The Store (Open)

[wesdaniels]

Another day, another damn night. Its not everyday that Wes found himself playing tunes in the back room, hell, only when he's bored. Oh and how boredom had struck him today, he didn't know many people in Hollywood, didn't really care either he just wanted to make his money so he could finally start his traveling adventures. He wore his black tank top with blue jeans as usual, it had seemed that was his trademark now a'days. It didn't bother him in the least, he found simple being a lot easier than having to think about what he'd wear the next day. So he bought in bulk, many tank tops and many blue jeans. His hair was combed the way it usually was, spiky but not spiky at the same time, really it just looked like he combed it to make it look like he didn't comb it.

He held his Jay Terser lightly, his fingers dancing across the chords like he was a man possessed. He liked music, obviously, since it was mostly his prime occupation: selling guitars. The store was covered with them, many looked a lot nicer than the one he held in his hands, but this one held sentimental value to him. It had belonged to his father, the previous owner of the shop, when he was done and retired Wes had taken over. Which meant that, yes, he took over the apartment which was located just above the store, his own apartment. His father rented it out to people before, long ago, but now Wesley had decided to take it over for himself. He put a lot of work in to the place, a hell of a lot. Now, all of it had paid off and he was living on easy street, how nice. He often had some artists come in and critique his guitars, but he morally just told them that he wasn't the creator just the distributer. His own guitar on the other hand was created by his father, well the shell was at least, the rest the company had done itself. He kept to his playing, having his fingers dance across almost poetically, he felt a smile come to his lips.

The only real peace he'd gotten out of Hollywood was in this very back room, where he could play his music as loud and as frequent as he wanted. After his fingers were worn and tired of moving, Wes set the guitar back on to its stand with extreme caution, and went out in to the front room. The place was decorated with guitars and band posters and from behind the desk, he could sit and take it all in. Which he did. Bordom struck once more and all he could do was let out a yawn.

[*sombra delgadillo]

Boredom. It was an all consuming rage as Sombra stepped out onto the dark street near the hills of Hollywood, the obnoxious sign luminescent in the background and even further in her thoughts. There was one thing that crept into the she-wolf's thoughts and that was a certain other wolf who had been evading himself. That said the evening promised to be an intriguing one, should she succeed in finding him. Granted the shop had been visited once or twice but never when she began so far away. It would take time to arrive at the place she was destined to be at. Or not. Sliding daintily into the smooth black Audi, Ebony as she called the beastly vehicle, Sombra switched it into reverse and pulled out of the drive way.

Changing gears had never presented a problem for the young woman, having some sense of just how fast she was going came naturally. Guiding the stick safely to first and then second she cruised down the first hill and up the second in a timely manner, a faint smirk evident upon her pleasantly formed lips. Clothed in a pair of faded jeans, torn at the knees, that fit only slightly snug against her frame and a dark purple corset style tank top that looked more than a little faded itself. It was an apathy thing. Or a simple knowledge of the workings of the world. Women would attempt to find the fault in her, men didn't care what she wore but what was underneath. Crimson locks were tugged back in a half pony tail, black eyeliner and mascara the only makeup present. She gripped the steering wheel lazily and found that she could recall exactly where the place had been.

It was a small shop, strictly musical and rather boring to the werewolf. Cars, engines and torque were her interests. She'd rather be what they wrote about than be writing. Parking carefully, she stepped out and moved to the door, easing in while catching the bells with a swift outstretch of her palm - a silent entrance save for the small sound her boots made as she progressed. The not so distant strumming disclosed exactly where he was and a quiet smirk already illustrated her laughter. Passing the counter, she leant against the door jam, daintily folding her arms over her torso while a brow ascended. "Writing your next country hit?" Country was mentioned due to its melancholy approach to things, and internally she laughed though the scrutinizing gaze that first fell upon his digits now hit his features in a patronizing and inquisitive fashion. "Hello Wes."

