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I'm rootless
Who: Malia Tate, Damon Salvatore, Marie D'Ancanto, and an open starter!
Where: Wayward Pines Academy, S&D Automotive, It's Raining Hen, Weaver's, around town
When: May 8 - May 14
What: School times. A full moon. Living life around town.
Warnings: Werecoyote shifting and such in the thread with Damon. Will update as necessary, otherwise.
Work your fingers to the bone, building castles out of snow
May 8. For Marie. After class.
[ School isn't her strong suit, and Malia doesn't think twice about that. It's her reality.
She's heard a lot of sayings about how much Mondays suck, but it's always been another day of the week to her. Maybe because she skips classes so often? Ha. Anyway, this Monday has her attending a class she's been to only a few times (really, will she ever even graduate at this rate?!)
The class, European History, lags on with each detail about the Industrial Revolution that she tries to absorb. She's the final student still sitting as class finishes, to have not gathered up her notebook and book, giving the pages in front of herself a blink of confusion before she finally closes it. Maybe she'd understand more if not for a nagging set of nerves that had her ducking her hands just under the desk to hide the dark claws that popped out, at will (thanks to the soon to emerge, upon the town, full moon.) Ugh. Maybe. She holds the book, still slightly open, fingers of one hand holding her place as she stands to move up to the front of the room, looking at her teacher. ]
I don't get any of this. Or, why it's important. [ Says the student who's...barely ever there. ] Why does steam-powered anything matter, when we don't use it anymore? [ Oh, Malia. ]
I'm a nomad walking on, humming to the same old song
May 9-10. For Damon. In the basement of the school.
[ Malia still hates full moons. With all her memories back, she can't help but go back to when she had her anchor, when she was a part of Scott's pack. When she was in the somehow safer feeling boundaries of Beacon Hills. Now, though, being controlled by the moon again has become routine for her. Upsetting as expected, and enlisting the help of someone outside the circle of what should be familiar could be dangerous. But, Damon knows that. They've been over it, and she won't fault him for doing what he needs to, if it comes to that. Otherwise, she won't risk anyone who isn't resilient -- especially not people from home.
Maybe it won't boil down to becoming a dire situation. She's kept herself secure each month, several chains fashioned, complete with loops that serve as shackles and this metal collar, for the circumstances at hand. Secured to metal hooks that Malia didn't try to determine the actual use of: they were there, that's all she needed to know.
Getting to the school earlier than she regularly would, wanting to be sure to be ready to go for Damon's presence -- she's taking his safety as seriously as her own, not wanting one of the people she can actually trust to die -- she lingers in the hallways until she creeps down to the basement, to the small boiler room. It has a heavy door, opposite the wall where she keeps the chain setup. A stop at a closet where she stores the chains before heading in, tossing the chains down, eyeing the wall with its small section of metal that holds those hooks in place, scratches along its surface. Oops?
She knows there are cameras everywhere too, but what do you want, Sheriff? To bring a werecoyote there, and then have them run around in town slaughtering people? No, this way works, and so far, she hasn't had anyone reveal that they know she's been down there.
She works to set up the chains, intending on hanging around in the hours prior to the first effects of the full moon, those tingles of rage indicating a buildup to a lack of control that she's so familiar with. When those happen, into the hours of the night, that's when she'll get herself chained in. It's how she's assuming she'll be when Damon gets there, although, she's not sure how early he plans to be, either... ]
Lower case society, tied to no community
May 11-May 14. OPEN + for Percy. Wayward Pines Academy. It's Raining Hen. S&D Automotive. Streets.
[ Another month, another full moon down. Malia lives there in town, tries to do more than merely exist.
Moon already starting to wane the tiniest bit, she feels refreshed from the 10th and into the 11th. That Thursday, she intends to attend her classes. Really, but. Instead, she sees a poster. Similar to ones posted before, about some missing guy, but the text is different. Staring at it outside of French's, she speaks to no one in particular. ] What's with this? How would they even know that [ that he's more dangerous ] if they're still trying to find him? [ Punching holes in yo logic, Wayward Pines.
That distracts her enough to scout around right in town for a bit, deciding to not head off for the woods. Seems more like an activity that should be done with a buddy, those days.
On Friday, after she attends all of her classes (truly an achievement!), art, European History, industrial arts, English, phys ed, and some science with a lab that had her staring out a window most of the time, she stops to get a quick bite of super nutritious fast food chicken before gravitating toward S&D Automotive. She has no reason to drop in on Damon, would wave and smile if she saw him, but she thinks she spots an unfamiliar form in the building. Naturally, she approaches, head tilting as she does. Did he just drop something, or is someone else in there working too? ] Hello? [ A little cautious, but also loud enough that whoever it is should be able to hear. ]
[ Her weekend brings shifts at Weaver's, taking up the position of a waitress and helper at the bar since Damon and Eliot are better at making drinks than she is. Somehow ordered drinks and food make it to your table -- and she's not even that gruff! Maybe working for a bit has naturally elevated her very minimal customer service skills?
