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Adventures In Living With The Mythical |
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A military veteran is adopted by a werewolf and brought into his pack. Insanity ensues. About "Life With A Werewolf" Life with a werewolf is a dramatic blog. As such the characters in this blog are not real but maybe loosely based on real people. The situations represented are not real but maybe loosely based on real things that have happened in my life. There are a multitude of ways to view life, this is simply one of the ways I have chosen to view mine. Updated Every Friday unless I can't or don't want to. If this is your first time reading this...start here: https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1040400-Welcome-To-The-Pack My book, "Dreamers of The Sea" is available now on Amazon: https://a.co/d/0uz7xa3 |
| It had been several days since the entire incident had happened with Marissa and Tarissa, the ‘twin’ rougarous. They had left the county is all I knew. Crash was attempting to track them, but movements outside of his control tend to get shifted to the back burner, so he wasn’t getting a lot of updates. All he knows is that Garrett wasn’t with them. At this point, we’re not sure if that’s better or worse. I hadn’t figured on seeing Elouise again for some time. If I did, I thought it would be pretty much like Gary. See her in the street going for a jog or walk. She’d wave and maybe stop to have a conversation. Instead, she’s been fairly active with Crash and I. We don’t see her every day or anything, but I’ll get a phone call, usually on a weekend or something and she’ll ask if me and Crash wants to hang. It’s strange but nice to have a myth friend who hangs out and doesn’t want anything out of me than friendship. This was one of those weekends. We sat on her property in cheap plastic chairs that looked as if they came from a Dollar General clearance sale. Each one of us had a drink in our hands, though mine was non-alcoholic. The sun dipped low enough to silhouette her neighbors house. We watched the sunlight drift and the chocolate brown furred back of our neighbor as he continued weeding. He gave us a polite wave occasionally, but didn’t seem to mind our staring that much. His cow-like tail hung out in a curl behind him through a homemade hole in his old jeans. “He don’t mind us watching, huh,” Elouise said. I shrugged. “That’s the Henderson’s for ya. They’re friendly enough. Always outside. Don’t mind everyone watching. Well, everything.” She arched an eyebrow at me. “Really?” Crash chuckled. “I had to talk to them a couple times about keeping the drapes closed when they decided to get frisky.” Elouise laughed for a good while. “Is all minotaurs like that? I’ve never lived near one.” I gave a shrug, while Crash answered. “Yes and no. They enjoy sunlight, being outside, and attention. It’s part of their whole religion kind of. They worship the Earth and Gaya, the ‘Mother Spirit’ as they call her. They do so by trying to be outside as much as possible doing things like this.” “Why hadn’t you wrote about’em in your blog,” Elouise asked. “Well,” I said, “that whole shutting the curtains thing is the freakiest thing they’ve ever done. They’re just as normal as anyone. Like our post office, for example. All of them are just humans. No drama or excitement in regular mail delivery by relatively happy people.” “I guess,” Elouise said. “I suppose it’s difficult to get across sometimes that us, ‘mythicals’ as you started calling us are usually just normal people for the most part.” I smiled. “I’ve even had mythicals come up to me who’d never met a vampire before and asked me, ‘are vampires actually meth heads?’” “People are dumb,” Elouise said. I shrugged. “They can be, sometimes. But I think most of us humans have a level of naivete built into us.” Crash rolled his eyes. “Here we go.” “I’m serious,” I said. “Why do you think regular humans don’t ever see Charles’ and Nancy’s tails? Why do they see you running around the woods, Crash, and think ‘deer’ or ‘dog’. Remember the fun you had last year teasing the dog catcher?” That happened when I was posting the letter that I had gotten about Kheid. It was a humorous little anecdote, but felt a little too Loony Tunes for me to actually post it here. If you guys want it though, I’ll get it up. “You know, you slipped under the radar,” Crash said to Elouise, trying to derail my rant. Which I understood. Cause I had developed a whole TED Talk, complete with charts and figures. I suppose the power