[wesdaniels]

Wes had been caught up in his strumming and thinking, to caught up in it he supposed. This was because Sombra had came in through the door without a sound and snook up on him, a jolt of adrenaline went through him. Damn right, she caught him off-guard, and that didn't impress him too much. He half chuckled at her statement about country music, giving a light snarl as a response. He hated country music, just people pouring their hearts out to people who don't really care. "Nice to see you too Sombra," Wes gave her a half glance, he began to ponder why she had shown up, nothing but trouble this one; when he spoke, his accent bare itself. American, though with a bit of Austrian behind his voice. His mother was Austrian and his father was German, the mix was unimpressive. Wes didn't care though, he'd grown accustomed to it, didn't even hear it any more to be honest. Wes found himself now staring up at the crimson haired woman, he sat on his amp, silent for the moment.

"What can I do for ya?," His eyes shifted back to his guitar, he began to unplug the jack from the amp. It wasn't his best amp, that was for sure, just a tiny sixty watt Yamaha. The thought of his system upstairs brought a slight grin to his face, but he'd never tell. He stood up and brought the amp back to a candy black shelf filled with guitar picks and misc equipment. Wes then let out a light yawn, turning he place his hand against the wall and leaned. He hadn't seen this wolf in awhile now, it was kind of surprising to have a random visit, a little shocking even. He just let the smirk he usually wore shine, placing one hand to his hip he waited for her reply to him. It was weird that he hadn't felt her walk in, usually he picked up scents immediately, but for some reason, not this she-wolf. Perhaps she had a way of masking the scent? Hm. He'd have to ask her about that sometime, also, the bells hadn't gone off. Coincidence?

(a little short, meh)
Count: 391

[morgandubhbraon]

Morgan was strolling seemingly aimlessly through the streets; he actually had a destination in mind, but wasn't completely sure how to get there. He was home, if home counts as the place you were born. But this shop he was seeking out wasn't in the usual places he frequented. He scowled as he glanced at the nearest streetsign, he was getting closer now.

It was a typically nondescript sunny day, and Morgan was attired appropriately; charcoal grey cargo shorts that hung low on his slim hips, and a teal hollister t-shirt. His Nike sandals slapped the pavement making hollow thuds with every step. The sound was lost in the bustle of city life around him.

There were people around, always there were people in California, but he paid them no heed. There seemed to be less population here than typical, a thought he liked. His feet carried him toward the store some of his friends had told him about. A music store that specialized in guitars; that was the claim they had told him, and one of Morgan's love interests in this world was a sweet guitar. His friends couldn't understand that, but they were friends and when they heard about this place, a little off the beaten track, they had informed him immediately.

Soon he was loking up at the address he had been given, he shrugged and pushed the door open to step inside. A telltale jingle of bells announced his entrance. Morgan could only stop just inside the door...where to go first. There were some guitars he'd never expected to see in his lifetime standing there just begging to be strummed. He had thought his friends were pranking him again, they liked to send him on wild goose chases in search of something new to add to his growing collection. But the reality before him was promising, to say the least. His eyes roved over each instrument scanning for something that really piqued his interest, there would be something here, he knew it.

A grin spread across his features, he had the money; and obviously this store had the goods...this was turning out to be a very good day indeed! He stepped closer to look at a cherry burst Gibson Les Paul Studio like the one he had at home. Hmmm, maybe if it was a Custom...

[*sombra delgadillo]

The response she recieved was an expected one, in fact the mere acknowledgement was as dull and disinteresting as any one a stranger could have formulated. Wes you disappoint me. To be frank most things did these days, a sad truth that didn't often come to her mind simply because it was general knowledge that the world was displeasing. Discontent? Not always. There were moments, usually in the first waking rays of dawn, where Ms. Delgadillo was serene and at peace, her wolf still at rest from the night's terrors. That accompanied by the few restful hours she received of sleep were her sole comforts, and she clung to them rather tightly when the lupine became a nuisance. However, Wesley was asking something now, a question that was amusing to say the very least.

She did not respond immediately but made her way into the spacious back room and began to investigate the various instrumental accompaniments that rested on the shelves. They were slightly dusty so she blew softly on them and backed away, avoiding the small cloud of particles. "What can you do for me? You would be hard pressed to satisfy even the smallest of my desires, Wesley. No I'm here to help you with your problem." It was murmured under her breath, a devilish smirk disrupting those plush lips while her gaze continued to rove the scape and the accesories. At that point the bell did ring and Sombra allowed her skull to slowly turn, her sneer becoming more pronounced though it smoothed out within a second.

