kill me again [WERES]

[ROMY TABEA BRANNEN]

It was only around six o'clock, a full two hours and fourteen minutes before the full moon was set to rise. That would give her plenty of time to settle in, to find a place where removing her clothing to make the change would not be a terrible source of awkwardness (mostly in the form of men ogling, some under the influence of the Wolf, and others less so), and to wander around the prison to examine the holding cells like she always did. Something about being in the presence of such a greatly influential asylum, crumbling away with time, was humbling. She still got chills when she reached for the hooded prisoner coffee mug she had purchased after a particularly hard change--it was the least she could do for the people who had to deal with her lunging at the bars, raking the metal with her claws and snapping harshly with her powerful jaws. She had woken up with a broken tooth from tearing at the metal as if it were made of flesh and blood and needed to get a cap placed on one of her molars that week for the trouble. She had also covered herself in bruises and scrapes from pacing and slamming into the walls with all of her might. That had been shortly after her mother had died.

She pushed those thoughts away firmly, her mouth turning from a frown into a sneer. She caught the change, rubbed her face, and forced her muscles to relax. With her iPod headphones tucked neatly into her ears, no makeup or jewelry on, and a backpack hanging from her shoulder, she looked like she could be a student upset with a grade, or something. That's what she hoped, anyway. She had decided also to make the short walk from her apartment to the prison, hair put up in a messy bun, in comfortable jeans, worn Chuck Taylors, and a snuggly cotton t-shirt. If nothing else, she could be at ease before. She noticed a few glances from people she passed in the streets, probably wondering at her fidgeting and constant need to be moving, but she kept on walking. She could feel the forces inside of her, chomping at the bit, trying to find release before the moon could open the floodgates. She found herself panting as she finally reached the gates of the prison, closed now to the public for two hours, where the guards would be operating under the guise of monthly VIP tours--invitation only, sorry citizens, maybe next month. Romy always prayed that they would never receive that welcoming letter.

"Brannen," she said breathlessly, slipping the bag down from her shoulder. "Just checking this," she continued when her name was checked from the list. It wasn't a requirement that she be there, but her name had to be in The System to be allowed in. Safety measures, and all that. But she had never missed a month yet. She always planned her homework around the moon cycle, just to make sure the exhaustion at the end of the night couldn't interfere with any last-minute assignments she had forgotten about until too late.

"Do you need a wakeup call?" the guard asked. She paused for a moment before she replied, listening to the harsh sounds of Rammstein in her earbuds. "No . . . no thank you," she said softly. Though the sun would be up and the Wolf sedated for another month early enough for her to get a shake from Mugshots, make her way back home, and clean herself up for her classes, she just had a feeling that pushing herself would be counterproductive this month. They would all have to leave before the nine AM tours, anyway. She quickly pulled her phone from her bag, typed up an email to her professor to inform him of the first absence so far of the summer session, and shut it off. The guard took the bag with a curt nod, and she stepped through the gates, glancing nervously up at the gargoyles guarding the only entrance available. Shutting off her iPod, Romy made her way straight into the courtyard; the gates throughout were locked, of course--more safety measures for an escaped were--but the guards positioned inside nodded politely at her as they let her through.

She always liked Cellblock 2, though it was not in the best shape. It was one of the original one-story branches, allowing prisoners to have tiny exercise yards behind their cells. These were open to the weres locking themselves up behind the kinetically reinforced wooden doors, giving them some fresh air and semblance of freedom. Particularly difficult ones were banned, however, because it might become too much of a temptation to climb the wall and begin a rampage through the volunteers. Before she stepped into the long hall, she took in one last deep breath of the evening air. The smells of summer, of pollen and the earthy smell of the soil, flooded her senses. She exhaled slowly, and entered the long hallway of the cellblock.

[Alexander Schwarz]

"Figures," Alexander growled as he drove around the Penitentiary for the third time. He was caught between the only space on the street large enough for the microbus being 'THREE HOUR PARKING, VIOLATERS WILL BE TOWED AT OWNERS' EXPENSE' or a space in a lot with a sign that cheerily demanded he pay $3-$10 depending on the length of his stay. If he wanted a shot at getting a parking voucher or some other piece of bureaucratic cowpie nonsense, he'd be better off having the car in the morning because he wasn't going to be in any sort of mood to reclaim the car from the good people at the Parking Authority of Philadelphia.

"I'm not paying for this!" he declared vehemently out the window of the massive panel van as he guided it expertly into a space in the lot. "What the hell d'you want?!" he barked at a couple who were gawking at him, a satisfied smirk drifting onto his face as he heard the young woman shriek as they hurried off when he reached into the back of the van for his duffelbag. Hopping out of the microbus, he made to slam the door and caught it hastily, patting it gently on the side as he made an effort to close it with care. In his heightened pre-transformation state, he'd probably break something trying to shut it like that--probably a mirror, given his oh-so-stellar track record. "And we can't have that, can we?" he growled almost lovingly as he adjusted one of the big mirrors, his hands rooting in a pocket for his large sunglasses--moments like this he chose to believe people were frightened away because he looked like death warmed over and not because of his sparkling personality--and slid them on his face, his forced smile looking almost friendly in the reflection of the large side mirror. "See you in the morning if we're lucky, schatz."

Shouldering the bag ((which was pretty light as there was only a change of clothes, a smaller bag for his shoes, and a mini arsenal of first aid supplies for the aftermath which was always a surprise. No matter how many times Alexander had transformed, he had hardly ever ended up in the same condition twice. From ripping apart a padded room to impaling himself on something, to waking up covered in pieces of his best friend...clearly his transformations had a history of being 'fun' and 'exciting'. If only they included beer then it would be a party!)), Alexander stalked across the lot and the street, the sunglasses on his face blocking the fully intensity of his 'how dare you honk at me?' glare he shot in passing glance at a car that skidded to a halt right in front of him.

Slouching into the prison, Alexander was pleased that the tours had been called off early today as he wasn't in the mood to deal with a whole load of merrily chatting normal people who didn't realize how great they had it. Or even cared to wonder about life outside of their own petty problems. "Better that they don't know," he remarked to himself as he eyed the picture of the chapel in a brochure he'd picked up somewhere around town during his wanders. That would be a place he'd like to see sometime. But not today, he supposed as he walked up to the gate guard.

"Schwarz, Alexander."

"Yeah, alright. Get going," the guard hissed, jerking his head back toward the more secure part of the penitentiary, not bothering to try making eye contact with the tall man behind the sunglasses.

"Hello to you too," Alexander grunted as he brushed past the man. How did THE SYSTEM manage to find so many idiots to volunteer to watch over the werewolves? How did they expect to keep them contained with not even a respectable amount of firepower between them?

"Sir...your bag?"

