Fic: Bad Moon Rising.
May. 21st, 2022 05:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silbernefuchsTitle: Bad Moon Rising.
Fandom[s]: Masters of the Universe; World of Darkness [for inspiration]
Character[s]: Keldor, Randor [mentioned], Marlena [mentioned], Miro [mentioned], Odiphus|Stinkor
Rating: Mature
Warnings: References to violence; murder
Length: 1,431 words
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters are the property of Mattel and all other license holders. I'm just playing with them. Elements related to Werewolf: the Forsaken are the property of White Wolf Game Studio.
Summary: Odi offers Keldor some shelter. And he really needs it, too.
"So. Um. Odi," Keldor said after finally finding something he could talk about with the other man as they wandered about seemingly at random through the city's rougher parts. "How did you get a name like 'Finds-Them-First'? I've heard names like that; usually in movies, used by people who're native."
"Yes?"
"Well, pardon me for being potentially culturally insensitive, but you don't look native."
Odi laughed. He laughed good, hard and loud.
Enough so that Keldor was sure someone would hear him. Which would mean someone would come out to investigate, and then he'd be spotted and in a squad car before he could blink.
Odi kept laughing for another full minute, before he finally stopped and used the tattered scrap of fabric that was supposed to be a glove to wipe the tears away.
"You're right. About the insensitivity and me not being native. But don't worry about it. I've had cubs ask me worse questions than that." He paused. "See, the name I got? It's called a 'deed name'. You'll get one of 'em yourself, someday. If you survive long enough."
Another laugh.
Keldor felt chilled at the ominous words of "survive long enough".
Just how much danger was he in, anyways?
"So how'd you get it?"
"By doing a deed noteworthy enough to become a name."
"That's not a very helpful answer," Keldor muttered. "How'd you get that one?"
"Ah, that one's an interesting story. But the shortest version of it is this. See, I'm a 'cub finder'."
"'Cub ... finder'..?"
"Yup. Mind, that's not an official role us werewolves have. I made it up myself. See, where we are, we got lots of problems with the Pure tribes—"
"'Pure tribes'?"
"Lemme finish my story first. See, where we are, there's packs comprised of Pure tribes, as well as packs made up of our kind. Just two of 'em Pure, though, since the third tribe generally avoids human habitation as much as possible. And so any nuzusulNuzusul'?"
"Lemme finish!"
"Sorry."
"And so any nuzusul in this state becomes something every pack wants to claim for themselves. 'Specially the Pure. And that's where I come in. My job—the one I unofficially created—is to find 'em before one of the Pure finds 'em and snaps 'em up. I track 'em down and make sure that one of us finds 'em before the Pure get to 'em and turn 'em against us. Which, of course, means that I find 'em before the Pure does. Or. Well. Try to, anyways. I ain't always that lucky."
This was all very confusing to Keldor, and he felt his head hurt from the bombardment of new information that Odi was sending him his way. None of it made a lot of sense. Deed names. Pure tribes. Cub finders. Nuzusul. His poor head.
"Which is why it's a good thing I found you first. And once again Odi Finds-Them-First lives up to his deed name."
Odi gave a laugh and a fist pump.
Keldor was sure that if the man kept it up, they'd be spotted. He certainly wasn't being very subtle at a time when subtlety was paramount.
"Uh, do you think you should be doing that?"
This really wasn't the time for gratuitous self-congratulations.
"Don't worry, cub; we're almost there."
"Good. I'm exhausted, hungry, and in need of sleep. Could do with a change of clothes, too."
"You'll have time for that; don't worry."
*******
A few minutes later, the pair were standing outside an old factory that, when it was operational, was a textile mill. But the factory had closed years ago. Left abandoned like many factories were once people no longer had a use for them. Waiting for someone to come along and breathe new life into it.
Odi was standing at the door, muttering something in some strange tongue Keldor had never heard before, but, when he concentrated, found he could make sense of. Some of it, anyways. Then Odi reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Keldor couldn't see what it was, but there was a slight hint of ... power? To it. But before he could ask to take a look at it, Odi was placing his hand against the door.
There was a strange thrumming sound that lasted half a second, and then Odi removed his hand from the door.
"Your payment for this month," he said, addressing the door.
"What?"
Keldor was flummoxed. What ... had Odi just done?
"There's a spirit in this door. In exchange for a payment in the form of... Well, I won't tell you what it is just yet. Or maybe ever."
He pushed the door open. It tingled strangely when Keldor touched it.
"Anyways, there's a spirit in this door. And it only allows us werewolves inside unless we invite someone who isn't one in. A good thing, too. Can't have any humans in here. Or worse, anything that's both supernatural and hostile."
"You mean... There's...?"
"Oh yeah. You'll learn about 'em soon enough. But in the meantime, make yourself at home."