"It seems you have a customer. Service with a smile Wesley." Having moved silently behind him, a light shove was directed to his lower spine, gingerly ushering him out despite the various feral noises he had made to illustrate just how cranky and sleepy the poor puppy was. He whined to deaf ears. Sombra's interest was not in his human plight but his werewolf, and the observation of his behavior seemed an interesting place to start. After all this new face was a human, internally Sombra snarled - her ribs still healing from her last encounter with them, though they were healing quickly. A day or two more and she'd be as good as she ever was. Making her way after him, the predatory topaz stare wandered to the blonde boy who was presently inspected a crimson guitar, a brow ascending slow.

She leant over the counter and stared nonchalantly at him before glancing at Wes, a quiet smirk playing on her labrums at the idea of toying with them both at once. There was nothing promiscuous about Sombra's games, there was just the mind and how she bent it to her wants. Drumming her fingers on the countertop, she examined her short well manicured nails thoughtfully for a moment before pinning the slim mortal with her gaze once again. In short, Wes had better acknowledge him before she did. He would obviously be kinder.

[wesdaniels]

Wes rolled his eyes as she blew the dust off the equipment, his problem? He wasn't the one sneaking into stores and ravaging through their stuff, yeah and he had problems. Shaking his head he began to take inventory, as he did so he felt the gentle shove from behind him. It was a questioning look he gave, but then he heard the bells which hung just in front of the door. It was a greating bell he put up awhile back, annoying little thing that was. At least this man was human, he turned to her for a moment.

"It seems you have a customer. Service with a smile Wesley."

"Yeah, Yeah Sombra, just try not to scare him off with that charming personality," Wes chuckled when he moved out of the back room. He made his way to the front counter and leaned forward, he didn't show much enthusiasm for he wasn't particularly enthused. His brown eyes held a hint of dullness in them, it'd been a pretty slow day, real slow. "Hey, anything I can help you with?," Wes kept his position, leaning on the counter with his forearms holding him up. The blond haired man seemed to like the Les Paul, seemed to be the man had rather good taste in guitars. Wes glanced over to Sombra who seemed to be tapping the counter incessantly, with a small groan his mouth twitched slightly to the right. Breathing out hard, he shook his head, it seemed more of like an exaggerated sigh.

He then let his gaze move back to the man across the room, yawning lightly he brought his hands together and cracked his fingers, a bad habit for him. He kept his eyes on the human ahead of them, he looked like he wanted the guitar but in the years that Wes had been working here he found it easier to let the customers come to him. He only really helped out the beginners who'd come in asking him a bunch of questions, other than that he let them browse. The guitars weren't over priced like some other stores, nope, why put such a large price on something so... calming? It'd seemed that the majority of people who bought guitars complained about the prices of other stores, he hadn't gotten a complaint yet so he let the prices be. He had money, so why charge up the ass?

[morgandubhbraon]

Morgan cast a glance around at the similar Pauls, he had a soft spot for Gibson's, and a hole in his collection, two actually. He looked up as he noticed people in the store, the propreitor, he surmised from his casual stance behind the counter; and someone else, a woman. He felt an urge not to stare at her; although she was very beautiful she was looking at him in a way that made him very uncomfortable.

The propreitor called his attention as he asked if there was anything he could help Morgan with. A slow grin spread across his features, and he was glad he'd been to the bank recently to check his American balance. He had not even looked at the price tag of the Studio, you didn't degrade an exceptional guitar by quabbling over its worth, you merely paid if you wanted it and the timing was right.

He approached the counter warily, casting one minute glance at the woman. "Yes, Sir, I could actually use some assistance and you seem most probable of assisting me. You have an almost unparallelled selection, and I don't want to waste time searching, although the search would be enjoyable," he added looking at the assembled guitars wistfully.

He assumed a more businesslike demeanor as he looked at the man again, this man seemed to be a more direct approach, "I am a left handed guitar player, and I would like to find a rare piece for my collection, and to play. You have some nice Gibsons," he took a step back to the beautiful Paul Studio, "Would you happen to have a Lefty Dove?" Morgan's face was hopeful, he had been searching for one for quite some time. He had the Hummingbird, and he wanted the Dove to sit beside it. He also wanted to test their sound against each other, the rumor was they were distinctly different.