Sunday evening (Mother's Day? what? not even) as she's walking home, she passes by the animal shelter she's never actually been into. She can hear quiet purrs, the occasional cat chatter between the felines within its walls: she doesn't care one way or another about domesticated cats, to be honest. Stopping for a moment results in looking down to see a cat emerge from some bushes, and it...follows her. Frowning, she turns and looks at it, the animal grooming itself in the mild enough air of the night. Moving again, she realizes it still trails after her, and she abruptly stops, hands coming out at her sides. ] What do you want?! [ Talking to a cat out of frustration. In the middle of the street. Yep. ]
Where: Wayward Pines Academy, S&D Automotive, It's Raining Hen, Weaver's, around town
When: May 8 - May 14
What: School times. A full moon. Living life around town.
Warnings: Werecoyote shifting and such in the thread with Damon. Will update as necessary, otherwise.
Work your fingers to the bone, building castles out of snow
May 8. For Marie. After class.
[ School isn't her strong suit, and Malia doesn't think twice about that. It's her reality.
She's heard a lot of sayings about how much Mondays suck, but it's always been another day of the week to her. Maybe because she skips classes so often? Ha. Anyway, this Monday has her attending a class she's been to only a few times (really, will she ever even graduate at this rate?!)
The class, European History, lags on with each detail about the Industrial Revolution that she tries to absorb. She's the final student still sitting as class finishes, to have not gathered up her notebook and book, giving the pages in front of herself a blink of confusion before she finally closes it. Maybe she'd understand more if not for a nagging set of nerves that had her ducking her hands just under the desk to hide the dark claws that popped out, at will (thanks to the soon to emerge, upon the town, full moon.) Ugh. Maybe. She holds the book, still slightly open, fingers of one hand holding her place as she stands to move up to the front of the room, looking at her teacher. ]
I don't get any of this. Or, why it's important. [ Says the student who's...barely ever there. ] Why does steam-powered anything matter, when we don't use it anymore? [ Oh, Malia. ]
I'm a nomad walking on, humming to the same old song
May 9-10. For Damon. In the basement of the school.
[ Malia still hates full moons. With all her memories back, she can't help but go back to when she had her anchor, when she was a part of Scott's pack. When she was in the somehow safer feeling boundaries of Beacon Hills. Now, though, being controlled by the moon again has become routine for her. Upsetting as expected, and enlisting the help of someone outside the circle of what should be familiar could be dangerous. But, Damon knows that. They've been over it, and she won't fault him for doing what he needs to, if it comes to that. Otherwise, she won't risk anyone who isn't resilient -- especially not people from home.
Maybe it won't boil down to becoming a dire situation. She's kept herself secure each month, several chains fashioned, complete with loops that serve as shackles and this metal collar, for the circumstances at hand. Secured to metal hooks that Malia didn't try to determine the actual use of: they were there, that's all she needed to know.
Getting to the school earlier than she regularly would, wanting to be sure to be ready to go for Damon's presence -- she's taking his safety as seriously as her own, not wanting one of the people she can actually trust to die -- she lingers in the hallways until she creeps down to the basement, to the small boiler room. It has a heavy door, opposite the wall where she keeps the chain setup. A stop at a closet where she stores the chains before heading in, tossing the chains down, eyeing the wall with its small section of metal that holds those hooks in place, scratches along its surface. Oops?
She knows there are cameras everywhere too, but what do you want, Sheriff? To bring a werecoyote there, and then have them run around in town slaughtering people? No, this way works, and so far, she hasn't had anyone reveal that they know she's been down there.
She works to set up the chains, intending on hanging around in the hours prior to the first effects of the full moon, those tingles of rage indicating a buildup to a lack of control that she's so familiar with. When those happen, into the hours of the night, that's when she'll get herself chained in. It's how she's assuming she'll be when Damon gets there, although, she's not sure how early he plans to be, either... ]
Lower case society, tied to no community
May 11-May 14. OPEN + for Percy. Wayward Pines Academy. It's Raining Hen. S&D Automotive. Streets.
[ Another month, another full moon down. Malia lives there in town, tries to do more than merely exist.
Moon already starting to wane the tiniest bit, she feels refreshed from the 10th and into the 11th. That Thursday, she intends to attend her classes. Really, but. Instead, she sees a poster. Similar to ones posted before, about some missing guy, but the text is different. Staring at it outside of French's, she speaks to no one in particular. ] What's with this? How would they even know that [ that he's more dangerous ] if they're still trying to find him? [ Punching holes in yo logic, Wayward Pines.
That distracts her enough to scout around right in town for a bit, deciding to not head off for the woods. Seems more like an activity that should be done with a buddy, those days.
On Friday, after she attends all of her classes (truly an achievement!), art, European History, industrial arts, English, phys ed, and some science with a lab that had her staring out a window most of the time, she stops to get a quick bite of super nutritious fast food chicken before gravitating toward S&D Automotive. She has no reason to drop in on Damon, would wave and smile if she saw him, but she thinks she spots an unfamiliar form in the building. Naturally, she approaches, head tilting as she does. Did he just drop something, or is someone else in there working too? ] Hello? [ A little cautious, but also loud enough that whoever it is should be able to hear. ]
[ Her weekend brings shifts at Weaver's, taking up the position of a waitress and helper at the bar since Damon and Eliot are better at making drinks than she is. Somehow ordered drinks and food make it to your table -- and she's not even that gruff! Maybe working for a bit has naturally elevated her very minimal customer service skills?