Dropping his duffel bag near one of the sofas, Keldor took stock of the place. It looked pretty much like an abandoned factory would look. Dim. Mostly empty. Old smells of rust and lubricant. But it was lived-in. Sort of. Here and there were chairs and sofas, a few tables, and even a couple of refrigerators that looked like they might've come from the Goodwill or a yard sale. Some of them even still had their stickers displaying how much their former owners wanted for them. And, naturally, none of these pieces matched the others in any way, save for being plastic, wooden or upholstered. But amongst all the second-, third- and fourth-hand stuff was a large screen TV. About the only thing in here that looked like it had been made within the last decade. Everything else was old.
In short, it didn't look like the kind of place anyone would really notice and, more importantly, want to investigate. Which was probably the general idea.
Settling down upon a sofa into which he sank a little too deeply, Keldor searched about for the remote to the television, then had something tossed his way.
"Anything you'd like to drink?" Odi offered, as Keldor turned on the TV. "Keep your requests general, though. We don't have a lot to choose from."
"Anything with alcohol in it?"
"Might have some." A laugh. "Yeah. I figured you'd want that, after the night you've had."
Keldor ignored Odi as he looked about the fridges for something to offer as a drink, and absentmindedly flicked through the channels, yawning a bit from his exhaustion. Nothing caught his attention. Really; it was just something to do, since the options for time-killers in this place were quite limited.
...a familiar face showed up on the screen as he went past the news channel...
He went back a couple of stations, and felt himself go very cold.
It was Randor. Randor and Marlena.
Talking to reporters.
He turned up the volume a little to catch what his half-brother and Randor's girlfriend had to say.
And wished he hadn't.
As expected, Randor was declaring that he was hiring every police officer and detective in the state to hunt down his brother so he could be brought to justice. Marlena cried in Randor's embrace while Randor stared at the camera with barely-restrained fury.
"The police are looking for this man—"
Keldor's face appeared on-screen.
"—and if you see him, you may call any of this state's anonymous tip lines. Please note; if you see him, do not approach. The suspect may be armed and is most certainly dangerous—"
He muted the TV.
He felt ill.
He was going to need something with a high alcohol content to deal with.
"Hey. I know that guy," Odi said, causing Keldor to jump and yelp. "Isn't that Randor? Miro's whelp?"
Keldor wished the sofa would let him sink further into it. As it was he found himself unable to talk.
"Waitamin— That's you!"
The scene had switched from on-site to in-the-studio, and the reporter was showing Keldor's picture again for the viewers.
"No way..," Odi muttered. "I mean, I'd heard that Miro had been killed, but..."
He stared at Keldor.
Keldor wanted to run, despite how tired he was.
It was the confirmation Odi must've been looking for.
"I— Miro—" He paused and let out a reedy whistle. "Is he? Is he your dad?"
More silence. Keldor was extremely uncomfortable now.
"Damn...," Odi said, stretching out the word. "You really are in trouble..."
Fandom[s]: Masters of the Universe; World of Darkness [for inspiration]
Character[s]: Keldor, Randor [mentioned], Marlena [mentioned], Miro [mentioned], Odiphus|Stinkor
Rating: Mature
Warnings: References to violence; murder
Length: 1,431 words
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters are the property of Mattel and all other license holders. I'm just playing with them. Elements related to Werewolf: the Forsaken are the property of White Wolf Game Studio.
Summary: Odi offers Keldor some shelter. And he really needs it, too.
"So. Um. Odi," Keldor said after finally finding something he could talk about with the other man as they wandered about seemingly at random through the city's rougher parts. "How did you get a name like 'Finds-Them-First'? I've heard names like that; usually in movies, used by people who're native."
"Yes?"
"Well, pardon me for being potentially culturally insensitive, but you don't look native."
Odi laughed. He laughed good, hard and loud.
Enough so that Keldor was sure someone would hear him. Which would mean someone would come out to investigate, and then he'd be spotted and in a squad car before he could blink.
Odi kept laughing for another full minute, before he finally stopped and used the tattered scrap of fabric that was supposed to be a glove to wipe the tears away.
"You're right. About the insensitivity and me not being native. But don't worry about it. I've had cubs ask me worse questions than that." He paused. "See, the name I got? It's called a 'deed name'. You'll get one of 'em yourself, someday. If you survive long enough."
Another laugh.
Keldor felt chilled at the ominous words of "survive long enough".
Just how much danger was he in, anyways?
"So how'd you get it?"
"By doing a deed noteworthy enough to become a name."
"That's not a very helpful answer," Keldor muttered. "How'd you get that one?"
"Ah, that one's an interesting story. But the shortest version of it is this. See, I'm a 'cub finder'."
"'Cub ... finder'..?"
"Yup. Mind, that's not an official role us werewolves have. I made it up myself. See, where we are, we got lots of problems with the Pure tribes—"
"'Pure tribes'?"
"Lemme finish my story first. See, where we are, there's packs comprised of Pure tribes, as well as packs made up of our kind. Just two of 'em Pure, though, since the third tribe generally avoids human habitation as much as possible. And so any nuzusulNuzusul'?"
"Lemme finish!"
"Sorry."
"And so any nuzusul in this state becomes something every pack wants to claim for themselves. 'Specially the Pure. And that's where I come in. My job—the one I unofficially created—is to find 'em before one of the Pure finds 'em and snaps 'em up. I track 'em down and make sure that one of us finds 'em before the Pure get to 'em and turn 'em against us. Which, of course, means that I find 'em before the Pure does. Or. Well. Try to, anyways. I ain't always that lucky."