"They seem to be hard to find, especially with the engraved pick guard," he tried not to look too excited, he had dealt with dealers in the past who would jack the price up if they knew you were interested, although he'd already said too much not to show his interest. The Dove would run at least four grand, and that was a very generous price, but he was not concerned he wanted it and could easily pay for it. He looked at the man with the easy comfort of one familiar with instruments and felt at ease around them as he waited for a response.

[*sombra delgadillo]

As Wesley made his sluggish way from the back room to the main portion of the architecture, Sombra found herself impatient with the slow pace that orchestrated a lazy demeanor. Hostility bubbled in her throat but there was no word to break the guise of her cool attitude. As he turned to her the wolf bristled, her gaze stoic and unmoving as he gazed directly back, though a snort of dismissal was the sole response to his directions. ”Darling if I appear to be nothing more than a domestic dog for your instruction we’ll have to have a private chat.” It was murmured in a soft, liquid voice that was audible for the briefest of moments before it diminished into nothingness.

Moving after him and assuming that lazy, rather calculative position behind the counter, she leant carefully on the glass, supporting herself with her elbows while her palms were clasped before her. At the sound of his exasperation she could only smirk, and ogle the back of his skull with a mischievous look. He thought that was bad? Perhaps an education was in order. She could very well torch this entire building and think nothing of the financial ramifications it would hold for him. Breathing through her nostrils, she turned to allow her perusing gaze a better view of the wide variety of string instruments, a smirk developing.

You’re world is made of wood, Wesley. It was thought but not spoken, yet again. As the boys began their despicable conversation filled only of shop talk, the she-wolf continued to stare rather peculiarly at their guest, having every intention of watching until he squirmed beneath the weight of her stare. It was an oddly satisfying sensation, to have someone melting beneath the burning intensity of one's stare, and Sombra had become something of an expert at it. A tick of her lips disclosed her amusement however sinister the roots were. There was a violence about the fatale that could only be accurately described as feral and in fact it was on more than one occasion. She was entirely unpredictable unless one was simply saying that she was unpredictable.

As they manuevered about the shop and the stranger made his request, Sombra's lips ticked once again but she simply turned and moved towards the back room once again. There was a small fridgerator she had spotted and having suddenly grown thirsty it was best she find something else to focus on or the human would be her beverage of choice. Lucky little mouse that it was. A quiet smirk appeared as she rummaged through the contents, pulling out a bottle of Dasani water. Moving back, she leant on the door jam and settled to watch once again.

Their shop talk really was of little interest to the werewolf, whose feral soul was already on a variant level - its stare taking hold of the creatures with mild distaste. A human. Wrinkling her nostrils, she tipped the bottle back and drank deeply of the clear liquid. Breathing a sigh, articulations drummed on the counter once again before with easy, almost mocking movements she approached the conversing duo. Smirking lazily, she grasped Wes lightly by the scruff of his nap and shook him lightly. "I'm sure Wesley can accomidate whatever you require, right Wes?"

Teasing was evident in the she-wolf's stare as she eased past the two, articulations running over the smooth, gloss of each piece thoughtfully. Such useless pieces of crap. She preferred a motor to any of these wooden scraps, a brow ascended as she turned. "What is it you find so endearing about these? Do you play well?" It was a placid inquiry, her gaze betraying the mirth hidden within despite its cool nature. Sombra truly doubted there finesse would match that of the greats, Jimi Hendrix and the like. They probably just toyed around in a garage or in some dark room of seclusion and built their egos. Pitiful.

[wesdaniels]

"I haven't really gotten around to unpacking the shipments yet, feel free to browse the back room, you may find what your looking for in there.," Wes shrugged lightly, what was important to him had been locked up in the room upstairs anyways, so what this man did back there didn't really matter to him. The upside was, if the man did steal from him, Wes got to enjoy a full meal the wolf had been getting a bit hungry lately. Wes felt a chill run up his spine, Sombra, again. Annoyance began to flutter in his eyes, but that'd what she'd been doing to him for a long time. Though, he didn't mind the company of another wolf, there didn't seem to be too many of them. He'd just been glad that he wasn't a vampire, it'd been hard to run the shop at night, plus the whole smelling like blood thing - wasn't his style.

