Pack Mentality

@cass | Outfit

Colemet took a deep breath in the cold night air, her breath coming out in a cloud before her. She had never liked Knockturn Alley, especially not at night, but that was where she needed to be right now. She knew it was where she would find what she was looking for.

It had been over a year now, and Colemet finally decided she needed someone outside of her family. She was close with them, there was no doubt about it, but she couldn’t live in fear of the world forever, nor could she rely on them for everything, especially something like this. She was reserved, kept to herself for the most part, but she was realizing she had more of a pack mentality than her father did. He was content to be a lone wolf, and honestly, Cole was too. But she knew that wasn’t good for her, not with the way things were. She had Sophia by her side, always, but it was no secret Sophia didn’t know what she went through, and it wasn’t fair to put the entire burden on her friend, especially now that she had Audrey. Colemet needed to be a witch with them, a good friend and a godmother. Not a wolf.

She needed someone she could be a wolf with, and the only people who would understand that were other werewolves. Her father didn’t understand, really… He saw lycanthropy as a condition he lived with, not who he was. Colemet couldn’t blame him for thinking that way; some people did better that way. But Colemet had spent so much time running from herself without success that she knew she needed to find a new approach. And if that took embracing what she was...she would do it.

She stuck her hands into her pockets to protect against the cold, balling them into fists so tight that her knuckles turned white. She knew her hackles were raised and that was why she was feeling so much tension, defensive and on guard. She had always been that way, but the intensity of it had increased since she had been turned. More definitive, more...well, useful. She hiked her backpack onto one of her shoulders and started following her sense. She didn’t expect to run into a werewolf immediately, much less to find a pack or anything of the sort, but she knew this was the place to start. She followed her senses into the Bitter Snake and looked around. She sensed wolf, or at least that was what she thought it must be… It felt like her father’s presence, but a little more...on edge. Regardless, she had a feeling. She walked in and sat down at the bar, ignoring the ache in her side as she did. “Firewhiskey, please,” she said. The bartender nodded to her, and as she waited for her drink, she scanned around the pub carefully.

outfit

He had to admit that he occasionally needed a drink. Liquid courage if you will. To keep going with life in general, not because of one particular event. Sometimes he had a drink before going to work and having to do something violent, sometimes he had a drink before sending Tilly a letter, sometimes he had a drink before going to Fer's apartment and spending as much time there as his anxiety would allow. It was just one drink, just one, always. No more, he couldn't allow himself more. He spent years and year watching his father drown his agonies in all kinds of alcohol, the hardships of what his new condition made him do. He couldn't allow himself to do the same thing, not when the image of him hunched over in his bed in the darkness with the sharp smell of alcohol and vomit hanging over him would not leave the back of his mind. So one drink was all he could bear and all he would have. What was he drinking about today? He wasn't really sure. Sometimes he just needed a single drink to keep going. Violence and anxiety and fear all melted into each other eventually, and that 'eventually' had gotten here years ago. About four of them, actually. Now no bad situation was singularly bad, most days.

When he needed a drink he liked to rotate the bars he frequented, so he couldn't be expected or tracked. Theoretically, of course, because the Bitter Snake was usually where he ended up. Not usually. Once every two weeks, perhaps, but definitely once every three times he had a drink, probably. Maybe. Somewhere thereabouts. It was because things were safe there. Val was the manager, Lyall was the bartender. They were both werewolves, they were both his friends. They may not be pack pack, but they were very close to him and he trusted them. So here he was, sitting by the bar and nursing half a pint of ale. It was nothing, really. He was a large person, his condition allowed for faster processing of alcohol, and it was a small drink with little of it as it was. Wouldn't even feel it despite how little alcohol he ever ingested, meaning that his resistance was low at best. It didn't matter because it was never enough for that. It was a good thing, he didn't think he'd ever been drunk in his life. Found it to be a relief, really.

