OOC: Yet another modern thread for all types of modern characters, may they normal, paranormal, supernatural or just the normal abnormal.
Depending on how the rest of my month goes, this might be only a one-week thing, but I'll try my best to keep this going.
I'll try my best to keep Vince's POV-posts horror-light, like family-friendly Halloween TV including zombies to stay within the spirit of the event
Without further ado to the post, one week in the making
The bright, red font stuck out against the black of the truck, especially at night.
It spelled all three: the name a planet, the name of a roman god of war as well as the name of a chocolate company.
A few dying streetlights hummed overhead, as they fought a losing battle against neglect. The battle against the darkness, they probably would’ve all but lost, if not for the support of a brightly lit billboard. Some kind of ad for beautiful people on a beach.
In the distance, a dog barked themself crazy. The nearby wall was only held together by graffiti.
It spelled urban decay, though not exactly in those words.
And somewhere below it all, Vince was about to crash. The adrenalin had left his body, and just for the moment, he leaned against the inner side of the truck.
His legs were dangling above the cardboard boxes he had already kicked in the streets.
Cardboard boxes full of chocolate covered peanuts and candy bars.
They were ripped open for the content to spill out.
At least with cardboard boxes, this was the good outcome. It meant candy on the ground, an open invitation to take some. With people things always was a lot messier.
Messy also described Vince’s hair. Jumping from a driving vehicle to another would be bad for anyone’s hairstyle, and his hair was wild to begin with.
His leather jacket wasn’t exactly messy, just worn out. He had bought it used, and worn it far longer than the manufacturer ever even could imagine. High speed falls and a history of knife attacks and angry guard dogs also hardly counted as proper jacket-maintenance.
The plastic wolf-mask didn’t need any history to fall apart. It was dollar bin, unfit to survive a night like this.
As the elastic started to give, Vince had shoved it to the top of his head. Up there, it did a poor poor job of hiding his identity.
He did only care so much. The occasional glance at the window of the nearby electronics shop was precaution enough.
The ancient TV there would hopefully warn Vince, if his little highway-stunt would make evening news.
After all, he didn’t exactly own this truck full of chocolate… legally speaking.
How he got into its possession, that was an interesting story, involving cheap Halloween masks, shotguns, a high risk vehicle chase and some very poor decisions.
Vince had decided to keep the string of bad decisions going.
It would’ve been sensible to just leave the truck at the side of the highway. It would’ve been even more sensible not to leave the bed tonight at all, or not to get involved with the wrong people.
But that was a problem for Tomorrow-Vince.
Today-Vince had a truckload of chocolate, and only one regret: not getting a Robin Hood costume before gifting his ill-gotten gains to the poor.
Maybe it was the only sensible thing to do with a ton of candy on Halloween.
Depending on how the rest of my month goes, this might be only a one-week thing, but I'll try my best to keep this going.
I'll try my best to keep Vince's POV-posts horror-light, like family-friendly Halloween TV including zombies to stay within the spirit of the event
Without further ado to the post, one week in the making
The bright, red font stuck out against the black of the truck, especially at night.
It spelled all three: the name a planet, the name of a roman god of war as well as the name of a chocolate company.
A few dying streetlights hummed overhead, as they fought a losing battle against neglect. The battle against the darkness, they probably would’ve all but lost, if not for the support of a brightly lit billboard. Some kind of ad for beautiful people on a beach.
In the distance, a dog barked themself crazy. The nearby wall was only held together by graffiti.
It spelled urban decay, though not exactly in those words.
And somewhere below it all, Vince was about to crash. The adrenalin had left his body, and just for the moment, he leaned against the inner side of the truck.
His legs were dangling above the cardboard boxes he had already kicked in the streets.
Cardboard boxes full of chocolate covered peanuts and candy bars.
They were ripped open for the content to spill out.
At least with cardboard boxes, this was the good outcome. It meant candy on the ground, an open invitation to take some. With people things always was a lot messier.
Messy also described Vince’s hair. Jumping from a driving vehicle to another would be bad for anyone’s hairstyle, and his hair was wild to begin with.
His leather jacket wasn’t exactly messy, just worn out. He had bought it used, and worn it far longer than the manufacturer ever even could imagine. High speed falls and a history of knife attacks and angry guard dogs also hardly counted as proper jacket-maintenance.
The plastic wolf-mask didn’t need any history to fall apart. It was dollar bin, unfit to survive a night like this.
As the elastic started to give, Vince had shoved it to the top of his head. Up there, it did a poor poor job of hiding his identity.
He did only care so much. The occasional glance at the window of the nearby electronics shop was precaution enough.
The ancient TV there would hopefully warn Vince, if his little highway-stunt would make evening news.
After all, he didn’t exactly own this truck full of chocolate… legally speaking.
How he got into its possession, that was an interesting story, involving cheap Halloween masks, shotguns, a high risk vehicle chase and some very poor decisions.
Vince had decided to keep the string of bad decisions going.
It would’ve been sensible to just leave the truck at the side of the highway. It would’ve been even more sensible not to leave the bed tonight at all, or not to get involved with the wrong people.
But that was a problem for Tomorrow-Vince.
Today-Vince had a truckload of chocolate, and only one regret: not getting a Robin Hood costume before gifting his ill-gotten gains to the poor.
Maybe it was the only sensible thing to do with a ton of candy on Halloween.
The sirens had faded by the time Mercy turned the corner, her jacket pulled close against the chill. She slowed at the sight of the truck, the red Mars logo glowing under a flickering streetlight. The man leaning beside it was half in shadow and surrounded by candy bars like fallen treasure.
“You look like the before picture in a concussion awareness poster,” she said, amusement curling in her voice as she stepped closer. Her eyes swept over the crooked wolf mask and the scuffed leather jacket. “Please tell me this isn’t the part where I have to call it in. I just got off shift.”
She bent to pick up a candy bar, turning it in her fingers before slipping it into her pocket. “Consider this my consultation fee.” When she straightened, the faint smile on her lips softened her words. “And no, this isn’t a costume. I’m an actual nurse. So if you’re bleeding anywhere under that jacket, now’s your one chance to look heroic while I fix it.”
Her gaze lingered on him, calm but curious, the kind that said she was already deciding whether he was trouble…or just her kind of fun.
Vince blinked.
"…how does the after-picture look like?" he asked, slightly irritated by the thought of someone looking looking more through the ringer than him. Another blink, then it slowly dawned him.
"Wait, it isn't 'before concussion', it is 'before getting help for a concussion'?"
Yeah, that made sense. Relieved to have solved this riddle, Vince sounded happy rather than insulted.
"I don't have brain damage." Wait, did he? For how long he had been a werewolf, maybe it counted as a developmental disorder for how much it influenced his way of thinking.
Vince made a mental note: Check if anyone that caught Lycanthropy as an adult ever stole a candy truck on Halloween.
But that was something that he should pounder as far away from a medical professional as possible.
"There isn't anything worth of calling in here. In fact, you saw nothing, and in exchange for your… lapse in perception, I'm mending the social ills of our society, making sure the unsung heroes of our hospitals getting paid properly for once…"
Vince did his best to channel the few professionals he had worked with. They usually had large wads of cash that they could slide over to make that offer pop.
He just had Snickers. He fanned some out like a wad of cash, before tossing one Mercy's way.
"Wait, I don't think you're covered by plan…."
And he added a third one to her payment. Hopefully, that was enough to buy her silence.
"Also, by the way…" he tipped at the mask. "This isn't a costume either, I'm actually a wolf." A wink, then he got serious. "Yeah, I don't think I'm actually injured, thanks for asking."
"…how does the after-picture look like?" he asked, slightly irritated by the thought of someone looking looking more through the ringer than him. Another blink, then it slowly dawned him.
"Wait, it isn't 'before concussion', it is 'before getting help for a concussion'?"
Yeah, that made sense. Relieved to have solved this riddle, Vince sounded happy rather than insulted.
"I don't have brain damage." Wait, did he? For how long he had been a werewolf, maybe it counted as a developmental disorder for how much it influenced his way of thinking.
Vince made a mental note: Check if anyone that caught Lycanthropy as an adult ever stole a candy truck on Halloween.
But that was something that he should pounder as far away from a medical professional as possible.