Alexander snatched his arm out of the grip of a well-meaning nanny and lowered his sunglasses as he ducked his head to stare at the young man. Some sort of child-volunteer for a school project? Perhaps those boyscouts who kept asking him if he wanted to buy popcorn? Feh. "What? Afraid I've smuggled in some kind of weapon and you need to check my belongings?" Pushing the shades back up on his face, he patted the young man on the arm as he flashed him a true smile. "Good luck taking it away from me," Alexander called over his shoulder as he wandered into the nearest cellblock, still chuckling at his own off-humour joke. Truthfully he had brought in a weapon...but they'd already confiscated it by locking him up here. And he'd try to put the bag in a place where he could see it but not destroy it. He was touchy with his things like that.

Hearing someone inhaling deeply, Alexander stopped in his tracks and removed his shades, clearing his throat as he saw the feminine figure in front of him, running a hand along his stubbled chin as he checked the watch in his pocket. "I wasn't expecting anyone more than two hours early. Punctual...Very nice," he said, nodding his head in approval. "I'm assuming you're here as an inmate and not one of these miserable human spectators, yes?"

Setting his bag down several feet outside one of the cells with the outdoor access, he regarded the girl with a faint smile despite his tired appearance and steadily mounting irritation with his current situation. Unlike the humans that scurried about like so many rats outside, he had absolutely no interest in scaring her away.

[ROMY TABEA BRANNEN]

"I wasn't expecting anyone more than two hours early. Punctual...Very nice." Romy's impossibly light gray eyes squinted at the change in lighting, the wolf's influence already making her pupils dilate with the intent to seek out prey and hunt through the night. When they grew even larger, she caught sight of a tall, scruffily attractive man, smelling very male and very much like a wolf. Her body shuddered just a little, and she pushed back the wolf's very inappropriate ideas of what it would like to do to him, which (true to its style) would not be short on plenty of biting and scratching. No. No, she told it, keeping her very practiced poker face in place. But it insisted, clawing at her. She took one step forward before she fought it back again, and tilted her head at the strange things he was saying. Punctuality was very nice? She blinked slowly. "I'm assuming you're here as an inmate and not one of these miserable human spectators, yes?"

At that, she laughed. "An inmate?" she repeated, testing out the title. Something about it unsettled the Jew in her (made her think too much of Auchwitz but this was completely different this was voluntary this actually was saving people), but she nodded after a short pause. "I suppose you might say that, ja," she said, voice even huskier than normal with all the lusts of the wolf--for breaking through, for this man before her, for tearing into the flesh of a prey animal (human or not)--and her accent losing nearly all of the Philadelphia influence it had picked up through the years. "You too," she said, not a bit of question in her voice. She took another curious step towards the man, investigating his face more thoroughly. "I do not think I have ever seen you here," she announced far more gently than she expected. All of her nerves were on fire, trying to get her to move, keep moving, work off the energy, until the wolf was satiated for one more month. He looked tired, didn't seem to show the same voracious level of energy that she did. She thought it was strange, though--despite the puffiness and dark circles beneath her eyes, they were supernaturally active and aware. His seemed just as tired as the rest of him. Maybe she was reading him incorrectly, or maybe they would change in the next two hours with a speed that she had heard was possible but uncommon. Maybe she was overthinking it--she seemed to over-everything at this time of the month.

"So may I ask what brings you here so early? You don't look like you would be the type to spend your time dancing around the courtyard to work off extra energy as I do," she said, a grin tugging at her lips and eyes sparkling not with predatory want, but out of curious amusement. The smile faded a little as the scars that had spread from her lower spine to the side of her left hip twinged, shooting the first jolts of pain up her back, around her hip and down the back of her thigh of the night. She immediately dropped her hip, putting all of her weight on her right leg, and dug the heel of her palm into the worst spot, biting back a whimper, settling for a low string of swears in her mother tongue. She rubbed until the sharp, shooting pain eased away, but was cautious in standing up fully. "I can also usually get someone to find me a heat pack when the scars start . . . acting up." She didn't know if everyone went through the same situation as she did, but he must know what she was referring to, at least in passing. 'The Scars' could only mean one thing to a werewolf, at least. Though the upcoming storm, due to hit in the next hour, would not keep her from dancing outside in the rain and getting muddy and soaked, the nearly unbearable pain in her scars certainly would. Even the thought of a particularly fat drop of rain hitting her in the wrong spot made her cringe. It would make even her quiet scar angrily send fire through her nerves, and bend her at the waist until it subsided, leaving her defenseless and snarling.

[Alexander Schwarz]

"An inmate?...I suppose you might say that, ja."

A fleeting frown darted across his face as he heard her speak. She sounded terribly German. And he should know, having grown up surrounded by them to the point that in most people's eyes he probably was a German. It was only his recent battle to avoid all things German that made his new acquaintance's accent objectionable. Otherwise, she wasn't that bad, he decided, his grey eyes flicking up and down once appreciatively before they settled back onto her face, his half-smile once again in place.

The Wolf within him stirred as he stretched his arms above his head, wincing as the many scars that crisscrossed his back protested the motion and he chuckled softly as he coughed, half hunching for a moment as he breathed into the pain before exhaling long and slow. How nice of the Wolf to make an appearance now. He had experimented with the silver during his time of transition from one version of THE SYSTEM to another and he must've thrown it off somehow. He had experienced the heightened senses as normal, but the desire to maim pretty much everything had taken a short vacation. It was coming back now. "Hooray!" he murmured under his breath, smirking.

"I do not think I have ever seen you here."

He was surprised at her tone and he took a couple careful steps toward her in curiosity, carrying himself at his full height despite potentially coming across as a threat to the younger were. If it were enough to get a rise out her by posturing alone, his inner demon would enjoy himself tonight! Not that he, Alexander, was interested in a fight exactly, just that it seemed a damned appealing idea this late in the game. But she seemed to echo his curiosity, if anything, and he did not detect the meanest hint of threat from her.

"Not surprising. I'm new to these parts. What about you? You're obviously not a native." It was a statement lacking anything other than idle 'probing'. Though naturally intrigued by the origins of any weres he met, especially those who reminded him of his upbringing, he was more than willing to take his time. When she mentioned dancing, he laughed again, his grey eyes flashing in amusement. "Perhaps I would learn if I had a teacher such as yourself. It seems much less destructive than my usual urge to punch all the flabby irritating people in the face, yes?"

