunt. It would wait for her to come out.

That left one option. She had to run. Of course, she hadn't run the entire way, but she was deep in the cemetery now. She had to find a way to put distance between the wolf and herself otherwise she wouldn't be able to get her motorcycle running and moving quick enough to survive the encounter. So, instead of running straight for the exit, she turned towards the cliffs. Though she ran the risk of falling, she was certain that the harsh terrain would slow the huge monster down more than it would her. She practiced for harsh terrain like this every day.

The cliff was rocky. There were the occasional outcroppings, but not many. If you were to fall, you were going to fall on either dry sharp rocks, or very wet sharp rocks. So the goal was simple. Stay on the angled side. The rocks shifted tremulously beneath her feet as she ran. Jillian shifted the way she was running just a little bit in order to fling rocks behind her as she ran. It was a sand technique, but she supposed that the small sharp rocks were just as good as sand. No doubt if one hit the werewolf in the eye or nose, it would sting. Just enough to distract it from the cliff, that's all she needed. If it fell, she was good to go. If not, at least, she hoped, it would put some distance between the two of them.

[Julian McAllister]

By the time dull claws landed in the dirt of the field, it was empty save the animal, crouched on all fours, ears back and eyes narrow. The human took off, of course she did, what fun was prey that didn't run? It wasn't a hunt without a little chase, and, excited by the prospect slightly, the massive wolfen ran a flat tongue over his whiskers expectantly before leaping off after the fleeing girl. She was so easy to see among the headstones, so much taller and more saturated in color, alive with motion that the heavy stones lacked, even in the grey tinted humid air that stifled them. It made her stand out to his predator senses, a practical beacon among the cold hollow lifeless marks of the grave sights, her heartbeat thrumming loudly in his ears even at their impressive distance from each other.

A rather stubborn distance it seemed. Despite long legs and powerful strides that could clear whole motor vehicles, the lycan found himself very slowly gaining on the human figure ahead of him in the grass. She wove effortlessly between grave markers and natural stones left jutting out of the earth, tossing them into the animal's path as she went, and the gigantic paws thundered over them, causing the beast to stumble and weave. Stupid appendages, all too great in size and heft to keep up with more slender prey animals, and with the cliffs at one shoulder, there was no route to take around to the side and cut her off with an ambush. He'd just have to deal with the grainy feeling of pebbles in his fur.

Practically bounding from rock to rock, the werewolf closed the distance between himself and his prey with every gigantic four-legged step, being sure to keep himself at least a length or two clear of the steep drop on their one side. What a terrible way to go that fall would be, he'd lamented silently as the waves hissed lightly in his ears as they lapped gracefully at the rocks at the cliff's basin. The mist that wafted their way from the shore was cool in the lycan's nose, suddenly reminding the well-furred animal that the middle of July was not the best time for a difficult hunt. The air stuck to him like floating tar, slicking his fur back against his skin like a sweaty sheen, but everyone knows that werewolves lack the glands in their skin necessary to produce sweat. It was all air and heat and nearby water and fog, and it was nearly suffocating to the beast as he panted heavily, attempting to keep up his stamina as long as possible. Too long for this heat no doubt, but as long as it would take. No human could outrun a creature of the night.

Though this one put up one hell of a fight. As he'd near her back and reach forward with one clawed paw, the woman would duck or turn or kick up a rock that would knock the lycan in the eyes or nose, a stinging and unpleasant experience that would stutter him just long enough to keep her out of the reach of his claws, and had him snarling with frustration at her back. Still he kept up casually. She would reach the cemetery borders soon enough and find nothing to meet her but a black, heavy iron barred fence, designed to keep human bodies in and mischievous mortals out. He'd have her trapped again in a moment.

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[Jillian Moore]

Fuck, fuck, fuck, The curse word became a chant in her head as she ran, thought in beat to her pounding feet. The fence was within sight now and she was horrified to think of what would happen if she was forced to attempt to climb it. Running not on strength anymore, but adrenaline, Jillian's clear thinking faded. She was no longer thinking calmly as she should in a situation like this. Instead, she was thinking like prey.

Her head snapped to the cliff. It was a long shot. Too long of a shot. She could die if she missed one step. But, she could die if she missed one step up here too. Without thinking, she turned her direction sharply to go down the cliff, running as fast as possible to keep up with herself. She leaned back towards the cliff and prayed that her feet would hit solid ground soon.

They did. However, the outcropping was considerably smaller than she had expected it to be when she first saw it. Her feet skidded against it as she tried desperately to slow down. I should have worn my fucking hiking boots, She thought bitterly. Jillian knew what would come next. She would fall. She would die or be seriously injured, and the wolf would leave her. That was all there was to it.

The fall was a serene, out of body kind of experience. The seconds expanded, feeling like minutes. She got a good look at the werewolf who was chasing her. A greyish colored beast, except for its head. She vowed to herself then that, should she survive this encounter, she would find the wolf and kill it. That would be her driving goal for the rest of her time as a Hunter- to find the black faced beast.

Jillian didn't really feel the landing. She felt her body hitting the rocks, and flying up and away from them, but she didn't feel the pain she had expected. She didn't know how long she had fallen for when she stopped, but she reckoned it was a rather short fall. She landed on another outcropping. She was bleeding from her head and numerous other places, but she was still moving. Jillian forced herself to breathe, gasping. The fall had really knocked the wind out of her. She scrambled to her feet and looked up at the wolf.

This would be the end then. She couldn't scramble back up the cliff. If the werewolf came towards her, hopefully it would fall longer than her. But, if it didn't... If it somehow landed on the same outcropping she did... It would be a fight to the death. She had silver... Should she be bitten, there was always the rocks at the bottom... No. She couldn't let herself think like that. Jillian gripped the knuckles tightly and glared up at the wolf, as menacing as she could handle.