"There isn't anything worth of calling in here. In fact, you saw nothing, and in exchange for your… lapse in perception, I'm mending the social ills of our society, making sure the unsung heroes of our hospitals getting paid properly for once…"
Vince did his best to channel the few professionals he had worked with. They usually had large wads of cash that they could slide over to make that offer pop.
He just had Snickers. He fanned some out like a wad of cash, before tossing one Mercy's way.
"Wait, I don't think you're covered by plan…."
And he added a third one to her payment. Hopefully, that was enough to buy her silence.
"Also, by the way…" he tipped at the mask. "This isn't a costume either, I'm actually a wolf." A wink, then he got serious. "Yeah, I don't think I'm actually injured, thanks for asking."
Mercy caught the flying candy bar midair, the corner of her mouth curving as she turned it over in her hand. “Hazard pay in chocolate. I can work with that.”
She stepped closer, the toe of her sneaker nudging a wrapper at her feet. His logic about “mending social ills” drew a low laugh from her, quiet but genuine. “So this is community service, huh? You stealing from the rich to feed the sugar-deprived.”
The nurse tucked the candy into her pocket, giving him a long, assessing look. “Well, your pupils look even. You are standing upright. And you are still capable of sarcasm. I’ll take that as a clean bill of health.”
Her gaze dropped to the wolf mask as he mentioned being “an actual wolf.” She arched a brow, voice dropping into a playful murmur. “Good to know. Just in case I see you in the ER, I will be sure to keep a raw steak on hand.”
Mercy turned slightly, half lit by the streetlight, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Try not to crash any more trucks, wolfman. I may quit accepting chocolate for my consultation fees.” She took a few steps backward, still watching him with that same cool amusement, as if daring him to make her stay.
”Happy Samhain, Wolf!”
She stepped closer, the toe of her sneaker nudging a wrapper at her feet. His logic about “mending social ills” drew a low laugh from her, quiet but genuine. “So this is community service, huh? You stealing from the rich to feed the sugar-deprived.”
The nurse tucked the candy into her pocket, giving him a long, assessing look. “Well, your pupils look even. You are standing upright. And you are still capable of sarcasm. I’ll take that as a clean bill of health.”
Her gaze dropped to the wolf mask as he mentioned being “an actual wolf.” She arched a brow, voice dropping into a playful murmur. “Good to know. Just in case I see you in the ER, I will be sure to keep a raw steak on hand.”
Mercy turned slightly, half lit by the streetlight, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Try not to crash any more trucks, wolfman. I may quit accepting chocolate for my consultation fees.” She took a few steps backward, still watching him with that same cool amusement, as if daring him to make her stay.
”Happy Samhain, Wolf!”
Vince couldn't help it, he broke out in a small ballad.
"♪ He robbed from the rich and gave to the poor,
♪ stood up to the man and gave him what for!
♪ Our love for him now, we have ever since,
♪ The hero of Rustport, the man they call Vince."
And there Vince kept it. He was alright with a bass in his hand, and that experience at least gave him a sense of rhythm, but he'd never be a singer for a reason.
He tilted his head. Didn't now sarcasm was a good sign. In that case, I'm healthy." Vince grabbed the next candybar. This time, it wasn't a bribe for anybody, he just unwrapped the next bar.
"Making sure I'm not alone with all this stuff is mainly a decision I'm making for my own health. I'm bad at resisting temptation."
Vince took a bit and smiled.
For a moment he tilted his head, watching Mercy as she was gaining distance. "If you don't take chocolate anymore, I think there is a crate of gummy bears somewhere in there."
His thumb pointed inside the truck.
"Happy Halloween. And… where should I go again when this all comes crashing down? I'm always game for the hospital with raw steak and fun nurses!"
"♪ He robbed from the rich and gave to the poor,
♪ stood up to the man and gave him what for!
♪ Our love for him now, we have ever since,
♪ The hero of Rustport, the man they call Vince."
And there Vince kept it. He was alright with a bass in his hand, and that experience at least gave him a sense of rhythm, but he'd never be a singer for a reason.
He tilted his head. Didn't now sarcasm was a good sign. In that case, I'm healthy." Vince grabbed the next candybar. This time, it wasn't a bribe for anybody, he just unwrapped the next bar.
"Making sure I'm not alone with all this stuff is mainly a decision I'm making for my own health. I'm bad at resisting temptation."
Vince took a bit and smiled.
For a moment he tilted his head, watching Mercy as she was gaining distance. "If you don't take chocolate anymore, I think there is a crate of gummy bears somewhere in there."
His thumb pointed inside the truck.
"Happy Halloween. And… where should I go again when this all comes crashing down? I'm always game for the hospital with raw steak and fun nurses!"
Mercy blinked once, then broke into laughter as his impromptu ballad echoed down the street. She clapped, slow and theatrical, her grin bright beneath the streetlight. “A man with a theme song? Now that’s a first. You’ve officially raised the bar for Halloween performances everywhere.”
Her smile softened into amusement. “You sing, you steal candy, and you somehow manage to pass your own concussion test. Truly, a man of many talents.”
Then came the line about gummy bears, and she stopped mid-step, laughter spilling easily from her lips. “Gummy bears, you say?” She turned slightly, letting the light catch her face, eyes glinting with playful suspicion. “Now that’s hardly fair, Wolf. You can’t tempt a girl with gelatin and sugar and expect her to keep walking away.”
She sauntered a few steps closer, folding her arms as if still pretending to debate her own better judgment. “Tell you what,” she said finally, her voice dropping into mock professionalism. “If you ever find yourself in need of medical attention or just in need of a little fun company, you can find me at St. Viridian Medical Center. Ask for Nurse Mercy. I’m the one who accepts bribes in chocolate and, apparently, gummy bears.”
Her gaze lingered on him for a heartbeat, equal parts teasing and curious. “Try not to make me work for it, though. I like my patients in one piece.”
She took another step back, the smile still tugging at her lips. “Happy Halloween, Wolfman. And if I ever hear that ballad again, I expect choreography next time.”
With a final laugh, she turned and disappeared into the mist, leaving behind the echo of her amusement in the cool night air.
(Thank you for the fun scene. You know you’re one of my favorite writers, and favorite people.)
Her smile softened into amusement. “You sing, you steal candy, and you somehow manage to pass your own concussion test. Truly, a man of many talents.”
Then came the line about gummy bears, and she stopped mid-step, laughter spilling easily from her lips. “Gummy bears, you say?” She turned slightly, letting the light catch her face, eyes glinting with playful suspicion. “Now that’s hardly fair, Wolf. You can’t tempt a girl with gelatin and sugar and expect her to keep walking away.”
She sauntered a few steps closer, folding her arms as if still pretending to debate her own better judgment. “Tell you what,” she said finally, her voice dropping into mock professionalism. “If you ever find yourself in need of medical attention or just in need of a little fun company, you can find me at St. Viridian Medical Center. Ask for Nurse Mercy. I’m the one who accepts bribes in chocolate and, apparently, gummy bears.”
Her gaze lingered on him for a heartbeat, equal parts teasing and curious. “Try not to make me work for it, though. I like my patients in one piece.”
She took another step back, the smile still tugging at her lips. “Happy Halloween, Wolfman. And if I ever hear that ballad again, I expect choreography next time.”
With a final laugh, she turned and disappeared into the mist, leaving behind the echo of her amusement in the cool night air.
(Thank you for the fun scene. You know you’re one of my favorite writers, and favorite people.)
"Yeah, it is a totally original song and in no way ripped off some old cult-TV-Show." Vince claimed, hoping Mercy wouldn't bother to check his suspicious specific denial.
He gave Mercy a quick bow. She might just get her encore.
"Next time, I'll play the bass guitar!"
He promised, knowing exactly over witch word to jump.
Vince made a mental note about St. Viridian. It was always good to know doctors that might not report gunshot injuries in exchange for the right pralines.
"Happy Halloween."
He returned into the truck to see if he couldn't find those gummy bears to throw after Mercy.
A nurse named Mercy. She must've had all the patience in the world as well, surviving in such a hard business and doing so despite all the puns that would come her way. Vince shook his head and smiled at that thought.
As he stepped out, his hunt unsuccessful, the streets probably were empty once more.
He gave Mercy a quick bow. She might just get her encore.
"Next time, I'll play the bass guitar!"