When she doubled over in pain, he clucked his tongue, a mixture of emotions flooding his immediate consciousness and driving him to act. Seeing as he found himself strangely close to the young lady as she straightened, Alexander was assuming that 'concern' was probably at the forefront of these distantly remembered sensations. "So you are one of those, hmm?" he murmured though his voice was soft, almost gentle and he offered his hand to her as the smile blossomed on his face, the ring-like scars that encircled his wrist visible as the cuff of his long-sleeved shirt pulled back against the motion. "And they bring you the things as you ask, these humans?" Again he spat out the word like a bitter pill, his eyes flashing malice for a moment as he looked back toward his bag. "I've some things like that in my bag if you're in need. You're welcome to anything in there except my pants. I'll need those later," he growled playfully, his laugh real for once in what felt like a very long time.

Despite the promise of unpleasant weather and the threat of the Mother's call, Alexander was quickly rediscovering that his mood improved drastically amongst his own kind.

[ROMY TABEA BRANNEN]

The quickness of everything in her body allowed her to catch the frown crossing his face, and wondered what could have set that off. Well, it probably didn't matter. She admired as he stretched, tongue poking out to quickly lick her lips. She disguised the action by wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She almost wished she had brought a tube of chapstick along, to keep herself more in check. She felt as though she would begin gnawing her nails tonight, just to take her mind from the lean lines of the other were's body. Normally, she wouldn't mind being caught with a wandering eye; but under the influence of the wolf? That could get . . . messy. The wince that sent him bending in pain, adjusting his breathing to soothe it, sobered her up a little. It was only brief, but she leaned forward, now looking like a curious-concerned observer. But he righted himself, and she slowly stood straight again.

When he approached, pulling up to his full height, Romy didn't blink. He was only a few inches taller than her model-tall 5'9, and though he was broader, firmer, and exhibited a kind of domineering presence that made him appear about the size of a barge, she just was too interested and full of wolf (who wanted to be filled with more of the same) to be wary of size alone. She only raised her chin, not quite in defiance. "I'm new to these parts. What about you? You're obviously not a native," he said, and she thought she caught a little hint of familiar in his accent. She brushed it off, sure it was just projecting.

"Ah, yes, you caught me," she said cheerily. "I moved from Ulm when I was small with my mother." Her breath caught in her throat just a little. It was always hard to mention her mother around this time of the month. But she brought back her warm, always somewhat playful smile. "What gave me away?"

"Perhaps I would learn if I had a teacher such as yourself. It seems much less destructive than my usual urge to punch all the flabby irritating people in the face, yes?" Romy laughed again, her eyebrows tilting upwards with almost guilty amusement.

"Yes," she agreed, that smile not fading, though she moved a little nearer. "I think the . . . flabby, irritating people would appreciate it. But I definitely understand the urge," she confided conspiratorially. Dance, unlike punching people in the face, had been a part of her life since just before she was scratched by the German were when she was seven. Ballet was the start of it, building up strength in her always coltish and now just long and shapely legs, and then the gyrating freestyles in the club scenes of the area.

"So you are one of those, hmm?" Romy's senses were overwhelmed with the smell of him, sending a much more pleasant shudder down her spine. The close proximity made it difficult for her to keep from breathing heavily through her mouth, taking in as much of the scent-heavy air as she could. She wasn't that far gone yet, but she did feel that she leaned in, just a little. Just enough to be able to close the gap between them with just a few steps. The wolf pushed, prodding and urging and tempting. She just barely managed to reject its very rude suggestions. Instead, she took his hand, keeping the other digging into the muscle; the pressure always seemed to help. The gentle tone coming from the larger were seemed a little out of place, but not unwelcome. She saw the rings of scars peeking from under the sleeves of his shirt, but she said nothing--she knew enough girls with similar-looking marks that were self-induced that she had just learned not to question things like that.

"And they bring you the things as you ask, these humans?"
"I think they generally like to believe they'll be better off if they cater to us. Or maybe they just like me especially," she added, shrugging amusedly. "They're not so bad, though," she continued, ignoring a smaller twinge by her hip bone.

"I've some things like that in my bag if you're in need. You're welcome to anything in there except my pants. I'll need those later."
"Really?" she said, face lighting up. Though the growl in his voice nearly wrecked what little control she had, she squeezed his hand a little harder and glanced longingly at it. "I just need some heat," she murmured, the wolf wondering if his overheated skin would work just as well. No, she snapped. But as she considered, a well-placed hand and a firm caress might take some of the edge off. "My name is Romy, by the way--it seems appropriate to share my name if you're willing to share your things."

[Alexander Schwarz]

"Ah, yes, you caught me. I moved from Ulm when I was small with my mother." Catching the subtle change when she said the word 'Mother', he frowned again briefly. Had she lost someone as well? More than likely that was true. Every were had lost someone or something important to them down the road. More than one of them, like himself, had lost several someones and somethings for various reasons. But her smiled bounced easily back, much to his growing pleasure. "What gave me away?"

"You're honestly going to ask that?" Alexander asked, his laughter echoing in the cellblock as he slapped his leg, pleased he missed a scar as all of his senses were quickly becoming even sharper as the Wolf did its best to come-to in a hurry. "The girl with the accent and the 'ja'? You practically scream 'German', do you realise?" He was pleased she hadn't said anything about his own accent which he was certain was still coloring his words despite all attempts to stifle it into something flat and 'American sounding'. Still, it was nice of her not to mention.

But she had said she had moved to America when she was a young girl so had she been changed before or after the move, Alexander found himself wondering. Not that it was exactly an appropriate conversation for a first meeting. It had been a while since Alexander had met a new werewolf, but he could still remember that proper greetings most certainly did not consist of 'Hello, how old are you, what state are you from, and when/where were you changed?' He hadn't even had the decency to ask the poor girl her name or share his and she was merrily obliging him at every turn, it seemed like. As now, when she laughed at his desire to sink his fists into flabby people. Surely it was not so strange after all!

"Yes, I think the . . . flabby, irritating people would appreciate it. But I definitely understand the urge."

"I'm glad it's not just me. But then...I've been punching people for a very long time. I assume you've been...dancing for about the same?" Truthfully, Alexander didn't really care whether he was talking about dancing or punching or transforming into a giant beast at the full moon. Though he was admittedly curious about the dancing. Perhaps she had not had such a rough time of transforming as he had--entirely possible as he had been lead to believe he was something of a wild child--but he had been under the impression that dancers needed to be quite careful about scarring their flesh almost as much as prewarmup stretches. So she was probably not a professional dancer, then, he supposed.

She certainly has the figure for it, Alexander thought, that vague sense of approval flooding him again as he breathed deeply of her scent and that of their surroundings, pleased that she took his hand. Not all weres were quite so positively charged in his experience. It amused him, in a way, but he would try to be on his best behavior. Neither one of them were quite 'themselves' tonight, after all.