[Julian McAllister]

Oh he could practically taste her fear on the wind when that glorious human device loomed up out of the grass, the steady heartbeat in his ears faltering and jumping about with what could only be pure panic. To the massive predator, it was a wonderful sound, the sense of nervousness, the fear of death that saturated the woman's warm scent, gave it a spice and a flavor that practically assaulted his senses. Oh it smelled divine, it always did, especially on their women, whose hormonal inconsistencies left their scents constantly shifting, except in a state of fear, of panic.

Distracted by his almost certain victory, the lycan's pace slowed so as not to over exert himself. After all, there was no rush to be had here. The pathetic mortal would hit the fence and he would have her then, whether it took him six seconds to reach the fence himself or if it took him ten, might as well save the energy for the best part. Massive paws flexed with each step, claws raking deep pits into the ground as he followed, his whole body simply coiled with anticipation. But as he slowed his pace to a more casual trot, something of a light jog by his species standard, he was surprised to find that tantalizing image of human against iron, gripping the bars for her life, begging and screaming, never came to pass.

Instead, the mortal veered to one side, and the lycan of course followed suit, slightly confused. It wasn't until the bipedal figure dipped and disappeared from view did he realize the mistake he'd made. God damn human idiots, choosing suicidal falls and crazy odds over certain death. Their fear drove them to do such ridiculous things and, frustrated that this was becoming such a chore, the lycan skidded to a hasty stop at the cliff's edge and roared angrily, a bellowing noise from the deepest throws of that mighty chest.

To his surprise, the human stood at the bottom, as though waiting for death to climb down and meet her as well, but the lycan simply was not foolish enough, and every instinct in his brain fired in a rapid succession of 'nope's. Significantly larger, heavier, all flailing limbs and hard muscle, falling against the rocks would do more damage than was worth, though it was still unlikely to kill. For a midnight snack, this woman had put up enough barriers to leave her pursuer pacing back and forth along the top of the cliff's steepest face. His paws kicked rocks and gravel off of the edge and blue eyes watched them fall from beneath angry brows, but all he could do was stomp his feet, posture a bit and send down a cocktail of displeased snarling and bellowing roars.

Eventually, with something that could only be described as a sigh, the werewolf turned slowly, reluctantly from his evening's target, giving the human one last long look over one of his grizzled shoulders before casually stalking his way back into the local foliage. He dove into the shadows like most people dive into water, and in an instant, the area was quiet and inactive again.

((Bear with me for a post or two. I plan to have him change back and they can cross paths again. x3 But until then, we've kind of got some rambling to do.))

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[Craig Bennett]

Craig had been up reading when he noticed Jillian walking out towards the cemetery. He wasn't really the type to read, didn't really enjoy it much, but he wasn't able to sleep that night and had about five different books by his bed that he had meant to read at some point, but never had. He had been vaguely aware of the time, and noted that it was not a normal thing to do, walking out in a graveyard, that is. For a moment his mind had let it rest as that, but soon he'd been overcome with curiosity and he stood up. The book hadn't been very good anyway. And, after a long moment of hesitation, picking his book up and trying to read it and then tossing it across the room, Craig had gone outside like the nosy man he was.

The graveyard proved to be damp and rocky, the air still and humid. For a moment there was silence as he wandered along, but the sound of pounding footsteps sliced the idea of a serene morning and left Craig with a feeling of worry. He moved his pace to a jog in order to follow what he assumed was her, the sound of footsteps getting farther and farther away. It occurred to him that the pace of the footsteps was not in a manner that would suggest the normal early morning jog or sprint; instead it was rushed, panicked and uneven. And as he listened more, there was not just that one pair, but a rhythmic thudding suggesting something else with her.

What was he getting into? What just happened? Did he even know it was Jill? To all of the questions, there was one answer. He didn't know. He didn't know if it was dangerous. He didn't know if it was going to kill him. All he knew was that he was anxious and on alert and that likely was because it was dark and he was in an eerie graveyard. Craig decided that he probably should just walk away and forget about it. But against his better judgement, he walked forward. And then ran.

He just barely heard a skidding noise, and then, louder, a thud. He slowed, the urgency he felt being overwhelmed with wariness once more. Pulling out his pistol, Craig walked with hesitation closer to where he had last heard the noises come from. Suddenly a series of loud roars erupted into the early morning air, coupled with vicious-sounding snarls. He was running again, running to the roars, positive that there was a lycan nearby and now sure he had heard Jillian. Craig managed to see the tail of a wolf diving into the shadows before all was silent.

"Jill? Are you still alive down there? Have I ever told you how unbelievably stupid you are? Because you deserve a Darwin Award, let me tell you," he called out, walking towards the edge of the cliff and looking down. There was nothing below him whatsoever, which puzzled him for a moment, before he saw Jill standing on a ledge over to his left. She was alive, thank god.

"Why do you have to be so damn stupid? 'Let's go out into the cemetery when everyone is, or at least should be, asleep, so that when I get killed off by a werewolf, people won't hear me!' Brilliant," grumbled Craig sarcastically, walking over to the edge and sitting by it, not lending her a hand to get her up. He supposed he'd have to let her up, what with a lycan out there somewhere and all, but that could wait just a little while. He had a pistol with silver bullets to protect himself. He'd be fine. And besides, she deserved to learn a lesson. Teach her to come and make him run all the way out here to attempt to save her sorry little ass. The odd thing was that he'd only seen the tail of the beast as it slipped away, and he doubted that it was because he'd scared it off.