"Ah, well, we're— it's only natural, we're twins, sort of," you say, a little abashed. "Your wolf form is copied straight off mine in this sort of situation. So I look like family, smell like family. Even if you know in your mind that we're strangers, it doesn't at all feel that way, in your, your heart. Or any of the rest of you." You hesitate, licking your nose anxiously, trying to work out how to say the next bit. "You hear, er, stories. About how people are manipulated this way. On purpose. Humans caught, and, and changed and then made to love their, er, their... violators. Some families are.... not good."
You shrug. "Not like people need lycanthropy to pull that one. Anyway, bro, you're not stockholming me, so don't you get back on your guilt bike. Since Bel likes you, I'd end up liking you too, it's just faster this way." To Bel, you add, "And yeah, I'm more chill than I normally would be, I think. So far, I'm not seeing a downside." He hops down and begins investigating the corners of the truck. He's a little stiff, but looking much healthier than before he changed. "I'm worried about not being worried?" he ventures. "That's dumb. Quit patrolling and come snuggle." "If you insist." He does so. You beam smugly at the assembled company. "See? I'm the boss."
"It is hard to be particularly upset when we're all here and it smells so nice," you agree, doing your best to stuff your unwanted guiltback down. "Whoever put this transport together really knows their stuff." When everyone's piled back on the couch, you wriggle around and get comfortable, with your head on Bel's broad shoulders and Pancho nosing gently at your bad foreleg. "Well, all hail the queen, then," you concede. "D'you have any other commands for us humble beasts, your majesty?"
"Yeah, someone scratch the bullet scar on my back, I can't reach it." When Bel obediently chews the spot, you go boneless. "Ahhhh much better. You know, this is pretty handy for me as a doctor, actually, I can smell whether there's any infection." You sniff Erskin's foreleg carefully. "Not the septic kind, definitely. It's going to inflame a bit, though. I don't think Bel disinfected everything quite as well as he could've." "Sorry," Bel says with clear remorse. "I did my best but my hands were shaking..." "I know, bro. He'll be fine, we should just disinfect again when we get where we're going, and keep an eye on him for fever. Have you been to one of these places before?" you ask Erskin. "Your dad's people's safehouses or whatever? Will there be non-werewolves there to like... open cans and shit?"
"No, never, usually when someone's shooting at me I just run away on my own and then sleep it off for a few nights. Sticking around anywhere long enough for a whole organization to start drawing in on me— on us— having an us— is a new experience. Maybe we can ask whoever our driver is to stick around and open all the cans ahead of time, if they're thinking of just leaving us somewhere." Your tail thumps as an idea strikes you. "Maybe we can have them order delivery food."
"Not very well, they're missing too many bits," you point out. "They make dogs learn human, instead. But can't you just morse at humans? I'm pretty sure even I could spell 'curry please' if you gave me long enough."
"Of course, I was just wondering if it was a thing. Speaking of which, we need to teach you morse! It's so useful."
You give a long, pathetic whine and put your paw on his face. "This is morse for no, right?" you say hopefully.
"That means 'no' in Whiny Wussbutt. Come on, I'll teach you 'curry please', you can impress your dad."
"My dad should hire you as the family tutor. It'd get you off my ass about literacy," you tease. Still, you do your best, and pay ferocious attention to Bel's lesson. It's been ages since you've even had to read the word curry— the damn stuff's easy enough to sniff out without resorting to menus— and apparently has a C rather than a K and two R's for no particular reason and then please has entirely too many vowels. By the time you can even reliably spell the phrase your ears are flattened straight back with frustration and embarrassment. You could read the phrase, you're sure of it, you'd know it if you saw it, but remembering all the letters and listing them off in precisely the right order is damn tricky. "I don't want curry anymore," you finally announce, and curl up to tuck your nose under your tail defensively. "It's awful. No thank you."
"I'm proud of you for trying," you say happily, licking his cheek. "We'll give it another go later. You don't think Pancho and I learned it all in one day, do you?" "Oh come on, Bel, you --" Pancho yawns hugely. "You pulled an all-nighter and crammed the whole telegraphy manual, you told me once." "That was for a Com-Int class, my instructor was a bastard, I forgot it all right after the test. I had to review like anyone else." "My illusions, they are shattered." "Good?" You burrow your nose under Erskin's chin, thinking about a nap. "Damn, now I want curry," you mutter.
"So long as you order it," you tell him, and snuggle on top of him like a broody hen. The lot of you nap and sleepily trash-talk for an hour or two before the van turns in somewhere and stops. Everyone looks up interestedly at the person who comes to raise up the back door. "Hello, back there, is everyone doing alright? We've been on the road about three hours, I thought you lot could use a pee break." It's a woman, shortish, oldish, dark-ish, with a big leather jacket and bit of a french accent. You've never met her before but she smells alright, like guns and dog treats. She gives Logan a friendly pat. And a dog treat. "I want a dog treat," you say plaintively. She tosses you one. It doesn't quite answer whether or not she can speak wolf, but it does prove she is thoughtful and kind and you like her.