"I think they generally like to believe they'll be better off if they cater to us." Alexander snarled at that, his free hand clenching in his anger as he forced the one which cradled her hand to remain as loose as possible. He wasn't angry with her but at the naivete which colored her words. The humans were locking the weres up in a prison and it somehow catered to their egos to play nanny to a bunch of sub-human monsters [in their eyes]? That was a load of crap! "Or maybe they just like me especially. They're not so bad, though."

"'Not so bad?'" he repeated, a note of surprised bitterness to his voice. "'Not so bad?!' Like hell they're not! Out of the ones that bother, nine of ten just want to shoot you in the face for what you are and the tenth...the tenth is just an idiot who gets himself killed." He exhaled through gritted teeth and hummed a long low note in an attempt settle himself. "Perhaps you are right and these boys are falling over themselves to fetch things for a pretty one such as yourself. Not a lot of young ladies want to play nursemaid to a werewolf, in my experience, so it is better to be prepared," Alexander added in an attempt to smooth over his vehement and potentially controversial outburst, his voice soft though it trembled slightly as his unconquered passion still bled through. He meant it as a gentle tease but the smile which tugged at the corners of lips quickly fell back into a faint frown as he sighed again.

"My name is Romy, by the way--it seems appropriate to share my name if you're willing to share your things."

"Ah but a name for things is hardly a fair trade, Romy." He enjoyed her name. It was nice to have names for things...and people. He was quickly tiring of city full of blank faces and 'Hey You!'s. "You shall need my name as well, I think." He squeezed her hand again, tempted by her own obvious desire to touch yet hesitant because of her...'episode' and his own barely controlled emotions. Werewolves were not, in his experience anyways, fragile beings but they were not to be trifled with by the same token. "Mine's Alexander." He considered her for a moment and shook his hand free of hers with a soft laugh. "You'll get to the bag faster if you aren't having to haul me there, I'm sure. After you...finish with it, care to show me the sights? As pleasant as the conversation is...I confess some difficulty in standing still today."

[ROMY TABEA BRANNEN]

"You're honestly going to ask that?"
"I don't have an accent," she said, putting on an offended air. She was pleased at the easy nature between them, where they could easily joke and tease, despite the fact that in a few hours they would be joining each other in screaming themselves raw and then transforming into horrible wolf-beasts bent on destroying the world. A small group came in through the other end, but aside from sparing a short glance at her and her new friend, kept mostly to themselves.

"I assume you've been...dancing for about the same?" Romy lit up, even the bags beneath her eyes seeming to lessen as she nodded.
"Ja, Mutti --" she cut herself off there, ready to chatter on in German as the combination of excitement, the upcoming transformation, and something about the man in front of her made English seem a little more difficult to access, despite her many years of speaking it almost exclusively. "My mother put me in ballet a little before we moved to America, I just started to copy the kids in the school yards. I tried to keep up with the ballet, but . . ." she shrugged. "I liked the hip hop styles better." She might never be dancing next to Beyonce in a music video or anything, but she got plenty of attention for an amateur in clubs and in the shops as she had to pick up kosher meals for dinner. "So now I mostly do it just for fun." She still sometimes found her way to studios with a friend or two to practice some of her favorite things from ballet, the intent just to keep up her flexibility and core strength--it all did help with the transformations. But that plus the Yoga she performed in the mornings were also mostly a way to help keep her body fit for her modeling. Still stuck on the habit of eating rich German and Jewish foods, she was forced to find a little extra to help burn down calories that the Wolf didn't eat up itself. "My agents sometimes get upset with me for dancing around when they're trying to work on a shoot, but I think they ultimately forgive me when people keep buying my photos," she mused, almost more to herself than to her acquaintance. "I think it's mostly the hair and the eyes," she continued cheerily.

"'Not so bad?!' Like hell they're not! Out of the ones that bother, nine of ten just want to shoot you in the face for what you are and the tenth...the tenth is just an idiot who gets himself killed."
Romy recoiled, eyes narrowing and hardening, her nose scrunching and lip lifting in a snarl. The mood had changed so quickly, but with his presence threatening to swallow her whole for even a brief time, all of the German fight in her leaped out. "I would rather they shoot me than allow me to hurt that tenth person!" she growled out, eyes flashing brightly. The wolf liked this--it lunged, pushing for a fight, wanting to tear and rip and slash, but she held back, keeping her place, even as her hand remained enveloped in his large one. Her fingers tightened just briefly, then relaxed to loosely hang on. The principle of pikuakh nefesh--the Jewish law of preservation of life--had become all the more sacred to her since her time as a Were. She would gladly give her life for the sake of keeping just one person out of danger at her hands. She would take it herself, if that's what it came down to. Her Oma and Opa would understand. They would be devastated to lose their only granddaughter after losing their only daughter, but they would understand. Hashem would understand. She had not yet lay a hand on a human (or a were, as far as she knew) under the influence of the wolf, but she had nightmares about that very thing. She settled slowly as the man spoke, relaxing back and allowing her muscles to uncoil. She wondered if any guards had come around to see what the fuss was about, ultra-wary around weres about to turn into slobbering, infectious monsters. Romy found that . . . the were in front of her was rather infectious, in his own way. She even cracked a brief smile when he called her pretty. That was a compliment she had never been short on, but something about her new friend made her think that ironic sentiments were more his forte. As though it would brush away the tension crackling between them, Romy raised her trembling hand and brushed some of her thick auburn hair from her eyes, and shrugged almost helplessly. What could be done, after all? All kinds of emotions ran high at this time of the month.

"Ah but a name for things is hardly a fair trade, Romy." She liked the way that her named rolled off of his tongue. It sounded practiced, as though he knew exactly how it should be pronounced from experience.
"It is when those things might take away this pain," she countered, finding her voice more easily now. Even before becoming a Were, Romy's pain tolerance had been high; breaking in her feet for dancing en pointe had been a cake walk compared to what shot through her when her scars hurt. It was like a preview of the change every time it spread through her bones and muscles, rolling through her like waves. "Alexander," she repeated, deciding she rather liked that. She let her hand drop, tilting her head at his for a moment before tentatively turning to kneel smoothly by his bag and open it up, rifling through the many piles of things available. Bandages, wraps for sprained things, pants, ah!--she pulled out a box of IcyHot, sitting back on her heels to pull out a large pad for her back. "It won't fit everything," she said slowly, pulling up her t-shirt and pushing down the waistband of her pants. The knotted coil of scar along her back looked just as fresh as it had many years ago, when she had first gotten it. She twisted, trying to find the best way to approach. Frowning, she stood back up slowly, then approached Alexander. "Would you mind?" She kept the material of her shirt lifted, exposing exactly what he had to work with, but extended her hand to give him the patch. As she did, she must have miscalculated an angle or something, as a very intense blast of pain hit. Reflexively, her dominant left hand shot out and dug into the firm muscles of his forearm, squeezing with all of her might. Her cry was short and sharp, trailing off in a short whine that she couldn't contain. As her leg collapsed on itself, she allowed herself to lean forward and rest her forehead on Alexander's shoulder while her spasming muscles stopped pulsing; her hand relaxed and squeezed the taller were's arm in time, not unlike a woman fighting back contractions. "I'm sorry," she groaned, trying to pry her fingers from around him, but being unable as one last heated wave hit. Finally, she could control her breathing and step back from his overheated body with a great deal of reluctance. Having made the first contact would only make it harder to resist making more.