He promised, knowing exactly over witch word to jump.
Vince made a mental note about St. Viridian. It was always good to know doctors that might not report gunshot injuries in exchange for the right pralines.
"Happy Halloween."
He returned into the truck to see if he couldn't find those gummy bears to throw after Mercy.
A nurse named Mercy. She must've had all the patience in the world as well, surviving in such a hard business and doing so despite all the puns that would come her way. Vince shook his head and smiled at that thought.
As he stepped out, his hunt unsuccessful, the streets probably were empty once more.
Ash had been tracking the scent long before she saw the truck. Chocolate and gasoline—sweetness rotting at the edges. It clung to the back of her throat, a cheap mask over something wilder.
She stopped at the edge of the flickering streetlight, the dying hum above her stuttering against the pulse in her ears. Her wolf wanted to move closer—to see, to claim—but she kept herself in check, nails biting into her palms until the sting steadied her.
When she finally stepped into view, her boots crushed a handful of scattered candy bars. The sound made Vince’s head turn, and for a moment, their eyes caught in the dark.
“Hell of a night to be playing delivery boy,” she said, voice low, rough from disuse. There was no humor in it, only that quiet edge that could cut when she wanted it to. “You planning to feed a city, or just your conscience?”
She circled the truck once, gaze flicking over the torn boxes, the dented door, the worn leather jacket. The wolf behind her ribs shifted restlessly, drawn to the scent of adrenaline still fading off him.
“People like you,” she murmured, half to herself, “you don’t steal for profit. You steal because you’ve got something to prove. To them, or maybe to yourself.”
Her tone softened just slightly—barely noticeable, but it was there, like the ghost of warmth in winter air. “Just be careful, Vince. The world doesn’t forgive people like us for trying to do the right thing the wrong way.”
She stopped at the edge of the flickering streetlight, the dying hum above her stuttering against the pulse in her ears. Her wolf wanted to move closer—to see, to claim—but she kept herself in check, nails biting into her palms until the sting steadied her.
When she finally stepped into view, her boots crushed a handful of scattered candy bars. The sound made Vince’s head turn, and for a moment, their eyes caught in the dark.
“Hell of a night to be playing delivery boy,” she said, voice low, rough from disuse. There was no humor in it, only that quiet edge that could cut when she wanted it to. “You planning to feed a city, or just your conscience?”
She circled the truck once, gaze flicking over the torn boxes, the dented door, the worn leather jacket. The wolf behind her ribs shifted restlessly, drawn to the scent of adrenaline still fading off him.
“People like you,” she murmured, half to herself, “you don’t steal for profit. You steal because you’ve got something to prove. To them, or maybe to yourself.”
Her tone softened just slightly—barely noticeable, but it was there, like the ghost of warmth in winter air. “Just be careful, Vince. The world doesn’t forgive people like us for trying to do the right thing the wrong way.”
Vince's teeth ripped open a Snickers bar, his personal kill for the night. Just before it lightened up, he saw his own face, reflecting in the cracked screen of his phone.
Just as he started a doomed try to get his mind off the last night and maybe his life in general, the sound of breaking M&M's snapped him right back out.
He slid out of the truck, landing on his feet. There was a subtle hunch to his movement, not from a bad back but from a subconscious readiness to leap at someone.f filling
A growl crawled up his throat, but Vince swallowed it. If the newcomer had been a menace, she would hardly announce herself. There was no need for claws just yet, when normal words would do.
"Hell of a night." he agreed. Obviously, he was far more attuned to the human world, not only did he have a phone, his voice also sounded well practiced.
Ash's words made him feel weirdly exposed. She was right. Vince always loved the lure of a quick buck, but it wasn't about the money. No matter how much time he spend among humans, in their schools, in their cities, they couldn't swallow that part of him.
"It isn't that." he answered, taking a step to the side.
They moved like two wolves, circling each other over a carcass.
The corner of Vince's mouth twitched. It grew into a full smile.
"It is about the thrill of the hunt."
From her look, her words, the way she moved, the woman would understand.
"This isn't redemption. It is about me getting a number plate wrong and doing something with a costly mistake." he admitted. His eyes still were focused on the woman, and he still was ready to rumble.
The rules of the business said never to cross the mob or the Mars company. He did both in one night, strange women who oozed killer instincts and unprompted knowledge of his name were a good reason to stay on his guard.
It didn't stop him from taking a loud bite out of his chocolate bar.
"I know a few song writers who would kill for getting lines like yours. I could recommend you, if I only also knew your name."
The smile staid on his face.
"I'll trade it for some chocolate."
He made an inviting gesture to the scattered plastic bags, their bright colors sticking stuck out against the background of dull concrete.
Just as he started a doomed try to get his mind off the last night and maybe his life in general, the sound of breaking M&M's snapped him right back out.
He slid out of the truck, landing on his feet. There was a subtle hunch to his movement, not from a bad back but from a subconscious readiness to leap at someone.f filling
A growl crawled up his throat, but Vince swallowed it. If the newcomer had been a menace, she would hardly announce herself. There was no need for claws just yet, when normal words would do.
"Hell of a night." he agreed. Obviously, he was far more attuned to the human world, not only did he have a phone, his voice also sounded well practiced.
Ash's words made him feel weirdly exposed. She was right. Vince always loved the lure of a quick buck, but it wasn't about the money. No matter how much time he spend among humans, in their schools, in their cities, they couldn't swallow that part of him.
"It isn't that." he answered, taking a step to the side.
They moved like two wolves, circling each other over a carcass.
The corner of Vince's mouth twitched. It grew into a full smile.
"It is about the thrill of the hunt."
From her look, her words, the way she moved, the woman would understand.
"This isn't redemption. It is about me getting a number plate wrong and doing something with a costly mistake." he admitted. His eyes still were focused on the woman, and he still was ready to rumble.
The rules of the business said never to cross the mob or the Mars company. He did both in one night, strange women who oozed killer instincts and unprompted knowledge of his name were a good reason to stay on his guard.
It didn't stop him from taking a loud bite out of his chocolate bar.
"I know a few song writers who would kill for getting lines like yours. I could recommend you, if I only also knew your name."
The smile staid on his face.
"I'll trade it for some chocolate."
He made an inviting gesture to the scattered plastic bags, their bright colors sticking stuck out against the background of dull concrete.
Ash’s gaze lingered on him longer this time, reading the tension in his shoulders, the careful restraint in the way he stood. She’d seen that look before—the one that lived somewhere between fight and flight.
“The thrill of the hunt,” she murmured again, her tone dry but quieter now, almost thoughtful. “Guess we all chase something that makes us feel alive.”
She stepped closer, boots scuffing the gravel, the light from his truck catching in her eyes. “But tell me something,” she said, voice low and steady. “Why steal a truck if you weren’t running from someone? Or something?”
Her head tilted slightly, studying him as though she could peel back the layers herself. “You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who needs a getaway car just for fun.”
The edge in her voice softened, just barely. “Look, I’m not here to play hero. You screwed up, fine. But if you’re in over your head…” Her hand slipped into her jacket pocket, pulling out a half-melted chocolate bar. She tossed it toward him with a faint, almost wry smirk. “I might know a few ways to help. Depends on how much trouble you’ve got breathing down your neck.”
“The thrill of the hunt,” she murmured again, her tone dry but quieter now, almost thoughtful. “Guess we all chase something that makes us feel alive.”
She stepped closer, boots scuffing the gravel, the light from his truck catching in her eyes. “But tell me something,” she said, voice low and steady. “Why steal a truck if you weren’t running from someone? Or something?”
Her head tilted slightly, studying him as though she could peel back the layers herself. “You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who needs a getaway car just for fun.”
The edge in her voice softened, just barely. “Look, I’m not here to play hero. You screwed up, fine. But if you’re in over your head…” Her hand slipped into her jacket pocket, pulling out a half-melted chocolate bar. She tossed it toward him with a faint, almost wry smirk. “I might know a few ways to help. Depends on how much trouble you’ve got breathing down your neck.”
Jeff had been wandering around, minding his own business, when he suddenly smelled the scent of candy coming from somewhere. Following his nose, the little land shark comes across the truck and the massive amount of candy that has been spilled everywhere. Jeff's eyes go wide at the amount of candy in front of him, and he starts scooping up as much as he can into a plastic jack-o-lantern shaped bucked that he had been carrying with him. "Mrrrrr!"