It was something of a hackle-rising moment, when the girl sat beside him. He blinked, looking up at Lyall. The bartender was busy with work and, anyways, it was so much more usual and normal for Cass to talk to anyone. So he sipped his beer and turned to the stranger beside him, aware of how his friend moved on to other customers. For a second he studied the girl. Young. About Niles' age, maybe. At a deep inhale, he immediately realised what she was. She was like them only she was unknown. Strong werewolf coming into unknown territory. Technically this was Lyall's pack's territory but they were friends so such disputes never existed between them. If it'd been at Alex's place he would've just turned away and let the man deal with all this, but he figured that since he was here he might as well. "Evening."

Colemet tapped her fingers on the bar, her nails hitting its surface with a light click that was nearly drowned by the other noise in the bar. Perhaps it was her acute hearing that allowed her to pick up on it, or perhaps it was the smallest sound keeping her grounded. Was she thinking through this? She knew Peter would kill her if he knew she was here, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. He didn’t understand, and he never would. She loved her brother more than almost anyone else, but that didn’t change the fact that he would never understand. Even her father who was like her wouldn’t understand. She wasn’t just living with her condition. She was her condition.

It was about damn time she stopped trying to run from it. That was all she had ever done, and it was all her family had ever done. Colemet knew that her family saw it as a disease, not one that made someone less of a person but one that needed to be coped with, not embraced. And to be honest, it worked well for her father. He led a close to a normal life as he could being a werewolf. He dealt with the symptoms, and ever since Colemet had learned to make Wolfsbane Potion, things had been much easier on him. Her skill helped herself now as well, but COlemet knew she needed more.

Colemet felt her body tense slightly when the man beside her spoke to her. It was a simple greeting, but enough to make her hackles raise just a little bit more. She wasn’t sure why - whether it was because he was a stranger, she was in the Bitter Snake, or because she had come in here specifically looking for werewolves. Perhaps it was a sign, perhaps it was pure chance. “Evening,” she replied back to him with a nod. The bartender slid her drink to her and she nodded a thanks to him before taking a sip. The liquid burned as it ran down her throat, but she knew it barely had an effect on her any longer. Once she set her drink back down on the bar, she turned to face the stranger that spoke. There was something...oddly familiar about him. She didn’t know what to say next, so if he wanted to talk to her, she left the next word up to him as she turned back to her drink and tapping her nails on the bar.
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In reality, there were different kinds of werewolves. There were humans with lycanthropy and there were werewolves. There were those who merely survived with their condition, who took their potion and prayed for the best and more often than not despised their own condition. Sometimes they knew other werewolves, sometimes they had packs, but Cassian was ill pressed to call them proper werewolves. They despised their nature, they yearned for something they weren't anymore. He didn't like those people. They all blamed it on having such traumatic pasts and dealing with being attacked and all that came with it, but... Cassian's father had been attacked, lycanthropy turned him to alcoholism, and then he attacked Cass and bit him. Then ended his own life, leaving Cassian to fend for himself. If anyone had a reason to hate their condition, it was Cass, but he- he was a werewolf. He didn't despise it, it was part of him and he had learned how to use it. How to not just survive with it, how to thrive. People who hated it all reminded him of his father and he got nauseous every time he thought of the man.

Proper werewolves were those who accepted themselves. Niles and he didn't take the potion anymore. He knew that Josie did, that Tilly and Teddy did. He knew they did that because they were afraid to hurt others, knowing that it would take various moons for them to learn to control themselves. He didn't blame them, it wasn't self hatred that brought them to that. There were wolves like Alex and he that just built packs, packs as family, and kept to more lycan types of behaviour. Territory was something Cass recognised, though not many did. Lyall did too, and Rhia. He recognised their claim over this pub, though he was allowed passage. They recognised his claim over his pups, and they knew better than to treat them like just any wolf they came across. Lyall wasn't here now, though, so he turned to the strange wolf beside him.