"I'm not sure what there is to see around here," she said gently, stubbornly wiping away some tears welling up in her lower lashes. "But yes, the courtyard is fairly nice." As if on cue, the first loud rumble of thunder rolled over, followed quickly by heavy raindrops. "And some of the lower cells are very interesting--some the prisoners had to build themselves, so they're especially crumbly, and prone to flooding." She grinned broadly at the prospect of frolicking through the rain and mud to get lost in the (officially condemned) structures of the death row cells especially. Macabre, perhaps, but it wasn't just the wolf who had some interest in this idea.

[Alexander Schwarz]

"My agents sometimes get upset with me for dancing around when they're trying to work on a shoot, but I think they ultimately forgive me when people keep buying my photos. I think it's mostly the hair and the eyes."

"A model, then?" Alexander mused then, nodding. "The people have good taste. Though I don't wonder the sudden urge to breakdance wouldn't get you into trouble at least occasionally." He winced as atmosphere between them suddenly took a sharp swing in a very bad direction.

"I would rather they shoot me than allow me to hurt that tenth person!"

Alexander hummed to himself at this, his pearly whites showing as he bared his teeth in a large smile. She misunderstands, he thought with a soft sigh of amusement. Apparently his 'death to all humans' vibe was strong today as that was all she had caught from his words about the idiots with guns. Perhaps his phrasing hadn't been the most clear, but her words would almost be hurtful if he hadn't heard them before. Very few weres he had met gleefully participated in slaughtering humankind--or werekind--out of hand during their transformations or out of them. Many of them were like Romy seemed--bleeding hearts somehow ashamed of their 'curse' and raring to throw their lives away for some human trash who didn't deserve it.

He himself was terrified, in the depths of his soul where he admitted such truths, of killing another human being. He was concerned with putting his fate and faith into the hands of others as he would tonight by submitting to a cage. If only there were smart people who volunteered to watch after the werewolves. All Alexander was used to were strong men who viewed him with a fear masked by contempt even outside of his transformations. They were the Nine--fools who would shoot if a weakened post-transformation were so much as sneezed when the door was opened. He had spent time fantasizing about dismembering them though he knew he would still feel badly about killing them, regardless. It was the Tenth that truly sent ice running through his veins.

The Tenth soul was a dreamer. A man with a gun who needed it put in his hand by the were and reassured that he would not be hated for pulling the trigger. The Tenth would get between the Were and the Nine at every turn. A dear creature, but a fool. With both hands free, Alexander subconsciously rubbed the scars caused by the iron shackles on his wrists. Brinker had always carried a gun. If he had been free would he have used it? Would he have tried to save his friend at the cost of his own life? Foolish, he snapped at himself, growling softly as he yanked the sleeves up to his elbows, revealing what very clearly looked like a bite mark across his left forearm as if he had thrown up an arm to protect himself and received the bite from another were. How childish, to dwell on what you can't change, Alexander remarked critically to himself as he watched Romy digging around in his bag.

"You misunderstand me, I think, Romy. But you do not understand the Nine, either. They aren't there to protect the Tenth or you. They are there to serve their own Fear. They would throw the Tenth into the jaws of the Wolf and run from this place screaming when they ran out of the bullets that do not kill. I would gladly line up for the slaughter if I thought it would save those dear fools bent on putting themselves in danger."

Her scars were interesting to him--especially her First, though he realized as she did that the patch would not cover such a large area--he always wondered exactly how each werewolf he encountered had been changed. From experience he knew that the bite marks, elongated with age and stretched nearly beyond recognition in an intriguing way, were probably beginning to redden fiercely. He could feel that old injury as well as the long scratch along the inner thigh of his right leg more acutely than some others but it was nothing to the pain he had experienced when using the silver. He had taught himself to ignore the pain, to expect an enemy to try and use his scars against him. He had to be strong. . .

"Oh, of course," Alexander murmured as he reached for the pad she offered him, working on freeing it from the rest of the packaging when he suddenly hissed in surprise as she seized his forearm, bending his knees a bit as she fell into him to absorb the impact. Again, not fully aware of the rules surrounding her clearly hypersensitive pain-wracked body, Alexander merely stood sturdy for her, a soft smile creeping onto his face as she squeezed harder and he felt a bright sunburst of pain radiating outward. The wolf within him relished this feeling and he found himself licking his lips as he felt his other arm coming up to wrap around her tightly, protectively, as she screamed out her pain into his shirt. He arrested that motion, his fingertips grazing her bright hair as he hastily lowered his hand.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out softly through the rhythmic pulse of her pain and Alexander shook his head, dark hair flying into his grey eyes as he growled low in his chest, hoping for a soothing bass note as he clucked his tongue again still trying to be careful of his urge to crush her into his chest and smother her in a mixture of harsh words and reassurances.

"Do not apologize, prinzessin. You have nothing to be sorry for."

[/b] When she straightened at last, he affixed the patch and resisted the urge to pat it and gently tugged her shirt back into place instead. "I'm new here, so pretty much all of this is interesting still. I can't believe you've been here for years and you don't know all there is to see!"[/b] He nodded in approval when she mentioned the cells built by the prisoners and laughed as the thunder rolled in overhead. "Prone to flooding, eh? I'm not sure I like what you're implying about the prisoners' handiwork. Shall we check them out before they snap on the leashes and drag us back into our kennels?"

Stooping to place his watch and other 'valuables' in a zippered compartment on the inside of the duffel, he shot the other weres a look that very plainly suggested 'You take from the bag and I take it out of your hide' though they seemed well enough absorbed in their own business to take the bait. His grin widened as he looked from the rain to her and back again before heading out into it. "If you tell me you'll melt I'm dragging you out here, prinzessin!"[/blockquote]

[ROMY TABEA BRANNEN]

"You misunderstand me, I think, Romy. But you do not understand the Nine, either. They aren't there to protect the Tenth or you. They are there to serve their own Fear."