Vince slowly shifted his weight fro side to side, his gaze still entirely hanging on the mysterious women. Her scent held traces of danger. She sounded like she knew. She knew of the rush of the adrenaline.
Slowly, he relaxed. While he didn't drop his guard entirely, his smile got friendlier, his shoulders slowly lowered.
His body language felt more and more human, and less like an animal circling, probing for weaknesses while hiding their own.
"I wouldn't steal a truck to runaway. It's eye-catching and heavy. I'd go for something small, and fast. A roadster, a motorcycle maybe. Always wanted to drive one."
Vince's eyes followed Ash's every movement as she went for a chocolate bar. Then, the smile flashed across his lips once more.
As if they were exchanging hostages, he threw her his Snickers.
"To make a story short, I've been hired by the old man. There are people, muscling in on his turf. He had a man on the inside, knew about them making a delivery into the city today. They don't expect anyone to know, so they keep it low-key. Easy job, maybe a guard or two, big payday. Like taking candy from a deer.
So, I make a note, call the best driver I know, call the second best driver I know, and finally call the only affordable driver I know. We're spending the best part of the evening on the I-95, overtaking trucks and reading their plates.
And then, I can't read my own handwriting. Thought it wouldn't matter if it is a 5 or a 6, what are the odds that there is a truck with a somewhat similar plate's on the street?"
Vince's thumb pointed towards the truck's number plate.
"Yeah, the numbers at the end? Should've been 45, not A6.
So… Driver keeps the car steady…I make the jump at about 50 mp/h, rip the door open. The truck-driver doesn't even goes for a gun, he only pleads for… Blåhaj!"
Well, they probably decided on something else. Vince just had seen a legged shark, helping himself to Vince's ill-gotten candy, and it short-circuited his hard-boiled story about the origin of the truck.
He gave Ash another look, then he gave her a shrug. What could you do?
Unable to ignore the distraction, Vince got on his knees, eying the shark.
"Do you think I can pet…" he asked Ash, before realizing that the creature was carrying a bucket. Chances were, that something that knew how to use tools would understand his words.
"Can I pet you? Wait, you're not really Blåhaj, right? After all, I have no trouble with Swedish furniture retailers… yet. And I don't think, I…"
Vince interrupted himself, as he realized that he fell into puppy-speak when talking to a small, cutesy creature outside of his food-chain. He just extended his hand, letting Jeff decide if he wanted to draw closer or not.
After all, most animals didn't like Vince, due to issues related to said food-chain. Especially dogs were good at recognizing what he was.
Slowly, he relaxed. While he didn't drop his guard entirely, his smile got friendlier, his shoulders slowly lowered.
His body language felt more and more human, and less like an animal circling, probing for weaknesses while hiding their own.
"I wouldn't steal a truck to runaway. It's eye-catching and heavy. I'd go for something small, and fast. A roadster, a motorcycle maybe. Always wanted to drive one."
Vince's eyes followed Ash's every movement as she went for a chocolate bar. Then, the smile flashed across his lips once more.
As if they were exchanging hostages, he threw her his Snickers.
"To make a story short, I've been hired by the old man. There are people, muscling in on his turf. He had a man on the inside, knew about them making a delivery into the city today. They don't expect anyone to know, so they keep it low-key. Easy job, maybe a guard or two, big payday. Like taking candy from a deer.
So, I make a note, call the best driver I know, call the second best driver I know, and finally call the only affordable driver I know. We're spending the best part of the evening on the I-95, overtaking trucks and reading their plates.
And then, I can't read my own handwriting. Thought it wouldn't matter if it is a 5 or a 6, what are the odds that there is a truck with a somewhat similar plate's on the street?"
Vince's thumb pointed towards the truck's number plate.
"Yeah, the numbers at the end? Should've been 45, not A6.
So… Driver keeps the car steady…I make the jump at about 50 mp/h, rip the door open. The truck-driver doesn't even goes for a gun, he only pleads for… Blåhaj!"
Well, they probably decided on something else. Vince just had seen a legged shark, helping himself to Vince's ill-gotten candy, and it short-circuited his hard-boiled story about the origin of the truck.
He gave Ash another look, then he gave her a shrug. What could you do?
Unable to ignore the distraction, Vince got on his knees, eying the shark.
"Do you think I can pet…" he asked Ash, before realizing that the creature was carrying a bucket. Chances were, that something that knew how to use tools would understand his words.
"Can I pet you? Wait, you're not really Blåhaj, right? After all, I have no trouble with Swedish furniture retailers… yet. And I don't think, I…"
Vince interrupted himself, as he realized that he fell into puppy-speak when talking to a small, cutesy creature outside of his food-chain. He just extended his hand, letting Jeff decide if he wanted to draw closer or not.
After all, most animals didn't like Vince, due to issues related to said food-chain. Especially dogs were good at recognizing what he was.
Tires whispered over broken asphalt as Atticus cut through the block, hoodie up, hands in the kangaroo pocket. The night smelled like it always did on this side of town—rain ghosts in the concrete, hot transformer hum, somebody’s late takeout cooling on a windowsill. Over everything lay a wave of sugar and gasoline that hit him halfway down the alley and dragged a crooked grin out of him.
Candy. A lot of it. And trouble, braided right through.
The scene popped into view past a sagging billboard: a black truck stamped MARS in screaming red, streetlight flicker strobing over torn boxes and a carpet of bars underfoot. A woman with the kind of stillness you saw in apex things. A guy with a busted plastic wolf mask pushed to his hairline and the posture of somebody who’d ridden a bad idea all the way to the curb. Between them, a little land shark scooping loot into a jack-o’-lantern bucket like this was perfectly normal Tuesday behavior.
Atti’s step slowed. He breathed in, letting the scents sort themselves: adrenaline fading off the guy, clean leather and metal, wolf-wild beneath the human; the woman edged in steel and rain; chocolate, chocolate, more chocolate. The corner of his mouth kicked higher. “Yo,” he said, boots slipping to a stop at the fringe of the spill. He toed a Milky Way upright with the side of his sneaker. “Halloween came early or someone lost a bet.”
When he spotted Jeff, Atti crouched, forearms on his knees, bringing himself down to the little guy’s level. His voice gentled without losing the street grit. “You eating or shopping, lil’ man?” He tilted a Snickers in offering, then, because he could talk to anything with a spine and a heartbeat, added soft for Jeff alone, “Got a trade for ya if you’re taking requests. One caramel now for a vibe-check in the neighborhood. Any squealy sirens heading our way?”
Whether or not he replied, he rose again, eyes sliding to the truck, then to the masked guy. The math in it—speed, timing, nerve—showed in the dents, the kicked boxes, the bite marks in the story he hadn’t told yet. Bold move. Stupid, too, which was often the same thing when it worked. “Not bad,” Atti said, the compliment easy, like he was talking about a clean break on a pool table. He gestured with the wrapped bar toward the cab and the plate. “You thread that needle off the freeway? Looks like a jump-and-yank. Heavy rig, wrong night, still breathing.” A low whistle slipped out. “Impressive.”
He took a lazy step closer, careful of the candy sea, giving Ash her space with a glance that said he’d clocked her radius and was happy to stay just outside it. Another breath drew the wolf undercurrent again—noted, filed, not a problem unless someone made it one.
“Truck smells like heat,” he went on, tone calm, curious more than nosy. “If you’ve got dance partners on your bumper, I don’t mind the cardio. If you don’t, I’m still not saying no to a per diem in gummies.” His mouth crooked. “What’s the play? Load-out to the neighborhood, or is this a one-night-only candy rain?”
He broke the Snickers in half with a neat snap. One piece dropped to Jeff’s bucket with a thunk—tip for answering him (if he did)—and the other hovered between his fingers as he looked back at the wolf-masked thief. “Name’s Atticus,” he offered, easy as pocket lint, eyes faintly lit with that other, sharper thing he kept on a leash. “Bartender. Runner when it’s fun. If you need hands, say so. If you need me to vanish, I was never here.”
Candy. A lot of it. And trouble, braided right through.