Wes leaned against one of the many columns in the store, they weren't big, merely just for decoration. The shop walls were almost beige in color, just a tad bit darker. "I wouldn't call myself a guitar god, but I mean I can play. Don't know about this guy though," he shrugged lightly at Sombra's question. The whole situation in question was weird, he was surprised this guy knew what he was talking about, most of the people who came in were of Sombra's level of intelligence with guitars. Though, she could probably help him fix his car one of these days. Wes grabbed a garbage bag from behind the counter, it wasn't heavy or anything but he liked to keep an eye on the store. "Hey, Sombra, mind taking out the trash?," Wes wore his 'ha-ha' smirk, he knew this would probably upset her and he did need some sort of a chuckle. "Because. well, you know trying to serve with a smile," Wes chuckled again before moving behind the counter. Leaning forward he let out another yawn, waiting on the male human to browse the back room of the shop.

[morgandubhbraon]

Morgan had been appraising the woman surreptitiously, she was someone he would not want to meet up with in a dark street. She addressed him and he had to look at her properly as politeness dictated. But thankfully her comment was short adn direct, and his attention was turned back to the man, Wes.

Wes broke his reverie when he offered for Morgan to look in the back. That was typically reserved stock and off limits to customers. His blue eyes glinted with surprise and curiosity. What would a man with a store like this have back there? Morgan took the cue to get out of the woman's gaze, "Cool, thanks," he said as he headed off in the indicated direction. The room was like entering a dream. There was quite a bit of stock here, and Morgan was thrilled. Maybe he'd find not only the Dove, but a Custom that met his tastes too.

The man hadn't said if it was Ok to open any boxes, so Morgan contented himself with looking at packing lables for a while. He soon was lost in the stacks of guitars and noticed a few were split as if they'd been opened or at least damaged in shipping. He popped the lid off a Gibson Les Paul with a sunburst gold color code. It was nice, but nothing he didn't already have similar. He lidded it back and stacked it on the discard pile. He sighed, it could take hours to find what he was looking for, especially as he couldn't open the boxes.

He heard banter between them up front, but it was in the back of his mind. He was seriously hoping he could find that elusive Dove. Perhaps even an older model instead of the new ones. He liked guitars with character and older ones were always better. His eyes chanced upon a lable, a Fender, but still something to look at. American made, nice... 1980's, good age, Stratocaster, he wrestled with opening the box. He had a nice Tele because he liked the sound of the Tele more than the Strat. Nah, probably not worth risking making that guy mad.

He grumbled in defeat as he pulled a box off another stack. He set it on a decent looking Amp that made a nice table. The box claimed this was a Hummingbird, and Morgan couldn't ressit to open it and look at the guitar within. He carefully slitted the tape with his fingernail and pulled the box open. He sighed it was a beauty, exactly like the one he had at home. He couldn't resist to tune it carefully. It was remarkably well tuned for just out of the box, only requiring a slight adjustment. He strummed it, it was right handed so it was awkward; but he picked out a few opening chords of some old Led Zepplin. He grinned and put it back gently closing the top again.

He didn't think he'd been back there very long, but it was not a huge room and packed as it was it was a bit stifling. He was about to go when he saw the small stack of specialty guitars. the top box claimed to be a lefty, and he was pleased to see the gibson logo. He turned to pick it up and look at it more carefully. It was a Paul, and not Studio. He slit this package again, and the paper tape sliced his thumb. He sucked the blood quickly checking that he had not gotten any on the box. He stood there with his thumb tip in his mouth trying to stem the blood so he could look at the guitar.