Instead of angry, Romy just looked impatient, corners of her mouth turned into a frown. "Then maybe you don't understand me. I see their fear," she started, waving her hand dismissively. "I have seen it in my mother's eyes, every time that she would bring me here when I was only twelve years old, afraid as much for herself as she was that I would hurt someone else. I saw it in Oma and Opa's eyes when they first heard, like they were just itching to go find Van Helsing. I see it in theirs, even as they smile so nicely and bring me a heat pack--" she affected their charming boyish (and sometimes girlish) smiles here before letting her face fall again, "--because they know the next time they see me, I'll be a fur-covered monster. And if they decided to to shoot me as a preventative measure?" She shrugged again, and her face hardened. "That would be just fine. Because they're not locking me in here. I live alone, so I lock myself up, and I hand them the key. Because I know that my apartment can't hold me if I get it in my mind to go eat someone on the streets." She blinked when she registered that he had mentioned 'the bullets that do not kill.' "Bullets that do not kill?" She furrowed her brow. "What bullets wouldn't kill?" Disbelief and curiosity filled her for a while, but she shifted a little and went on.

"Tikkun Olam is the covenant between the Jewish people and Yahweh." She used Hashem's proper name only to make sure he knew exactly who she was talking to, not sure if he would recognize 'Hashem,' and unwilling to use 'Adonai' outside of prayer. "It's . . . it's not necessarily a law, but something that we do to prevent chaos. Many Jews, myself included, take it to mean that Yahweh expects us to be responsible for the status of social wellness. And when I was just learning about this covenant when I was seven, I was attacked by a werewolf. Nearly broke my spine all the way through and tore me in half. And I thought that I personally must not be doing enough to repair the world. Now, of course, I know that's horseshit, that that were just felt as though he didn't need to pile on precaution after precaution, and I suffered for it. I'm not angry about what happened to me anymore. I am angry about how irresponsible it would be for me not to be here. But Hashem wants me to repair the world--if they fear me, and they should, then I will do my best to create a comfortable relationship with them. I would never cook a meal for them, but I am nice. I give them enough power in allowing them to point their guns at me and discuss how terrible a monster I am or how ugly my scars are, so I will not give them the power to change me into something angry and cynical. I don't like this arrangement, but I cannot . . . wrap myself in silver and hope that it will subdue me in my basement. It looks much better as necklaces and earrings, anyway." She spoke quickly, almost frantically, fever entering her voice as she went on, her eyes daring him to say something about her faith. "So in the interest of following the Torah's insistence on the preservation of life, yes, I would give up my life even because of someone's itchy trigger finger and their fear."

She felt incredibly vulnerable in front of Alexander then, but held her ground, meeting his eyes despite the sure signs of blatant aggression the wolves inside would probably feel. Hers bristled, but was smart enough to hold back on vying for a dominant position. She had no issue with getting into fights about her faith, especially about people with poor opinions of her religion (Doctor House wasn't the only person in the world with such terrible ideas about theists), but not this night. Not when she still wanted to sink her teeth into Alexander's shoulder in a private cell of their own and bathe in his scent, and when she was just vibrating throughout to be active and hunting.

She was grateful for the rigid body against which she could lean, some part of her thinking through the haze that it was just about the best thing that he could have done. The light touch to her hair made her hum in response despite the lightning storm flashing through her back, hip, and the back of her thigh. And the low rumbling in his chest made her knees feel a little wobbly and wanted out of the blue to just rest her ear against that chest and listen to his rumbling for a few hours--it made her think of gentle things and soothed her. She wasn't sure if it connected to her, to the wolf, or to both of them. They seemed to both settle back and uncoil at that sound, as if they could be won over and commanded just by that sound.

She breathed far more easily when they parted. "Do not apologize, prinzessin. You have nothing to be sorry for." Romy's head tilted a little.
"You know German too, then?" She hoped he would say yes, and that she could go on speaking her native language with him, this frustrating and beautiful and good-smelling man.

"Prone to flooding, eh? I'm not sure I like what you're implying about the prisoners' handiwork. Shall we check them out before they snap on the leashes and drag us back into our kennels?"
Romy smiled softly, nodding. She gently touched her fingertips to Alexander's arm, as if apologizing for the rough treatment it had taken before. He might hide all the pain in the world, but that did not erase its presence from the world. She waited for him to tuck away his things, and then laughed at his playful jibe. She took a moment to untie her sneakers and strip her feet down to bareness, tossing them beside his bag, and rolled the hems of her jeans to her knees. She rushed out to join him in the rain, feet sinking into the saturated ground. She debated giving into the wolf's playful side and tackling him to start a rough wrestling match. She held it in, pleased that the rain diluted the smell of him. She trotted along pleasantly, running her fingers through her hair and slicking back her bangs. The guards at the gates looked a little concerned at the sight of two weres leaving the area, but let them through, Romy nearly dancing with excitement as she lead along. Death Row was down some stairs, but the flooding cells that were more easily accessible were at ground level. The doors were open, and she padded in, feet splashing happily through the puddles already forming quickly.
"They say that these are some of the most haunted blocks, because of the cheap and unskilled prisoner labor that went into them, but I haven't seen any yet," she explained, splashing at the edge a little. She didn't like being inside as much after prancing through the rain, but the cold and the creepy vibe was fairly nice, too. It even distracted her from the fact that she was now alone in a confined and "off limits" space with the taller were whose rumbles had made her feel like a child being put to bed and whose rough speech and heated scent made her trembly. She got some twinges in her back, but the patch made her feel better--it took enough of the edge off to make it possible to ignore.

[Alexander Schwarz]

Alexander closed his grey eyes reflexively as he heard her words. And when you get mad, instead of hitting, you count to ten. You understand, Alexi? "Yes, Vati," he murmured very quietly. He could remember his father telling him that when he was very young--before the attack that changed him--and some days he felt like he did nothing but count to ten over and over again. It was...frustrating all by itself sometimes. Still, it was a good memory of his parents. He didn't have many of those. Just as he didn't have a desire to teach those who were afraid of him, those who called him a monster, without even bothering to get to know him first. They didn't deserve his time. He would do his best to contain the Wolf, but they would judge regardless. To hear Romy refer to herself as a 'monster' made him very angry indeed. But it was not an anger that was directed at her so much as at the people in her life who had made her feel that way. Her mother, no matter the tenderness he heard her spoken of by the young woman, as well as those grandparents of hers, were in the wrong.

"We're not monsters. We're not bad. I would like those humans who dare to judge, who dare to press their low opinions on us as if we should care, I would like them to suffer through the Mother's call even once. Perhaps then they would not consider us dogs and would respect our restraint."

"Because they're not locking me in here. I live alone, so I lock myself up, and I hand them the key. Because I know that my apartment can't hold me if I get it in my mind to go eat someone on the streets."