The scene popped into view past a sagging billboard: a black truck stamped MARS in screaming red, streetlight flicker strobing over torn boxes and a carpet of bars underfoot. A woman with the kind of stillness you saw in apex things. A guy with a busted plastic wolf mask pushed to his hairline and the posture of somebody who’d ridden a bad idea all the way to the curb. Between them, a little land shark scooping loot into a jack-o’-lantern bucket like this was perfectly normal Tuesday behavior.
Atti’s step slowed. He breathed in, letting the scents sort themselves: adrenaline fading off the guy, clean leather and metal, wolf-wild beneath the human; the woman edged in steel and rain; chocolate, chocolate, more chocolate. The corner of his mouth kicked higher. “Yo,” he said, boots slipping to a stop at the fringe of the spill. He toed a Milky Way upright with the side of his sneaker. “Halloween came early or someone lost a bet.”
When he spotted Jeff, Atti crouched, forearms on his knees, bringing himself down to the little guy’s level. His voice gentled without losing the street grit. “You eating or shopping, lil’ man?” He tilted a Snickers in offering, then, because he could talk to anything with a spine and a heartbeat, added soft for Jeff alone, “Got a trade for ya if you’re taking requests. One caramel now for a vibe-check in the neighborhood. Any squealy sirens heading our way?”
Whether or not he replied, he rose again, eyes sliding to the truck, then to the masked guy. The math in it—speed, timing, nerve—showed in the dents, the kicked boxes, the bite marks in the story he hadn’t told yet. Bold move. Stupid, too, which was often the same thing when it worked. “Not bad,” Atti said, the compliment easy, like he was talking about a clean break on a pool table. He gestured with the wrapped bar toward the cab and the plate. “You thread that needle off the freeway? Looks like a jump-and-yank. Heavy rig, wrong night, still breathing.” A low whistle slipped out. “Impressive.”
He took a lazy step closer, careful of the candy sea, giving Ash her space with a glance that said he’d clocked her radius and was happy to stay just outside it. Another breath drew the wolf undercurrent again—noted, filed, not a problem unless someone made it one.
“Truck smells like heat,” he went on, tone calm, curious more than nosy. “If you’ve got dance partners on your bumper, I don’t mind the cardio. If you don’t, I’m still not saying no to a per diem in gummies.” His mouth crooked. “What’s the play? Load-out to the neighborhood, or is this a one-night-only candy rain?”
He broke the Snickers in half with a neat snap. One piece dropped to Jeff’s bucket with a thunk—tip for answering him (if he did)—and the other hovered between his fingers as he looked back at the wolf-masked thief. “Name’s Atticus,” he offered, easy as pocket lint, eyes faintly lit with that other, sharper thing he kept on a leash. “Bartender. Runner when it’s fun. If you need hands, say so. If you need me to vanish, I was never here.”
Jeff gently nuzzles against Vince's hand, and then turns to Atticus. "Mrrrr." The noise that Jeff made seemed fairly simple, but it conveyed the understanding that Jeff had not seen any local law enforcement in the area. After filling his trick-or-treating bucket to capacity, Jeff picks the bucket up in his mouth by the handle, and heads off, giving a friendly wave to Vince and the others.
Vincent Jones wrote:
Vince slowly shifted his weight fro side to side, his gaze still entirely hanging on the mysterious women. Her scent held traces of danger. She sounded like she knew. She knew of the rush of the adrenaline.
Slowly, he relaxed. While he didn't drop his guard entirely, his smile got friendlier, his shoulders slowly lowered.
His body language felt more and more human, and less like an animal circling, probing for weaknesses while hiding their own.
"I wouldn't steal a truck to runaway. It's eye-catching and heavy. I'd go for something small, and fast. A roadster, a motorcycle maybe. Always wanted to drive one."
Vince's eyes followed Ash's every movement as she went for a chocolate bar. Then, the smile flashed across his lips once more.
As if they were exchanging hostages, he threw her his Snickers.
"To make a story short, I've been hired by the old man. There are people, muscling in on his turf. He had a man on the inside, knew about them making a delivery into the city today. They don't expect anyone to know, so they keep it low-key. Easy job, maybe a guard or two, big payday. Like taking candy from a deer.
So, I make a note, call the best driver I know, call the second best driver I know, and finally call the only affordable driver I know. We're spending the best part of the evening on the I-95, overtaking trucks and reading their plates.
And then, I can't read my own handwriting. Thought it wouldn't matter if it is a 5 or a 6, what are the odds that there is a truck with a somewhat similar plate's on the street?"
Vince's thumb pointed towards the truck's number plate.
"Yeah, the numbers at the end? Should've been 45, not A6.
So… Driver keeps the car steady…I make the jump at about 50 mp/h, rip the door open. The truck-driver doesn't even goes for a gun, he only pleads for… Blåhaj!"
Well, they probably decided on something else. Vince just had seen a legged shark, helping himself to Vince's ill-gotten candy, and it short-circuited his hard-boiled story about the origin of the truck.
He gave Ash another look, then he gave her a shrug. What could you do?
Unable to ignore the distraction, Vince got on his knees, eying the shark.
"Do you think I can pet…" he asked Ash, before realizing that the creature was carrying a bucket. Chances were, that something that knew how to use tools would understand his words.
"Can I pet you? Wait, you're not really Blåhaj, right? After all, I have no trouble with Swedish furniture retailers… yet. And I don't think, I…"
Vince interrupted himself, as he realized that he fell into puppy-speak when talking to a small, cutesy creature outside of his food-chain. He just extended his hand, letting Jeff decide if he wanted to draw closer or not.
After all, most animals didn't like Vince, due to issues related to said food-chain. Especially dogs were good at recognizing what he was.
Slowly, he relaxed. While he didn't drop his guard entirely, his smile got friendlier, his shoulders slowly lowered.
His body language felt more and more human, and less like an animal circling, probing for weaknesses while hiding their own.
"I wouldn't steal a truck to runaway. It's eye-catching and heavy. I'd go for something small, and fast. A roadster, a motorcycle maybe. Always wanted to drive one."
Vince's eyes followed Ash's every movement as she went for a chocolate bar. Then, the smile flashed across his lips once more.
As if they were exchanging hostages, he threw her his Snickers.
"To make a story short, I've been hired by the old man. There are people, muscling in on his turf. He had a man on the inside, knew about them making a delivery into the city today. They don't expect anyone to know, so they keep it low-key. Easy job, maybe a guard or two, big payday. Like taking candy from a deer.
So, I make a note, call the best driver I know, call the second best driver I know, and finally call the only affordable driver I know. We're spending the best part of the evening on the I-95, overtaking trucks and reading their plates.
And then, I can't read my own handwriting. Thought it wouldn't matter if it is a 5 or a 6, what are the odds that there is a truck with a somewhat similar plate's on the street?"
Vince's thumb pointed towards the truck's number plate.
"Yeah, the numbers at the end? Should've been 45, not A6.
So… Driver keeps the car steady…I make the jump at about 50 mp/h, rip the door open. The truck-driver doesn't even goes for a gun, he only pleads for… Blåhaj!"
Well, they probably decided on something else. Vince just had seen a legged shark, helping himself to Vince's ill-gotten candy, and it short-circuited his hard-boiled story about the origin of the truck.
He gave Ash another look, then he gave her a shrug. What could you do?
Unable to ignore the distraction, Vince got on his knees, eying the shark.
"Do you think I can pet…" he asked Ash, before realizing that the creature was carrying a bucket. Chances were, that something that knew how to use tools would understand his words.
"Can I pet you? Wait, you're not really Blåhaj, right? After all, I have no trouble with Swedish furniture retailers… yet. And I don't think, I…"
Vince interrupted himself, as he realized that he fell into puppy-speak when talking to a small, cutesy creature outside of his food-chain. He just extended his hand, letting Jeff decide if he wanted to draw closer or not.
After all, most animals didn't like Vince, due to issues related to said food-chain. Especially dogs were good at recognizing what he was.
Ash watched him carefully, every word he spoke measured against the rhythm of his heartbeat, the scent of his adrenaline fading from sharp to steady. He was reckless—stupidly so—but there was something almost disarming in the way he owned it. Her gaze flicked to the red Mars logo, then back to him as he explained his botched heist. “So you risked your life for the wrong damn truck,” she said, voice low, unimpressed yet faintly amused. “You realize how insane that sounds, right?” The corners of her mouth tugged into the ghost of a smirk. “Guess that makes two of us.”