She looked healthy. Smelled it, too. So he studied her. "You got a pack, pup?" She was various years younger than him. Younger than Belle and Josie. Probably around Niles' age, and Niles was like a son to him. To him, she was a pup. Her nature was clear as day to him, and though she seemed strong, she was not... exactly... fully developed? Like a proper wolf. She couldn't smell it on him, it seemed. He'd even taught Tilly more than that already, she could smell another wolf a block away by now. Learned quick, the kid did. She knew how to recognise footsteps by now, how to tell humans from non humans like Veela and vampires from their smell. This stranger was a wolf that probably fell more into the first category. She didn't know how to use her nose. Then again, maybe she was new and needed to learn. That was also a possibility, and it was the by far more welcome one.

Colemet wondered if she was making a mistake. She knew looking for other wolves wouldn’t be easy...they stayed hidden for a reason. After everything they had endured under Durant, she didn’t think any of them would be rearing their heads anytime soon even though it was considerably safer now. They weren’t taking any risks.

Neither was she, really. This was the most cautious way she could think to do it. Feeling it out, looking around, following what little scent her nose had right now. She figured it was a good foot-in-the door technique. Show her face, and take in the faces herself. She knew how to defend herself, and she was an Occlumens. Death Eaters weren’t crawling around here like a prison anymore, which took away a grand majority of the threats.

Colemet knew this alone was a risk, but it was one she had to take. She was driving herself insane in her own mind, and she needed someone who understood. Her father understood, but not in the way she wanted him to… She wanted to be a werewolf, not cope with being one, and the only way she could do that was to seek out others like her. She was alone...and being a lone wolf would only drive her mad.

She wasn’t sure why her intuition brought her here, but she figured it out pretty quickly. The man beside her turned to her, indicating he was going to continue the conversation. As soon as the man asked if she had a pack, her hackles rose. She clenched her fist tightly and her eyes shot to his. How did he know? How had he figured it out so quickly? Her first instinct was to fight, but her second was to run. Her eyes shot from his to the door and back to his. Her hand was clenched so tightly her nails were digging into her skin, and she felt blood. Anger… She tried to stay calm. What was the most logical reason he had known? “Pup,” she said her eyes locking to his instead of the door. She looked him over. “You’re one too.”

Pack mentality

@ colemet

- Pack: a group of wild animals, living and hunting together -

    Cassian was a rather sociable wolf, as far as inter-werewolf relations went. He had no issue interacting with any werewolf he came in contact with, wether they were looking for help or not. It was good for others to know that they could come to him if they needed him, even if they weren't in his own pack. He knew that Alex didn't exactly approve of him helping so many people, it spread him very thin and could be a heavy burden at times. Still, he didn't mind it. He couldn't very well stand aside and ignore people like him who needed help. He found them everywhere, really. On the streets, in shops, in the woods, and now in a bar. He was never really surprised to run into one, there were more of them than people thought, but he didn't always approach. After all, not everyone needed help. Still, this girl was in another pack's territory and he couldn't smell any familiar wolves on her. She hadn't smelled him either, by her reaction, which meant she was either a new wolf or she wasn't all that in touch with her lycanthropy, both of which insinuated a lack of a sire to teach her the ropes.
    He could smell her surprise and anger but he didn't react, eyes calm as he watched her assess for danger. She looked over to the exit, she looked him over to see if she could take him if push came to shove. Which she couldn't, he was a head taller than her and a hitman. Of course he meant her no harm, not that she knew that just yet. She was jumpy, which reminded him of him, but this place was safe for werewolves. As safe as anywhere could be. While he was still rather paranoid, he knew better than to go around showing it. So he chuckled and shook his head, taking a swig of his beer and looking her over again. "Course. Use your nose, pup. It'll tell you everything you need to know."

word count: eh, notes: none, same outfit

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Colemet wasn’t sure what to do, but she knew she needed to do something different than what she was doing now. The life she was living as a werewolf… It wasn’t a life. Even before she had fully been a wolf, she had merely tolerated the anger spells and aggression she was faced with. Her father was worse than her. He saw lycanthropy as a disease he needed to cope with, not a condition in which he could live. The older Colemet got and the further she moved into this life, especially now that she was a werewolf, she realized that she couldn’t live that way. She had been alone for such a long time, stuck in her own mind, in her own habits, closed off to every meaningful thing she could have encountered. She didn’t want that anymore.

