Laurel Hill Springs

Mountains covered in trees outside of of town, around 6 pm, Tuesday the 30th, July 2024. Waning crescent, cloudy.

Open, but… please no more than three people, and if possible, at least one post per day would be nice.
Trigger warnings: Foul language, Violence, Vince.
One day after What happens in the woods…

Vince was out in the woods once more. This time he had opted not to ask local for directions, but just to walk out to search a secluded spot. He hoped for an empty mine, a cave, or at least a place where he could try his new toys.
The creek had turned out to be the wrong kind of place. With so many people running around, it might as well be a tourist attraction, and Vince still looked for his own little spot.

After that enlightened talk with Mr. Dewell (Vince couldn't believe that guy with that surname didn't own a store called "Needful Things") the former Pepsi-cans he had stored in the many pockets of his jacket were filled with a new and improved formula.
This one was really bad for your teeth, as they still were basically pipebombs.

Vince also had brought a small backpack, so he had at least one back-up set of clothes. Maybe some Nazis tried to kill him again, and he would have to dress up in new clothes once again. One could but hope. At least the old batik shirt he wore was expendable, although Vince liked the colors.
Or at least he would, as soon as he ate the muffins he brought along for food and recreational purposes.

He felt like a true survival expert, which was better than to face the truth: he was aimlessly wandering through the forst. By now the terrain bellow him was rocky and uneven, and the big mountains were hard to miss, so he knew he was walking in roughly the right direction, although he had lost any sense of direction.
He sang some song from his old band, Bestial Intercourse, about the joys of being drunk, driving off most animals, as he went on and on.

Finally, Vince found something.
It was a lake, just being peaceful and calm.
Time to change that. Vince pulled out one of the Pepsi-cans. Mindlessly he threw it up in the air and caught it, again and again, as he walked around the lake.
He sniffed out the environment as he followed the stream that fed the lake for a bit. He couldn't smell any animal around, but just to be sure he let out his most aggressive growling.
That usually did the trick. His newly captured lighter really bet the gasstation one - the flame came alive without a hitch, taking to the fuse of his homemade explosive with a sizzle.
Just in this moment, the mindless werewolf dropped the bomb. Butterfingers!
It fell to the ground, bounced off his shoes and rolled into the tiny river. Vince blinked.
Water should extinguish the fuse, right?
He leaned over to get a look into the stream, proofing once and for all, that anyone who called werewolves the pinnacle of evolution, Darwin's perfect warriors, actually never met Vince.

“Hey, dummy!” A raspy voice echoed through the clearing. The young woman stood amongst the beech and pine trees, wearin’ a too-large wife beater and some grayed skivvies. Her legs from the knees down were spattered in muck and her feet were bare, besides the caked dirt.

She waited patiently to see if he twisted to look at her in time to avoid having his face blown off by a geyser of water and explosives.

Sally Bones had been following the weird man for about a quarter of a mile now, having caught wind of him while out hunting some little fuzzy things. Just watching, seeing what he’d do or where he’d go. She hadn’t… expected this to be the destination.

“Y’know, most decent-folk tryn’a off themselves use one’a these,” Sally informed with an air of superiority, while lifting the shotgun she carried in her right hand.