When the little shark appeared, Ash blinked, thrown completely off guard. The creature’s soft padding across the pavement broke the tension in a way nothing else could have. She muttered under her breath, “You hijack a truck, and the universe rewards you with a plush toy sidekick.” Despite herself, her shoulders loosened, the wolf beneath her skin easing its restless prowl. Watching Vince kneel and offer his hand to the odd little creature stirred something buried—something almost tender.
She stepped closer, crouching beside him, her golden eyes reflecting the weak glow of the streetlights. “Careful,” she murmured, her tone softer now but still edged with warning. “Most animals can sense what you are… and they don’t like it.” Her gaze lingered on him, reading more than she should’ve. “But maybe this one’s smarter than most.” After a pause, she allowed the faintest flicker of warmth to cross her face. “And for the record—you tell a good story for a man who can’t read his own handwriting.”
"I hand out candy and the universe rewards me with a plushy sidekick."
Vince smiled. He ntended to give Jeff a quick rub behind his ears. Did sharks have ears? He found none, so he just patted the land-shark's head.
His eyes moved over to the newcomer.
This turned into werwolf-central fast. No wonder, the moon was waxing, and they all just couldn't help chasing cars.
"Vince." he introduced himself. After a quick look over his shoulder, towards the damaged truck, he added "…Freelancer."
He gave both his guests a nod as he rose to his feet.
Jeff, on the other hand, got one last wave. It was always good to have a shark as a lookout, even if just for a while.
"Always happy to find an animal that doesn't hate me."
He muttered to himself, before returning his attention to the rest.
"So, I risked my life for the wrong truck." he confirmed for Ash, and summarized for Att. "And I even thought, moving contraband in a Mars truck during Halloween, that is smart. Real-life Breaking Bad stuf.
Thought it was a shame to let it go to waste. Grew up in a place like this, thought at least some kids could have candy."
A shrug.
"If you get a job like that, you're personal responsible to deliver, so the old man thinks I'm owing him… I don't know how much, it doesn't matter. More money than I'll ever be able to pay.
I haven't reported yet, so I hope to have at least tonight."
A smart man would've used the time to get out of town, but he wouldn't be able to play Robin Hood. Also, no one could accuse Vince of being smart Being allowed to pet a land-shark alone had made it worth it.
"If some dance-partners show up early, I don't mind sharing the dance-floor. I'm in no position to say no to friends, and you two seem cool."
It almost felt too easy. Was that what humans felt among each other? They just got along? The idea felt almost alien to Vince.
"…although I can only pay you in candy bars. And a truck without papers, if anyone is interested.
The plan is… yeah, nice of you to assume there was one. Right now, I just wanted to get that candy to someone who can use it. Send some joy for the one festival that is for people like us. See how things are in the morning."
Vince smiled. He ntended to give Jeff a quick rub behind his ears. Did sharks have ears? He found none, so he just patted the land-shark's head.
His eyes moved over to the newcomer.
This turned into werwolf-central fast. No wonder, the moon was waxing, and they all just couldn't help chasing cars.
"Vince." he introduced himself. After a quick look over his shoulder, towards the damaged truck, he added "…Freelancer."
He gave both his guests a nod as he rose to his feet.
Jeff, on the other hand, got one last wave. It was always good to have a shark as a lookout, even if just for a while.
"Always happy to find an animal that doesn't hate me."
He muttered to himself, before returning his attention to the rest.
"So, I risked my life for the wrong truck." he confirmed for Ash, and summarized for Att. "And I even thought, moving contraband in a Mars truck during Halloween, that is smart. Real-life Breaking Bad stuf.
Thought it was a shame to let it go to waste. Grew up in a place like this, thought at least some kids could have candy."
A shrug.
"If you get a job like that, you're personal responsible to deliver, so the old man thinks I'm owing him… I don't know how much, it doesn't matter. More money than I'll ever be able to pay.
I haven't reported yet, so I hope to have at least tonight."
A smart man would've used the time to get out of town, but he wouldn't be able to play Robin Hood. Also, no one could accuse Vince of being smart Being allowed to pet a land-shark alone had made it worth it.
"If some dance-partners show up early, I don't mind sharing the dance-floor. I'm in no position to say no to friends, and you two seem cool."
It almost felt too easy. Was that what humans felt among each other? They just got along? The idea felt almost alien to Vince.
"…although I can only pay you in candy bars. And a truck without papers, if anyone is interested.
The plan is… yeah, nice of you to assume there was one. Right now, I just wanted to get that candy to someone who can use it. Send some joy for the one festival that is for people like us. See how things are in the morning."
Astrid hadn't planned to be out that night. If fact, she planned to go bother a certain someone instead. But he wasn't in his apartment and soon after that, Luke wanted to go for a walk. Why at this awful hour was anyone's guess. The golden retriever, all too happily, led the way down the barely lit streets. Every shadow felt like it had eyes as hers glanced around cautiously. Maybe it was paranoia or something. A flicker here, another there. Shadows danced like fiends tonight it seemed. 'Keep it together.' A silent, internal reminder. The dog park was almost within range but then there was a scent that the breeze carried as it rustled through leaves overhead. It had her stop dead in her tracks and slowly look around. Clad in nothing but a zip-up sweater, long-sleeved shirt, jeans and sneakers—Astrid knew this aroma.
Hazel eyes rolled as a faint huff of breath came out. Of course he'd be out here. Of all places! Head tilted back, eyes closed—maybe a bit of annoyance. Or maybe it was relief she'd found his scent to track? Whatever the case was, she looked down at Luke who had sat his fluffy butt down on the pavement and seemed to stare at her. "Yeah, I know. I smell him too." Her canine companion growled almost playfully—his fluffy tail began to wag. An inward groan echoed in her mind, but she started to walk again. This time, the trail of her boyfriend's scent led her toward another part of the town she hadn't quite explored yet. Idly she pondered what tricks he was up to now? It was Halloween night and there was the aroma of candy on the breeze. Okay honestly? Maybe some chocolates would be nice.
As long as it didn't have coconut in it. She hated the flavor of shredded coconut. Or...well...correction, anything with coconut in it! Maybe there was some nice snickers candy bar she could snag? A mental note to get Luke a little treat was noted and placed neatly within her sharp mind. The wind was a bit chilly, but that's what the sweater was for. Deep brunette hair looked black against the barely lit streets. Occasionally a car would ease on by like it couldn't make up it's mind whether to stop or continue to roll along. Sneakers crunched faintly against the cracked sidewalk and for about ten minutes she walked further and further into unfamiliar territory. Her boyfriend's scent got stronger, but so did something else. Wolves. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as eyes began to glow orange. Steps picked up slightly in speed as she rounded one corner, then another...
Crap! Please tell me you're not in trouble or so help me I'll... Oh. As she caught sight of Atticus and two figures, it didn't look like a fight. If anything, it looked relatively peaceful. She let out the breath that had been held without realization and slowed her steps. Luke barked and dragged the woman along so the canine could jump up with paws on the man's chest. Astrid looked between the two strangers but otherwise kept a neutral expression as she cautiously approached more toward her boyfriend than anyone else. If he turned toward her, then the first thing out of her mouth was, "Are you trying to get into someone's window again?" An attempt at a dry joke. But a reference to how they met as there was a slight smirk in the corner of her lips. Would he catch it? Maybe! Gaze traveled between the two strangers as she gave a polite nod to acknowledge them both. Though her eyes did spy some candy from the boxes.
Hazel eyes rolled as a faint huff of breath came out. Of course he'd be out here. Of all places! Head tilted back, eyes closed—maybe a bit of annoyance. Or maybe it was relief she'd found his scent to track? Whatever the case was, she looked down at Luke who had sat his fluffy butt down on the pavement and seemed to stare at her. "Yeah, I know. I smell him too." Her canine companion growled almost playfully—his fluffy tail began to wag. An inward groan echoed in her mind, but she started to walk again. This time, the trail of her boyfriend's scent led her toward another part of the town she hadn't quite explored yet. Idly she pondered what tricks he was up to now? It was Halloween night and there was the aroma of candy on the breeze. Okay honestly? Maybe some chocolates would be nice.