point presentation I had started was a little bit too far for everyone. “I couldn’t exactly follow protocol,” Elouise said. “Besides, everything worked out, didn’t it?” “Yes,” Crash said. “But we’re dangerously close to a Doveland scenario.” “Doveland,” I asked. Crash nodded. “It was a town in Wisconsin. Very friendly to us types, so a lot of us started moving there. The locals felt safer with us, and even began having discounts to attract weres of any kind. ‘Ten percent off your bill for showing us your ears’, that sort of thing. The town population grew to being half mythicals, even. Then trouble started. Needless to say, the entire thing was covered up, and now the records report the town as not existing.” “Trouble,” I asked. “A small war,” Elouise said. “Ended up being between us and the humans. Everyone lost. But rumor has it, that it wasn’t originally us and humans. It was the werewolves, and those damn cats.” “They started it,” Crash grumbled, but didn’t say more. “So, if we get anymore mythicals, what will happen,” I asked. “If someone tries to come in under the radar, I’ll have to run them out. If anyone else tries coming here legal they’re gonna be denied,” Crash took a pull from his can after that. It was a cheap skunk beer, the kind that has a flavor of piss and vinegar. The one that alcoholics and those of us recovering know the smell of well. “Well,” I said, “it’s got to be better than the dog catcher.” Crash grinned. “What, I was just getting a little revenge for all us dogs out there.” “Crash,” I said, “you tree’d him. You had him on the highest branch on the tree, calling for help.” Elouise blanched. “You didn’t.” “They did talk to me about that,” Crash said. “Crash,” I replied, “your boss laughed for three minutes and told you, and I quote, ‘next time get it on camera.’” “Still counts as talking,” Crash said. Elouise chuckled an agreement. “I would too.” I shook my head, “poor man’s gonna need therapy.” “He already needed therapy,” Crash said, then took another pull from his beer. We sat in her backyard, watching the sun set as our conversation wound around several strange things. Elouise talked about getting a job of some kind. The prelude I guess to her job in the grocery store. That made me feel a little guilty for a bit. After all, I still don’t have a job and don’t have any desire for one after the last fiasco I attempted at working. But still, money is tight, as it is for everyone. Doesn’t help when the price of your staples has tripled and the annual increase on your government stipend doesn’t bother even attempting to touch it. Times are tough all over though, so it wouldn’t do me any good to complain, I suppose. Still, a job of some kind is something that I do kick around the idea of now and again. But about the only thing I’m really good at it seems is working with mythicals and causing trouble. I figure the thing I could be good at is podcasting. My mouth runs on its own at times, much to the detriment of all of my roomies. But, where in our strange eclectic house could I podcast? What would I even talk about? Every podcast has to have a focus of some kind, and I don’t think anyone wants to hear one of my endless ramblings. That night ended with everyone saying goodnight, friendship hugs, and us going our separate ways. The thought of some sort of fulfillment in my life like a job of some kind did come up. But where in the world could I get a job causing trouble? I’ve always been afraid of becoming a Howard Stern type, someone who pisses people off for fun and money. If I piss someone off, it’s because they deserve it. That’s what this past adventure has taught me. That time I hid that speaker in my uncle’s house for example, I did because instead of talking about family and memories over the holidays, they’d rather complain about politics and whine about which side I’m on, and blah, blah, blah. Forgive me for wanting to spend time with loved ones reminiscing and attempting to grow closer, geez! I’m not a perfect person, far from it. But the more of these adventures Crash brings me on, ropes me in with, or I just stick my nose into, the more I’m learning that, although I’m not a nice person, I’m a good person. And there is a distinct difference between being nice and being good. The job thing may never happen for me again. I’ll just keep writing. Keep trying to sell my writing. Keep helping Crash, and keep trying to do the right thing. Even if that right thing means jumping on tables and trying to start fights. |
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