It was a long shot, walking into Knockturn Alley in search of another wolf. It was a start, and a start was all she needed. She hadn’t anticipated finding one so fast. Or more so, she hadn’t anticipated on finding her so fast. It was incredible, the way he instantly realized what she was. To some degree, it was scary. How much trouble could that get her into? But she realized the only way he could know was if he was one too.

Colemet looked him over, up and down, assessing him. He was bigger than her and no doubt stronger, so she couldn’t fight if it came down to it. Could she outrun him? Maybe. She had a lighter weight advantage to him, and she was swift. She had a straight shot to the exit, but then again, so did he. On the bar, there were glasses that could easily be broken to use as a weapon, and her wand was just up her sleeve. It was always her first instinct to assess a situation like this; could she fight, how could she get out, what could she use as a weapon. Those instincts had only intensified when she became a werewolf. She noted all of that very quickly, but he didn’t seem to want to hurt her. If he was like her, why would he? She was pulled taut as a wire. He seemed so relaxed… Colemet was even more taken aback when he even chuckled at the situation. The bartender put her drink down on the bar and she nodded in thanks to him, trying to mimic her new companion and relax, but she found it hard. She stared down into her drink, but she felt his eyes on her. “I don’t know how to do that.” Was she admitting weakness? Perhaps, but she already had her mental plan in place if she needed to escape. But she wanted to see where this would go...

pack mentality

@ colemet

- PACK: A GROUP OF WILD ANIMALS surviving TOGETHER -

    Cassian had been in contact with lycanthropy long before he'd been bitten. He'd come back from his second year of Hogwarts to the news that his father had been bitten and his life had changed after that. His father was not like Cassian, though. Albert say his condition as a curse, he hated being a werewolf and he hated all the limitations that came with it. Maybe if anti-werewolf legislation had been laxer, maybe if he'd been allowed to keep his job, then it would've been easier for him to continue. But he'd been taken to St. Mungo's and so he'd been registered immediately and the Ministry had dismissed him. Nobody else would hire a werewolf and that was his father's undoing. The feeling of uselessness, of helplessness, it wasn't something that man would ever accept. He hated himself and his illness and Cassian... back then, he'd hated lycanthropy too, but he'd been lucky. When his father bit him, accidentally, Benton had been there to look after him. To teach him. It wasn't something that happened often, a sire sticking around to teach the new wolf the ropes. It hadn't for his father and... well, Benton might not be the one that bit him, but he took responsibility for Cass anyway. In the same way, Cass took responsibility for Niles and now took it for as many werewolves as he came across. If they needed someone to help them just live through it, he would do so. If they needed someone to teach them not just to get through it but to live with it? To accept it and utilise it? He could do that too. That was what he preferred, in fact.
    "That's not uncommon. Sires rarely teach the wolves they bite how to use any of this." He shrugged, putting down his empty glass of beer. It was filled back up by the bartender, Lyall, an old friend. A werewolf too. Even if they weren't all one pack, even if they weren't all friends, they still needed to support and help each other. Solidarity, that was one of the main foundations of the werewolf community. If they didn't help each other, no one would. This pup- he'd never seen her around before, but she didn't smell like someone freshly bitten. Well, it happened sometimes. People who lived with lycanthropy finally deciding to find more people like them. There was usually some sort of trigger, not that Cass knew what it could be. He and most of the wolves he talked to had always been part of a pack in some way or another. Lone wolves tended to be... well, a bit feral. Especially if they'd never been taught how to control the fury and the violence that came with the wolf side. Well, Cass never thought werewolves were inherently violent, the problem was that they tried to suppress that new animalistic side. Like any cornered animal, it lashed out as soon as it could, and since the full moons made it stronger and allowed it to surface... well that was when all that violence came out. But if they could just accept that side, find peace with it, then it was far more peaceful.
    "What're you doing around here, then?"

WORD COUNT: EH, NOTES: NONE, SAME OUTFIT

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