As long as it didn't have coconut in it. She hated the flavor of shredded coconut. Or...well...correction, anything with coconut in it! Maybe there was some nice snickers candy bar she could snag? A mental note to get Luke a little treat was noted and placed neatly within her sharp mind. The wind was a bit chilly, but that's what the sweater was for. Deep brunette hair looked black against the barely lit streets. Occasionally a car would ease on by like it couldn't make up it's mind whether to stop or continue to roll along. Sneakers crunched faintly against the cracked sidewalk and for about ten minutes she walked further and further into unfamiliar territory. Her boyfriend's scent got stronger, but so did something else. Wolves. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as eyes began to glow orange. Steps picked up slightly in speed as she rounded one corner, then another...
Crap! Please tell me you're not in trouble or so help me I'll... Oh. As she caught sight of Atticus and two figures, it didn't look like a fight. If anything, it looked relatively peaceful. She let out the breath that had been held without realization and slowed her steps. Luke barked and dragged the woman along so the canine could jump up with paws on the man's chest. Astrid looked between the two strangers but otherwise kept a neutral expression as she cautiously approached more toward her boyfriend than anyone else. If he turned toward her, then the first thing out of her mouth was, "Are you trying to get into someone's window again?" An attempt at a dry joke. But a reference to how they met as there was a slight smirk in the corner of her lips. Would he catch it? Maybe! Gaze traveled between the two strangers as she gave a polite nod to acknowledge them both. Though her eyes did spy some candy from the boxes.
A low hum slipped out of Atticus as Vince finished, a sound halfway between a laugh and approval. “Yeah, I get it,” he said, flicking a wrapped candy bar between his fingers. “Sometimes you just gotta turn a mistake into something worth remembering.” He was about to add something else. Maybe a quip, maybe a half-serious offer to help move the truck when a familiar scent caught the edge of his breath.
Jasmine. Cashmere woods. A hint of ambergris that settled under his tongue like memory.
His head turned before his mind did, the world narrowing until the shapes down the street sharpened into her—long stride, dark hair, the golden blur of Luke bounding ahead of her. The grin that rose on his face was automatic, the sort of reflex no amount of street living could beat out of him. Luke reached him first, all paws and tail and happy chaos, the weight of him thudding against Atticus’s chest. He caught the dog’s collar with a laugh. “There’s my boy. Hey, hey, easy—missed you too, yeah?” He scratched behind the retriever’s ear, earning a satisfied huff.
Astrid’s voice came next—sharp as ever, the tease in it unmistakable. He looked up at her, brows lifting in mock offense. “If I hadn’t broken into your apartment by accident,” he stressed, though the smirk gave him away, “then I never would’ve met my girlfriend and my good boy here. So really, you should be thanking my criminal tendencies.”
He rose, brushing dog hair from his hoodie, the grin still there as he gestured between them all. “Vince, Ash—this is Astrid, my better half, and Luke, the only creature in the city who can out-run me for snacks.” He gave the retriever one last affectionate pat before glancing back toward the others, the humor still in his tone. “Guess the gang’s all here. You two were just in time to see my reputation improve.”
Atticus’s hand lingered on Luke’s head a moment longer before he straightened, the easy grin still tugging at one corner of his mouth. He turned his attention back to Vince and Ash, eyes glinting faintly beneath the streetlight’s flicker. “Alright, I’ve got a plan then,” he said, voice carrying that low, steady cadence that always made his ideas sound half-crazy but strangely practical. “I’ll stick around, help you hand these bars out. It’s not like they wouldn’t be put to use anyway.”
He crouched near one of the ripped-open boxes, fingers brushing through the scattered candy like a poker player testing a deck. “I know an orphanage a few blocks from here. Been there a few times. They’d be more than happy to take the rest off your hands. Once they do, we can have the kids and staff help pass the extras around the neighborhood. Make more people’s night while we’re at it.”
Rising again, Atti leaned a shoulder against the truck’s side, looking back to Vince. “How does that sound?” he asked, tone light but sincere. “I even know someone who’d take the truck off your hands. He’s a bit more than a car mechanic. He’s a real wizard with engines. He’ll fix it up, sell it clean, and I’ll get the cash to you.”
A small shrug followed, casual but genuine. “I don’t mind, though. If you don’t want the money, I can make sure it goes somewhere that does some good. Up to you, man.”
Atticus’s gaze flicked toward Vince, his earlier words echoing. “Freelancer.” Yeah, he knew what that meant. It was the kind of life where you traded time and risk for a shot at breathing easy for one more night. He’d been there. Still was, in a way.
He ran a thumb along the edge of a candy wrapper, watching the reflection of the streetlight dance across the foil.
When he finally quit drifting job to job, he’d landed behind a bar at a steakhouse downtown. Nothing fancy at first. Just long hours, clinking glassware, and drunks who swore they’d seen God at the bottom of a bourbon glass. But he’d stuck with it. Turns out, when your clientele wore Rolexes and carried black cards, a charming smile and steady pour could buy more than rent. High tips, easy small talk, and a steady stream of loose wallets are ripe opportunities for someone with light fingers and good timing.
Astrid hadn’t been thrilled when she found out about the side hustle. Her look could’ve curdled glass. Still, when he told her it was to pay off his debt and that it kept collectors off his back, she’d let it slide. She always had a knack for knowing when he was bluffing, and when he wasn’t.
Besides, the food there was damn good. Ribeyes that melted like butter, garlic mashed potatoes smooth enough to make you believe in God again. Sometimes he’d swipe a plate for himself. A steak sandwich, maybe a few shrimp skewers wrapped in foil for the walk home. He’d joke about it like it was another one of his schemes, slipping through the back door with a grin and a hot meal. His gaze lifted back to the group, an easy shrug rolling off his shoulders as if the memories were nothing but background noise. The truth was, it wasn’t far from what Vince was doing now when it was about taking something broken, a little wrong, and making it work.
“Guess we’ve all freelanced one way or another,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, before his eyes softened toward Astrid and Luke again. “At least now I get to clock in somewhere that doesn’t end with a police report.”
His grin returned, crooked but real. “Most nights, anyway.”
Jasmine. Cashmere woods. A hint of ambergris that settled under his tongue like memory.
His head turned before his mind did, the world narrowing until the shapes down the street sharpened into her—long stride, dark hair, the golden blur of Luke bounding ahead of her. The grin that rose on his face was automatic, the sort of reflex no amount of street living could beat out of him. Luke reached him first, all paws and tail and happy chaos, the weight of him thudding against Atticus’s chest. He caught the dog’s collar with a laugh. “There’s my boy. Hey, hey, easy—missed you too, yeah?” He scratched behind the retriever’s ear, earning a satisfied huff.
Astrid’s voice came next—sharp as ever, the tease in it unmistakable. He looked up at her, brows lifting in mock offense. “If I hadn’t broken into your apartment by accident,” he stressed, though the smirk gave him away, “then I never would’ve met my girlfriend and my good boy here. So really, you should be thanking my criminal tendencies.”
He rose, brushing dog hair from his hoodie, the grin still there as he gestured between them all. “Vince, Ash—this is Astrid, my better half, and Luke, the only creature in the city who can out-run me for snacks.” He gave the retriever one last affectionate pat before glancing back toward the others, the humor still in his tone. “Guess the gang’s all here. You two were just in time to see my reputation improve.”
Atticus’s hand lingered on Luke’s head a moment longer before he straightened, the easy grin still tugging at one corner of his mouth. He turned his attention back to Vince and Ash, eyes glinting faintly beneath the streetlight’s flicker. “Alright, I’ve got a plan then,” he said, voice carrying that low, steady cadence that always made his ideas sound half-crazy but strangely practical. “I’ll stick around, help you hand these bars out. It’s not like they wouldn’t be put to use anyway.”
He crouched near one of the ripped-open boxes, fingers brushing through the scattered candy like a poker player testing a deck. “I know an orphanage a few blocks from here. Been there a few times. They’d be more than happy to take the rest off your hands. Once they do, we can have the kids and staff help pass the extras around the neighborhood. Make more people’s night while we’re at it.”
Rising again, Atti leaned a shoulder against the truck’s side, looking back to Vince. “How does that sound?” he asked, tone light but sincere. “I even know someone who’d take the truck off your hands. He’s a bit more than a car mechanic. He’s a real wizard with engines. He’ll fix it up, sell it clean, and I’ll get the cash to you.”