[*sombra delgadillo]

Sombra was accustomed to dealing with the blathering idiots that were often mistakenly turned into wolves. Obviously Wesley was one such wolf - he was a pitiful excuse for anything but a fat feline that would like nothing better to curl in the sun and lick himself. Smirking at the thought, the she-wolf paused in her silent observation of the room in all commonality and directed her gaze to the afore mentioned cat. Well it's quite obvious you aren't anything god-like. Arching a brow as he seemed to speak of the human without care as to however rude it was to refer to someone present as if they weren't there, Sombra chuckled to herself, the sound effeminate and alluring as any other woman's laugh, while carrying that predatory noise.

Of course, all good humor has a tendency to wane and while Morgan moved back towards the stock room Sombra prepared for whatever time period would next come about that would bring her only boredom. That was not in the cards this evening, as it would happen. Wesley was being stupid. Those teasing words were liberated past his sneering lips and a crimson skull snapped to redirect a penetrated stare directly into the lesser soul's countenance. Its expression was cold and yet blazing with a temperament aching for freedom.

The feral being within snarled, hackles on end while a keening roar had begun to build from her shapely torso. Though, on the posterior Sombra remained poised, her own lips spreading in a pristine smirk of her own. "Hold on to the bag then Wesley. I'll make certain the trash gets where it belongs." It took approximately two leaping bounds to project the now wolven figure towards him, and a single lunge to animate its shapely and aerodynamic figure in a projectile up towards his features. Talons were aimed to rake at his abdomen, incisors poised for his throat...And then Sombra shook herself from the wolf's thoughts. She stood exactly where she had been, pupils narrowing with animosity.

"Trash, Wesley?" She moved towards him, the slow back and forth of her flawless hips almost taunting as she took the plastic easily from his grasp and slipped past him. One step. And as she turned on her heel back towards Wesley, she swung the back and all of its contents - hard and soft, at the back of his skull. A small bellow liberated itself from the wolf's lips as her articulations swiped out in hopes of fastening on his collar, with every intention of dragging him back and towards her, exposing his jugular and ending his existance. Then again..there was a human. It too would have to die...but first it would have to attempt to find freedom, her lobes were keenly trained in wait for the back door to slam, all the while her efforts were focused on slinging Wesley back at her. She was in a half mutation - her talons longer as were her incisors...prepared to punish this disrespect.

ooc: not my best action post but there are too many variables to make the beginnings of a fight post any good. x.x

[wesdaniels]

"Trash, Wesley?"

"Sombra, if your not here for a reason.. then why the hell are you here?," Wesley's eye grew then dropped to a squint, his breathing had slowed to make sure that she didn't make any sudden movements that'd set his own wolf off. He liked this woman's attitude and he couldn't quite tell why, she didn't really take shit from anyone and surprisingly she'd been putting up with his from the day they first met, interesting. Though, now it seemed like he pushed her button and that inspired a chuckle from him. Whether he liked it or not she'd turned him from a low-class pussy into something else and he couldn't put his finger on it. He supposed that she took it personally, but he wouldn't apologize, not like everybody else had to her. She'd been getting on his last nerve and she pushed him before he pushed her, no more. Walking slowly to wards her, his figure started to change, more muscle started to develop and become more figured. Slowly, his hair started to grow longer, hair started to protrude from his shoulders.

"You know how to control it, better than myself at least. What I want from you is this... how do you control it, live with it?," His question was flat out, bleak in its own sense. He was tired of walking around fearing that sometime the wolf might just come out and strike, that someone would lose a life over his ignorance. No, he had to know, and Sombra, she was the best contestant that he could come up with, if anyone knew it was her. Folding his arms lightly, the two half wolves stared each other in the eyes, he wasn't scared of her and she wasn't of him it was that simple and it was easy to see by looking at them. "Word on the street is that your part of some... pack," the pack, a bunch of wolves. That was something new to him, the only other wolf he knew of was standing in front of him ready to fight him. If it came down to blood, that wasn't his problem, he'd let the wolf take control from there on, but if there was time to talk, he'd make good use of it.

[*sombra delgadillo]

Tossing her skull in an effort to dismiss the question from her mind, as stupid as it honestly was Sombra blinked slowly at the werewolf before her. A small sneer was disclosed as he failed to block the swing of the trash bag. A satisfied sneer made its way over her countenance at the sound of it thudding against his skull. Idiot. It was the only thing that she could think in the time provided, at least that is it was the only thing she wanted to think. What more was there to our foolish Mr. Wesley? Nothing of consequence. Nothing at all.