Alexander opened his eyes and blinked, his eyebrows arching. Here she was saying things that were very naive...and then insisting that they weren't when he pointed it out to her. It reminded him of children caught in the cycle of 'UH-HUH/NU-UH' in their little squabbles. Yet he couldn't resist the bait, despite his desire to keep the peace between them, if he was going into a transformation with this girl anywhere near him, he would be damned if he didn't at least try explaining things to her. He couldn't believe she had lived here at least since she had been twelve and she still didn't realize that they held the keys, and the power, and the guns because the always had them? If she didn't show up and tried to transform in her apartment as she had suggested and got out and attacked someone then yes, THE SYSTEM would be justified in executing her like any wild dog. But she would have earned her death sentence by acting like a complete idiot. The fact that she was here arguing this out with him meant that while she was certainly deluded about some things, she wasn't stupid.

"I live alone as well and I'm only here because I'm new in town. I wanted to see what the 'City of Brotherly Love' could offer me in Weres, mostly. There are ways to transform safely outside of walls and cages where others are the Master. At any time, this 'System' you trust so much could decide to close this prison for tours and lock us all up in here or exterminate us like so many furry pests. You 'make the choice' to come here because they have told you there is no other way and you believed them when you were a little girl so you see no reason to question them now. Or perhaps you stay because you think your family would want you to be here? If they were family at all, they would want you to be happy. Safe, yes, but happy as well."

He rested a hand on an ancient bar with a sigh, running his hand along the flaking paint as he felt the temperature of the cold metal quickly rising to meet that of his unusually warm flesh. "In Germany I saw many weres break free of their cells over the years, especially in the early days when we were all young and mad with pain and fear ourselves every time the Mother would call. The bullets would make them bleed but it wouldn't stop them. They would still maul the guards before they fell. But as we grew older, bigger, stronger...we made a 'happy' discovery. One of the biggest weres, a young man I'd grown up with named Mikhail, got loose and tried to kill his watcher. I would've mauled him myself for even getting close to attacking my guard," Alexander cleared his throat harshly as he tried to beat any traces of affection out of his voice as he continued, "My lad told me afterwards that they shot him and shot him but he just kept at Hans until one of the other ones brained him with a candelabra. Apparently the results were quite...fascinating." He very much doubted they had silver bullets here and he was not about to confirm any suspicions to the truth of the legend that these SYSTEM goons might have.

"Tikkun Olam is the covenant between the Jewish people and Yahweh."

A faint smile graced his lips as he scoffed softly. A religious lesson? Alexander felt as though he needed to sit down if he was going to be treated like a schoolboy. He leaned against the cell and folded his arms across his chest though his clear grey eyes betrayed his interest. Religion had not been emphasized by the good people at the asylum.

"But Hashem wants me to repair the world--if they fear me, and they should, then I will do my best to create a comfortable relationship with them. I would never cook a meal for them, but I am nice. I give them enough power in allowing them to point their guns at me and discuss how terrible a monster I am or how ugly my scars are, so I will not give them the power to change me into something angry and cynical. I don't like this arrangement, but I cannot . . . wrap myself in silver and hope that it will subdue me in my basement. It looks much better as necklaces and earrings, anyway."

He frowned as he struggled with those words. Speaking in terms of religion made him think about lepers. And he only thought about lepers because he had been woken up in a park by some chatty group of actors practicing their lines for a production of 'Nunsense'. Why would God want a leper to repair the world? And what did that even mean--'repair the world?' If God had wanted Romy, specifically, to repair the world...He hadn't done a very good job of preparing her for that role. Then again, what did he, Alexander, know about such things? Perhaps there was some unique lesson to be learned in bearing the pain of transformations and the human-induced stigma that he had yet to be blessed with. But all this talk of 'giving them some powers but not other powers' made no sense to him. By showing up at this prison and surrendering yourself to their mercy, you were giving them all the power. End of story. Perhaps it was nice to pretend you were not?

"Your scars aren't ugly," he blurted out, anger rising in his grey eyes once again as his frown deepened. "Perhaps I am this 'angry and cynical' creature of which you speak. I don't know. But I would not let them do all as they please. If you let them, they'll turn you from a beautiful young prinzessin into some kind of...evil horrible snarling beast and they'll forget all about Romy and--" he threw up his hands with a soft snarl as he pushed away from the bars, not looking at her for a moment. "Forget it. I seem to be channeling the spirit of an old friend today. 'You must do things that make them remember the man beneath the monster, Alexi.' He was always talking like that. He was paranoid of the other guards. Afraid they would shoot me and wouldn't hear a word about how that was his job, too." He laughed then, a fond smile slipping onto his suddenly dreamy expression at the memory. "Listen to me ramble on...no better than a cub crying after its lost its mother. Pathetic," Alexander snarled under his breath, stiffening as he felt her fingertips on his forearm.

Still he leaned toward her and murmured softly for her ears only, "That's not a bad idea, with your silver. But I wouldn't try something like that alone. Not the first time, anyways. And you can try if you like, with the German, I mean," Alexander added as he straightened. "It's been a while, but I'm sure there's more of it rattling around in here--," he rapped the scarred knuckles of his left hand against his skull and grinned, "Than even I know. But no promises, hmm?"

And then they were out in the rain and alive! Soaked within moments, Alexander shrugged off the sticky feeling of his shirt clinging to him in the clammy wetness, still chuckling about the fleeting look of panic in the eyes of the guards as the werepair retreated deeper into a less secure part of the prison. Mentally, his thoughts bounced between guessing how long it would take before the men with guns came to round them up like naughty children from a daycare who had wandered out in the yard during naptime and how much fun it would have been to have had an old-fashioned tussle in the mud. It wasn't as though he expected to have any of these clothes in the morning anyways so laundry really wasn't a concern.

"They say that these are some of the most haunted blocks, because of the cheap and unskilled prisoner labor that went into them, but I haven't seen any yet."

"Ghosts, you mean? I've met a ghost...but I very much doubt she'd have much in common with these fellows." It was colder down here, older, even. There was no denying that it felt much different from the parts of the prison he'd been in earlier. "So...shall we investigate these further before they come to fetch us? Or do we need to take a break?" He stretched his arms out in front of him as he exhaled deeply. "That was quite a romp for these tired old limbs of mine!" Alexander winked at her, hoping she would not take offense. He was trying to give her an opportunity to bow out of something potentially painful and to blame it on him at the same time. And besides, now that they were in quieter and more private surroundings, they could continue their little anarchy-themed conversation.

[ROMY TABEA BRANNEN]

"We're not monsters. We're not bad. I would like those humans who dare to judge, who dare to press their low opinions on us as if we should care, I would like them to suffer through the Mother's call even once. Perhaps then they would not consider us dogs and would respect our restraint."