Sunday evening (Mother's Day? what? not even) as she's walking home, she passes by the animal shelter she's never actually been into. She can hear quiet purrs, the occasional cat chatter between the felines within its walls: she doesn't care one way or another about domesticated cats, to be honest. Stopping for a moment results in looking down to see a cat emerge from some bushes, and it...follows her. Frowning, she turns and looks at it, the animal grooming itself in the mild enough air of the night. Moving again, she realizes it still trails after her, and she abruptly stops, hands coming out at her sides. ] What do you want?! [ Talking to a cat out of frustration. In the middle of the street. Yep. ]
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[ She. Hates. Full. Moons. ]
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Looks like it.
[ He inhales, watching her. ] What do you need from me, Malia?
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Seconds ticking by cause her face to warp, shift, broaden in no way that's inherently ever human, fists clenching, her own nails digging slightly into her palms, growl sounded under her breath, a groan of pain. It doesn't hurt any more than the rest though, her teeth asteady set of fangs, and hey, she looks angry but isn't as enraged as she'll get. Stages and all. ]
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[ He watches, seeing how this affects her. ]
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She listens, but the links of the chain are starting to feel heavier. That they hold her back revs within her, and she tugs up hard at them. Either a test for her own still rational self or out of impulse, or a combination of the two.
A step back, body flinching forward, then back again, staring him down, head going down slightly, hair falling partially over her face. ] Why for you? Because you're my friend? [ Convenient that you didn't wait to ask how you could help, Damon, while she has coherency.
Though, that's fading, feet taking her toward him again, though at least she spits out -- ] Move! [ A long growl, chains pulling taut. ] I don't. I do wanna hurt you. [ She doesn't. Rage that works toward unbridled is a vicious monster. ]
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I'm not moving! [ He practically snarls that back at her. ] Yeah, Malia. Against all odds, on my first day, I met a girl I threatened and four months later, she's the only real connection I know I have here. Nothing fake, nothing fabricated. Real. That fabricated moon up there doesn't control you, Malia.
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He doesn't move. She growls, abrupt and loud, and forced.
Friendship, it's become the most important part of her life since she's been human again. She never thought connections with humans could happen, that the memories of a little girl could ever add back up to her cherishing the connection of one soul to another.
Friends. Real friends. Not forced, or fake, not like what the town pushes on them. ] It does here, at home [ she manages through teeth that grind together, fangs on display ] but -- that guy. Tyler. [ She's been able to pay attention. ] When it...it didn't...make sense. [ Another jerk toward Damon, teeth still clenched. ] For him -- to have control. He did.
[ Every full moon spent in Wayward Pines has come with her desperately not wanting to hurt anyone, several minutes into her shift. Her wants aren't controlled. Not really. Blue eyes meet Damon's again. ] He was stronger. Than. [ A breath, eyes returning to brown, face still fully shifted, body noticeably tense. ] Me. [ A long pause, softer snarls sounding from her. ] But. I want to be. Stronger.
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[ He doesn't snarl. He answers. He listens. ]
You didn't know him, so don't pretend you know how strong he was. [ A slip-up that indicates what he'd experienced, what he'd done but not the point of the moment as he continues.
He even steps forward.] You're strong, Malia. Strong enough not to maul me, [ Another step ] strong enough not to make me put you down. [ He looks her in the eye, square to her center now. ]
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Damon draws closer. Malia has a moment of wishing she could just, cement herself to the floor. That confidence he has in her, that threat. She snarls at the threat, eyes going blue once more, hands in fists before she realizes she isn't striking out at him.
She's no stranger to lashing out at friends, Stiles, when they annoy her. But she'd never hurt them. Damon's her friend, and. He has a family there. Family.
Her eyes open, the lycanthrope features washing away to leave a girl with a perspiring face, hair damp. She swallows, eyes wider than usual, full of an array of emotion, arms going lax as she stares into Damon's eyes. ]
It worked. It actually. Worked. [ She blinks, looking down over her clothes. Least destructive full moon she's ever had. ] Because I care enough to want control. I don't wanna hurt you, Damon. Or anyone you care about. [ That desire is enough. More than enough to extend out for the security of the town at large, too. ] And I -- I don't wanna kill anyone. [ Been there. Done that. She wants to be in control, utterly. ]
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Retrieving his key, he undoes one manacle, before moving to the other. ] Never thought you did. [ He holds the key out for her, dangling it. ]
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But she's good. She can do this. Malia's always been confident. Today's not the day she'll stop being so.
She takes the key, clasping it into her palm, unlocking it, the collar at her neck, letting it all tumble and bang onto the ground. ] Really? But you don't know everything about me. Before, not really that long ago considering how old I am, I didn't care if people got hurt. [ She's not like that now. At all. Obviously.
That bag of donuts hasn't gotten a glance from her again, but she's definitely hungry. ]
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