You ooze off the couch and stretch from nose to tail, then look at your friendpile anxiously. "I'm not sure how to help you guys out of the truck." "Who says it's your job?" Pancho points out as she makes her careful way down from the couch. "Well, it's been three days since I got shot, instead of three hours, so..." You glance at the woman, still not sure whether she understands wolf. "I think Erskin will need a lift down," you venture, prepared to repeat yourself in claw-taps.
"I'll help your friends, big guy, go take a leak," the lady says, and gives him a dog treat. She climbs into the cab with loud old-person huffs, though when you get a better look at her she can't be past her fifties. "I'm Helen, by the way," she introduces herself. "I don't exactly speak your psychic wolf mind-talk, but thirty years of running around after your furry backsides does teach a woman the basics of canine body language." She bundles you up into her arms and makes her way back out of the truck, then sets you down on the asphalt. You're at a rest stop: a little parking lot, a cinderblock building for humans to relieve themselves in, a number of soggy picnic tables getting eaten by brush. Everything is quiet and cold and gray. You like it. You manage a three-legged hop across the parking lot while the lady gets Pancho down, and sniff at some bare brush. Dogs have been through here, though not in a long while. You leave an update and then climb carefully on top of a picnic table to watch Bel running around. Helen brings over a cooler to the same table and opens it up to reveal a significant portion of Alex Kadros's refrigerator. You really like her.
After stretching your legs and relieving yourself, you come back to re-greet your -- be honest -- your pack with face licks, then introduce yourself to Helen by sniffing her politely offered hand and then tapping out BEL KADROS for her. Pancho follows suit without pausing in her appreciation of some cubed ham and cheese that was probably intended for salads. Well, none of you will appreciate salads for several days at least, so... "Hey!" Pancho grumps. "Get your own cheese, cheese thief!" "I want this cheese because it's yours." "I will piss in your underwear drawer." "I love you too, Pancho." You abscond with several cubes of sharp cheddar that she deliberately fails to guard, tail going like a windmill.
"You two are going to get devastating wind later, and I'm going to sit up front with my new best friend and laugh and laugh while you all choke," you warn them, and steal some ham cubes. This gets your cheeks and ears roundly bitten by Pancho before Helen gets a rotisserie chicken on the table and both of you are thoroughly distracted. "Bone splinters," she warns, batting at your nose when you try to grab. "It's cooked." "Tell her I know," you order Pancho, and wrestle a leg free. As tempting as it is to crunch the whole thing down, you go carefully, pulling the meat fastidiously off the bones with your front teeth like a polite little mouse. See, you flip your tail. "Someone's smart," Helen says. She continues slicing the meat. Pancho and Bel will appreciate the table manners, you suppose. You frisk a bit of crunchy skin in front of Pancho as she waits, though, just for fun.
Pancho is pretending to ignore the chicken skin, and you know she's about to grab it, and Erskin knows too, so he's entirely focused on her and completely unprepared for you to nod in and gank it. "Yoink!" you laugh, dancing back with it. Then you remember he can't chase you, and bounce back in to give him a fair chance. You've already swallowed the chicken, though. "Oh my god," Pancho says, "I am so hungry. I mean, food fight playtimes aside, food is everything to me right now. Is that usual?" "Eh, you'll have more of an appetite than as a human, but I think right now we're all extra hungry because we're healing. I'm just focusing on not drooling froth in front of Helen." Logan puts in tentatively, "I'm allowed on the table?" and tests a paw atop the picnic bench. "No, baby, you stay down there. Here, have some of mine." Pancho delicately passes her a shred of dark meat with her teeth. "She's going to puke a rainbow, that'll be fun with this nose." You look up at Helen. DO U HAVE DOG FOOD you tap. LOGAN NOT WOLF.
"I wouldn't have noticed," Helen says dryly. "Yeah, I forgot about the dog, that Kadros man gave me this bag of kibble and I thought he was just really new to dealing with werewolves. You try to give Rex kibble and he'll have your arm off, honestly, though it wouldn't actually hurt any of you to stuff yourselves, if you can manage. It's in the passenger footrest, if you'd be so kind as to go grab it. Door's unlocked." She knows how much Bel will want to be useful, and how happy fetching food will make him, and anyway it saves her from having to leave the temptation of a pile of cooked chicken bones in front of two ravenous young wolves and a dog. She's been dealing with werewolves for a very long time.
THX BRB. You trot off to fetch the kibble, trusting the others to leave you enough to eat, or at least Helen to have brought enough that they can't devour it all before you're done feeding Logan. The dog gives you the cold shoulder while you figure out how to pour a little pile of food nuggets on the ground, but comes to investigate it when Pancho tells her, "No more chicken or you'll get sick. Eat your kibble and I'll let you have a bit of ham after." You fish one of the semi-soft kibble blobs out of the bag by spearing it with a claw, and taste it. "That's mine!" Logan says, but when you look at her she amends quickly, "You can have some, boss, it's for you." "Eh, it's okay," you inform the others. "Kind of like... meat cereal. I could eat it if I had to. Fortunately I don't have to." You very pointedly put the bag back in the truck.