A small shrug followed, casual but genuine. “I don’t mind, though. If you don’t want the money, I can make sure it goes somewhere that does some good. Up to you, man.”
Atticus’s gaze flicked toward Vince, his earlier words echoing. “Freelancer.” Yeah, he knew what that meant. It was the kind of life where you traded time and risk for a shot at breathing easy for one more night. He’d been there. Still was, in a way.
He ran a thumb along the edge of a candy wrapper, watching the reflection of the streetlight dance across the foil.
When he finally quit drifting job to job, he’d landed behind a bar at a steakhouse downtown. Nothing fancy at first. Just long hours, clinking glassware, and drunks who swore they’d seen God at the bottom of a bourbon glass. But he’d stuck with it. Turns out, when your clientele wore Rolexes and carried black cards, a charming smile and steady pour could buy more than rent. High tips, easy small talk, and a steady stream of loose wallets are ripe opportunities for someone with light fingers and good timing.
Astrid hadn’t been thrilled when she found out about the side hustle. Her look could’ve curdled glass. Still, when he told her it was to pay off his debt and that it kept collectors off his back, she’d let it slide. She always had a knack for knowing when he was bluffing, and when he wasn’t.
Besides, the food there was damn good. Ribeyes that melted like butter, garlic mashed potatoes smooth enough to make you believe in God again. Sometimes he’d swipe a plate for himself. A steak sandwich, maybe a few shrimp skewers wrapped in foil for the walk home. He’d joke about it like it was another one of his schemes, slipping through the back door with a grin and a hot meal. His gaze lifted back to the group, an easy shrug rolling off his shoulders as if the memories were nothing but background noise. The truth was, it wasn’t far from what Vince was doing now when it was about taking something broken, a little wrong, and making it work.
“Guess we’ve all freelanced one way or another,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, before his eyes softened toward Astrid and Luke again. “At least now I get to clock in somewhere that doesn’t end with a police report.”
His grin returned, crooked but real. “Most nights, anyway.”
The streetlights glinted as blades slowly began to extend outward - jagged, stained, swishing ominously. Beneath the cowl of shiny, oil-black hair, ashed lips curled at the corner, revealing sharpened canines underneath.
And then Todd threw his head back, and his red optics briefly flared, sizing up the scene before him. The truck, the candies scattered all over. And most importantly, oh... the people.
He wasn't interested in candies, or in the commercial aspect of trick or treating. And no one with half a working brain cell had ever been foolish enough to trick or treat his salon - probably aware that there'd be no way in hell they would leave, not in one piece, that is.
But unnerving people? Scaring people? That was exactly his idea of fun. Even a killer barber who looked like the unholy offspring of a lawnmower and a meat grinder deserved a treat, now and then....
"Well well well well..." He grinned at the company of misfits that he had just come across. "Don't you all look like you could use a haircut." The ghoulish glee in his voice would have given goosebumps to the dead. "Which shall it be... trick", the blades at his hands sheated out with a sickening metallic sound, "... or treat?"
And then Todd threw his head back, and his red optics briefly flared, sizing up the scene before him. The truck, the candies scattered all over. And most importantly, oh... the people.
He wasn't interested in candies, or in the commercial aspect of trick or treating. And no one with half a working brain cell had ever been foolish enough to trick or treat his salon - probably aware that there'd be no way in hell they would leave, not in one piece, that is.
But unnerving people? Scaring people? That was exactly his idea of fun. Even a killer barber who looked like the unholy offspring of a lawnmower and a meat grinder deserved a treat, now and then....
"Well well well well..." He grinned at the company of misfits that he had just come across. "Don't you all look like you could use a haircut." The ghoulish glee in his voice would have given goosebumps to the dead. "Which shall it be... trick", the blades at his hands sheated out with a sickening metallic sound, "... or treat?"
@mainly Astrid/Atticus
Werewolf-central did have a lot check-ins recently.
Vince fought down the suspicion that karma might be something tangible. He started doing one good thing, and the universe rewarded him with not one, but two petable things.
He gave Luke a curious look.
"Is he acclimated to werewolves?" Vince dared to hope.
For a moment, the mask slipped, and the man that highjacked the truck wasn't the fearless devil-may-care person. Although, it really wasn't the mask that had slipped (figuratively): it was the wolf had slipped, giving a glimpse at the person Vince might've been without the curse.
To be fair, without the curse Vince would most likely be dead.
Vince slowly extended his hand towards the dog, his body language questioning.
Ah, yeah, there were also people that weren't dogs around. Vince turned to Astrid, tipping his forehead with two fingers. "Vince. Third fastest creature around when it comes to snacks."
As if to put money where his mouth was, he picked up a snickers, threw it in the air and caught it like he was a showy gunslinger handling a revolver.
The he threw Astrid the Snickers bar. "Mi casa es tu casa."
He turned back to Luke, and his designated carrier (aka Atticus).
The later one seemed like he had ideas.
"Big fan of orphanages. Sometimes feel like I owe 'em one. Also, I better run out of candy, before I run out of self control. I'm in. And yeah, I don't care about the money, I'm just glad I've got rid of the biggest piece of evidence to ever evidence"
…wait a minute, Halloween meant that it was almost a new month. The time when the worst of all monsters reared it's ugly faces: the local landlord.
"…scratch that, I can use the money right now." Vince admitted.
@Todd
Before Vince could start a deep discussion about the nature of modern street-mercenaries, there was a new contender. Vince slowly turned his head towards the pair of glowing red eyes that slowly pealed themselves out of the shadow.
"Hey, that is a real cool cosplay, although I haven't seen the show." he admitted. "You even got the smell right, almost no one is able to… oh."
Oh.
Vince tilted his head. That might be the real deal. Only in Rustport, man.
As someone who had knives for hand at least three days a month and hair to spare, he wasn't especially afraid of the creature, although he also didn't exactly sneer at it either. That was some serious blades with some serious hardware backing them up.
"I've got treat's to spare, so option 2."
Blindly, he grabbed a pile of candy from a nearby box and threw the selection at Todd, Shotgun style.
Werewolf-central did have a lot check-ins recently.
Vince fought down the suspicion that karma might be something tangible. He started doing one good thing, and the universe rewarded him with not one, but two petable things.
He gave Luke a curious look.
"Is he acclimated to werewolves?" Vince dared to hope.
For a moment, the mask slipped, and the man that highjacked the truck wasn't the fearless devil-may-care person. Although, it really wasn't the mask that had slipped (figuratively): it was the wolf had slipped, giving a glimpse at the person Vince might've been without the curse.
To be fair, without the curse Vince would most likely be dead.
Vince slowly extended his hand towards the dog, his body language questioning.
Ah, yeah, there were also people that weren't dogs around. Vince turned to Astrid, tipping his forehead with two fingers. "Vince. Third fastest creature around when it comes to snacks."
As if to put money where his mouth was, he picked up a snickers, threw it in the air and caught it like he was a showy gunslinger handling a revolver.
The he threw Astrid the Snickers bar. "Mi casa es tu casa."
He turned back to Luke, and his designated carrier (aka Atticus).
The later one seemed like he had ideas.
"Big fan of orphanages. Sometimes feel like I owe 'em one. Also, I better run out of candy, before I run out of self control. I'm in. And yeah, I don't care about the money, I'm just glad I've got rid of the biggest piece of evidence to ever evidence"
…wait a minute, Halloween meant that it was almost a new month. The time when the worst of all monsters reared it's ugly faces: the local landlord.
"…scratch that, I can use the money right now." Vince admitted.
@Todd
Before Vince could start a deep discussion about the nature of modern street-mercenaries, there was a new contender. Vince slowly turned his head towards the pair of glowing red eyes that slowly pealed themselves out of the shadow.
"Hey, that is a real cool cosplay, although I haven't seen the show." he admitted. "You even got the smell right, almost no one is able to… oh."
Oh.
Vince tilted his head. That might be the real deal. Only in Rustport, man.
As someone who had knives for hand at least three days a month and hair to spare, he wasn't especially afraid of the creature, although he also didn't exactly sneer at it either. That was some serious blades with some serious hardware backing them up.
"I've got treat's to spare, so option 2."
Blindly, he grabbed a pile of candy from a nearby box and threw the selection at Todd, Shotgun style.
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