His laughter could only fuel the beast. Sombra wasn’t one to take to being laughed at very well. Her dignity and pride did not take bludgeoning lightly or kindly and it certainly wasn’t the graceful sort of response that one would want from a lady. Frankly Sombra hadn’t been a lady in years. Some wonder if she ever was a lady. She had always had the capacity. Who knows, somewhere deep within that calloused exterior she may be one. But the beast would never own up to such a predicament. There was just too much water under the bridge…or is that blood?

Despite the fact that she was growing vengeful and hostile, her human form was still very well in tact. Not one hair was out of place and not one tooth had extended. Her posture was perfect and her gaze absolutely human, livid but human. The excuse he endowed for his actions only coaxed a dry laugh from the she-wolf. ”You want a lesson? Now that you’ve provoked me you want help?” It was rasped in quiet shock, awe even beginning to filter past her lips as she marveled at the balls it must take to even ask such a thing.

Shifting in place as he stared at her, their heights so close it didn’t seem like she was really being spoken down to. In fact if that had been the case Wes would have found his face thoroughly crushed into the floor. That was just one more thing this alpha did not tolerate. As the mention of pack came into play she shrugged, somewhat nonchalantly. ”I’m the alpha of my own pack.” It was not at all inviting. Her mood was too sour for such conversation. A soft snarl obliterated the silence in a low keening sound that made the glass countertop tremble, denoting the thin ice that Daniels skated on.

Like a child at play he had waltzed right out there without regards to the consequences. Like a child. Shaking her skull, she began to fight the animosity that bubbled in her gut, demanding blood and payment for such mannerisms. At a later date she would receive her justice. Smirking lazily, she moved around the counter, examining the oddities within the glass while her fingertips scaled the metallic framing of the case. ”Would you like to learn to control it, Wesley? Is that what you really want?” Flashing him a dark look, full of malice and taunting she chuckled.

”Say it.”

[Rose Decumbry]

Attire

It was absurd! The way everyone could be so vulgar and cruel! Reducing her little self to wearing sunglasses out. At night. How rude. And she rarely wore bright colors, and denim jackets! So maybe, hopefully, better yet, they wouldn’t pin her as her. She groaned, and tilted her head back, her peep-toe shoes clacking along the pavement. How many four foot nine, blond hair, fashion-forward, people(vampires) were there in London? Only about one. Herself. Screwing up her face, she bought her head forward, and kept her chin held up. “Boo you..” She muttered, directing the insult mainly at herself, but towards those who decided it was their right to eavesdrop on other people’s ‘private’ conversation? Exactly. Her petite, and sprite like body weaved throughout the bustled together bodies of passer bys’. This was Rose’s ‘walk’. Dancing. Well, to the mortals it looked like she wasn’t even touching the floor! But quite the contrary every peach colored shoe touched the ground. She stopped moving, and stood there. How easily she could be swept up in the chaos, swimming in a sea of..guppies.

Walking once more, she caught herself stopped in front of a boutique. Closed, yes, but one she had enjoyed ordering online from. She caught site of her reflection, and smiled. Her Rebecca Taylor, summer dress, put down to a more chill style. The fact that London had any sunny, warm and lovely days, it was odd. Then to cover up the pale, vampiric skin, a denim jacket she couldn’t believe she had purchased. It would serve it’s purpose then off to charity. With the Moschino Couture bag placed on her lower forearm body posed naturally. Hip jutted out, body looking perfect at every angle. Large plastic glasses covering intense blue eyes, Johanne Mills drop earrings, and some chunky bracelets braced on her left arm. Shoulder length blond hair, pulled back into a messy bun. California style, did not suit her at all. Rose was much more content with her London mansion. Her true home. Leaving Simone there alone, and going to shows, was not very reassuring.

Turning away from the mirror, pleased with what stared back at her. Obviously. Rose wasn’t conceited though, call her that and you’d end up missing limbs, teeth, memory. The works. Something a vampire( with a temper like hers) could pull off. She’d done it before. She’d burned vampires. Torn out their throats, drank the blood from the open wound, and licked her fingers clean. Especially Lucy. Oh hell. Lucy was one entertainment system she would not rid of ever.