This was all very confusing to Keldor, and he felt his head hurt from the bombardment of new information that Odi was sending him his way. None of it made a lot of sense. Deed names. Pure tribes. Cub finders. Nuzusul. His poor head.
"Which is why it's a good thing I found you first. And once again Odi Finds-Them-First lives up to his deed name."
Odi gave a laugh and a fist pump.
Keldor was sure that if the man kept it up, they'd be spotted. He certainly wasn't being very subtle at a time when subtlety was paramount.
"Uh, do you think you should be doing that?"
This really wasn't the time for gratuitous self-congratulations.
"Don't worry, cub; we're almost there."
"Good. I'm exhausted, hungry, and in need of sleep. Could do with a change of clothes, too."
"You'll have time for that; don't worry."
A few minutes later, the pair were standing outside an old factory that, when it was operational, was a textile mill. But the factory had closed years ago. Left abandoned like many factories were once people no longer had a use for them. Waiting for someone to come along and breathe new life into it.
Odi was standing at the door, muttering something in some strange tongue Keldor had never heard before, but, when he concentrated, found he could make sense of. Some of it, anyways. Then Odi reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Keldor couldn't see what it was, but there was a slight hint of ... power? To it. But before he could ask to take a look at it, Odi was placing his hand against the door.
There was a strange thrumming sound that lasted half a second, and then Odi removed his hand from the door.
"Your payment for this month," he said, addressing the door.
"What?"
Keldor was flummoxed. What ... had Odi just done?
"There's a spirit in this door. In exchange for a payment in the form of... Well, I won't tell you what it is just yet. Or maybe ever."
He pushed the door open. It tingled strangely when Keldor touched it.
"Anyways, there's a spirit in this door. And it only allows us werewolves inside unless we invite someone who isn't one in. A good thing, too. Can't have any humans in here. Or worse, anything that's both supernatural and hostile."
"You mean... There's...?"
"Oh yeah. You'll learn about 'em soon enough. But in the meantime, make yourself at home."
Dropping his duffel bag near one of the sofas, Keldor took stock of the place. It looked pretty much like an abandoned factory would look. Dim. Mostly empty. Old smells of rust and lubricant. But it was lived-in. Sort of. Here and there were chairs and sofas, a few tables, and even a couple of refrigerators that looked like they might've come from the Goodwill or a yard sale. Some of them even still had their stickers displaying how much their former owners wanted for them. And, naturally, none of these pieces matched the others in any way, save for being plastic, wooden or upholstered. But amongst all the second-, third- and fourth-hand stuff was a large screen TV. About the only thing in here that looked like it had been made within the last decade. Everything else was old.
In short, it didn't look like the kind of place anyone would really notice and, more importantly, want to investigate. Which was probably the general idea.
Settling down upon a sofa into which he sank a little too deeply, Keldor searched about for the remote to the television, then had something tossed his way.
"Anything you'd like to drink?" Odi offered, as Keldor turned on the TV. "Keep your requests general, though. We don't have a lot to choose from."
"Anything with alcohol in it?"
"Might have some." A laugh. "Yeah. I figured you'd want that, after the night you've had."
Keldor ignored Odi as he looked about the fridges for something to offer as a drink, and absentmindedly flicked through the channels, yawning a bit from his exhaustion. Nothing caught his attention. Really; it was just something to do, since the options for time-killers in this place were quite limited.
...a familiar face showed up on the screen as he went past the news channel...
He went back a couple of stations, and felt himself go very cold.
It was Randor. Randor and Marlena.
Talking to reporters.
He turned up the volume a little to catch what his half-brother and Randor's girlfriend had to say.
And wished he hadn't.
As expected, Randor was declaring that he was hiring every police officer and detective in the state to hunt down his brother so he could be brought to justice. Marlena cried in Randor's embrace while Randor stared at the camera with barely-restrained fury.
"The police are looking for this man—"
Keldor's face appeared on-screen.
"—and if you see him, you may call any of this state's anonymous tip lines. Please note; if you see him, do not approach. The suspect may be armed and is most certainly dangerous—"
He muted the TV.
He felt ill.
He was going to need something with a high alcohol content to deal with.
"Hey. I know that guy," Odi said, causing Keldor to jump and yelp. "Isn't that Randor? Miro's whelp?"
Keldor wished the sofa would let him sink further into it. As it was he found himself unable to talk.
"Waitamin— That's you!"
The scene had switched from on-site to in-the-studio, and the reporter was showing Keldor's picture again for the viewers.
"No way..," Odi muttered. "I mean, I'd heard that Miro had been killed, but..."
He stared at Keldor.
Keldor wanted to run, despite how tired he was.
It was the confirmation Odi must've been looking for.
"I— Miro—" He paused and let out a reedy whistle. "Is he? Is he your dad?"
More silence. Keldor was extremely uncomfortable now.
"Damn...," Odi said, stretching out the word. "You really are in trouble..."