She stumbled upon a little..music..store..thing. She grimaced at first, but took a breath in. Werewolves. Vampire. She let out a low and feminine growl. Might as well suck it up and be a big girl, she thought to herself, pushing the door open, the little ding of the bell annoying her. Stupid things. Worthless things. Propping her glasses up onto her mussed hair, and untying her scarf so that it hung limply around her neck. Music.

What joy she had when she was one. Gag.
She stumbled to where her nose had taken her. The backroom? She stopped short, and rolled her eyes. So not going there. She just stood there, like a blond bombshell. By the most, and probably the worst, two werewolves, and soon to be one vampire. Lovely odds. She caught a look at the already there group. A werewolf dressed in..a disgustingly plain outfit. The girl not much better. Those earrings did nothing for her face or hair. The shoes were the most fashionable thing about her!

Tsk, tsk.

The boy with bad hair..wasn’t..much..no..wasn’t cute at all. Like he hung around a punk group to much..dropped out of school perhaps? Hollister? She let out a gag. Kiddy clothes. Tucking back some loose strands behind her ear. She wouldn’t associate herself with them. Instead she went roaming around for an old record, of hers, that could possibly be looming around these shelves.

Eavesdropping was a bitch to deal with. Especially when you had a couple of people who could do the same right back. Well. No. They couldn’t, she wasn’t talking to anyone. So, ha. She smiled to herself, unable to find her album in one part, moving on to the next.

[morgandubhbraon]

Morgan looked at his injured finger again. There were just too many boxes back here to go through; even as organized and neat as it was it would take far too long to go through everything to find what he wanted. He looked around trying to figure out his next move. He looked at his thumb again to make sure it had not started bleeding again and was glad to see that although he could still make out the ragged edge of the cardboard box paper cut there was no blood. He looked aorund the back room once again and decided he was going to have to brave that woman's scournful gaze again and ask the guy to come help him. Perhaps the guy would welcome a chance to break away from her for a bit?

He left the corner he had worked himself into and stepped carefully around the new stacks he had made. There was still room to move, and he'd been very careful about how he stacked the guitars. He was no idiot, he knew that a lot of these were vary nice instruments and needed to be treated carefully. Even the cheaper ones deserved enough respect to not be shoved or knocked around. He made it to the doorway when he noticed another female enter the store. She looked just as hardcore as the first female.

Morgan was even more reticent to enter the store's main area with all these strange vibes coming off these people. It reminded him of stories his Grandmother told him of the Fey and Faerie folk, Vampyre, Leprechan, and all manner of "wee beasties and inhuman creatures" as she always described it. He actually succeeded in giving himself the willies. His eyes located the pair again, and they were even more heated now; their stances were stiff and their body language said danger.

He was actually afraid to try to interfere with their discussion or whatever had been going on when he arrived. He really wanted those guitars, but not at the risk of his own safety and well being. This was an old building, perhaps there was a back door? He knew he could never sneak out the front way unnoticed, and the newcomer was practically blocking his escape there anyhow. He tried to remain unnoticed yet not look suspicious if he were seen. He hoped they wouldn't be interested enough in him with their discussion goin gon to even bother to see what he wanted.

He tried to make it look as if he had changed his mind to bother the owner and headed back into the back room. He looked around and found paper and pen on the desk or table or work bench, whatever it was and was used for. He tore off a piece and wrote what he had been looking for, how much he was willing to pay, and his name and phone number if the items were located. He hoped his rustling around looking for the writing implements would make them think he'd just gone back to looking at the stock if they cared to think about what he was up to. He left the paper where the owner would most likely find it and left the back room.

He then made for the most logical place for an outside back door and grinned when he saw his mark. He was sorry to leave the store, he really could have spent days inside looking at the instruments and testing a few out. So it was on a sad note that he slipped out into the harsh California sunlight again. It was made even brighter because of the time spent under the artificial light in the back room.


((Morgan couldn't decide how to act so he is sneaking out the back. Sorry guys, but I want to end my part here anyhow because it's out of my timeline now anyhow, as I'm not human anymore.))