Romy bristled immensely at that. "I don't care about their judgements. I know I'm not a monster. I have heard far worse than that in my life in primary school playgrounds. I've learned to not pay attention to what they say behind my back, or to my face, because it's not important. I have the potential to do monstrous things, but I am not a monster."

"At any time, this 'System' you trust so much could decide to close this prison for tours and lock us all up in here or exterminate us like so many furry pests. You 'make the choice' to come here because they have told you there is no other way and you believed them when you were a little girl so you see no reason to question them now."

"Don't." Romy's hands trembled as the wolf inside blindly tore into a rage, not caring what for, just relying on pure emotion. "Don't tell me what my motivations are. I have fought with myself every month, trying to find a better alternative than this. I don't trust the System unconditionally, as you seem to think that I do. I cannot find a better alternative. Lancaster county is an hour and a half's drive from here. I don't have a car, I don't trust public transportation, and I have classes, and hours and hours of homework--I'm a Literature major over at Temple, so I have essay after essay to keep up with to keep my scholarship money, and I have to model to help me meet rent, and I still sometimes have to ask my grandparents for money to purchase groceries. Maybe when I have graduated, I'll be able to find a place without over a million people, and I will get to live without needing to cage myself, whether I am allowing regular humans to decide my fate." She almost snapped at him to please, tell her how to find happiness since he was so very wise and felt the need to patronize her so very thoroughly.

A bit of her softened when he admitted that he was German; what a fine kinship they had, after all. "Your scars aren't ugly," he said, earning a soft smile.
"Thank you," she said softly. "I am rather fond of them myself when they're not acting up like this." There were moments where she wished they would fade away finally, but she accepted them.
"Perhaps I am this 'angry and cynical' creature of which you speak. I don't know. But I would not let them do all as they please. If you let them, they'll turn you from a beautiful young prinzessin into some kind of...evil horrible snarling beast and they'll forget all about Romy and--"
"I have . . . learned that there is no point to being angry. They don't need to know Romy. The people here? They are not important. My family is afraid, but they love me. They don't know how to make me happy--they have no idea what this is like, and I would never wish it on them. They . . . they do want happiness for me, but they don't know how to provide it, which is why I am not still in Germany with them. I'm not alone, but I have to be able to figure this out on my own. And I have been on my own, since then. The weres here . . . I have a few friends, but we don't meet outside of the prison. I'm not interested in them." Not like I am in you, she thought but did not say. Her voice had gentled down, and she moved in close to him, feeding off of his presence. She trembled as she spoke.

"Listen to me ramble on...no better than a cub crying after its lost its mother. Pathetic."
Romy let the German come as she spoke, as though she had a secret to keep from any eavesdroppers. "I lost my mother recently. I don't think it's pathetic at all." Though she felt Alexander stiffen beneath her fingers, she didn't remove them. She let out a heavy breath between her parted lips and leaned in when Alexander murmured into her ear.
"That's not a bad idea, with your silver. But I wouldn't try something like that alone. Not the first time, anyways."
Her brow furrowed at this. "What? I've been wearing silver since I was a little girl--" She cut herself off, realizing that perhaps the fairy tales about werewolves and silver weren't such works of fiction after all. Perhaps being a lone wolf was not such a benefit after all. "I'm not affected by silver. It's just like any other metal to me," she said, switching to English to make sure he understood what she was saying. "Most of the others around here that I have spoken to don't . . . have problems with it, either. One of the women came in showing off her sterling silver diamond engagement ring a few months ago, and I know I saw at least five people touching it." Perhaps it was possible that it hadn't been silver after all, but that would still leave other casual mentions of silver being a part of their lives. "You can't touch silver?" A silly question, perhaps, but it just struck her as so . . . unexpected.

Romy splished gently through the growing puddle in the entrance of the decrepit cellblock, the rush of roaming through the rain and dirt and breaking the rules bringing back the playful energy. Slowly at first, she started to move her feet through the water, creating splashes and waves, until she found herself moving as she might in time with music, dancing to the beat of the falling drops, picking out a rhythm and following a slow, gyrating pattern that created large, long waves, while she spiced it up occasionally with a quick turn or shift of her weight that sent up splashes that rained down on her.

"So...shall we investigate these further before they come to fetch us? Or do we need to take a break?"
"A break from what?" She found that her distraction had allowed her to slip into her native Ulm dialect, something that standard German speakers found nearly impossible to translate, so she repeated herself for Alexander's sake, this time using the regular words that he would probably be more familiar with. She didn't stop moving, shifting to a more familiar shuffling style, bouncing and twisting and moving through the water to create a fair amount of disturbance. "You can't be that old," she shot back, laughing. Not losing her stride, she peeled off her shirt completely, displeased with how it stuck and felt plastered to her smooth skin, making her feel sweaty and just gross. She tucked it unceremoniously into the back of her pants, feeling much freer as she kept up with a track of music only she heard.

[[just pay attention to the little lady in the white shorts in the video! that's totes romy's shuffling style it's canon txt it]]

[Alexander Schwarz]

As some part of him deeply admired her self-proclaimed courage in the face of the insults paid daily to the Were by Man, the larger part persisted in thinking that--while Romy might truly believe what she was saying to him--it was all an act. Alexander had had his fill of Pretend and pretentiousness. In his mind, it was time to step out and been seen and heard or sit down and be swallowed whole into some judgemental Darkness. He wasn't going to sit on a fence and howl at the moon waiting for the citizens to band together with their torches and pitchforks as...enticing as that idea might be.

The Wolf rose within him as he saw the anger rising in her eyes. Come on, the were thought for a moment, his grin widening as she began her 'tirade' before he again regained a sort of control and attempted a disinterested frown, inspecting his nails as he tried to think on where each of the scars on his left hand came from--another of his techniques--as he kept an ear tuned to her list of 'reasons' for coming to this place. Unfortunately, none of them made any sense. No car, a fear of buses, homework?! He clenched his hands in frustration as he curbed his urge to seize her about the shoulders and bark something about 'priorities' in her face.

"If it's Lancaster you want to get to, Schatz and I could take you. She's an old girl but she's not falling apart--not anymore, at least. I'd hate for a pesky thing like needing more time to do your homework to keep you locked up, prinzessin." He smiled in amusement, but there was a lingering chill in his eyes toward her until she smiled back as their little chat continued.

"My family is afraid, but they love me. They don't know how to make me happy--they have no idea what this is like, and I would never wish it on them. They . . . they do want happiness for me, but they don't know how to provide it, which is why I am not still in Germany with them. I'm not alone, but I have to be able to figure this out on my own."

"Tsch. 'They fear me, but they love me!' What a sweet soft family you have!"

Realizing the bitterness which coloured his words, Alexander cleared his throat and made to start again, focusing on keeping his tone even. His eyes widened in surprise when he heard her speak German, having to focus on her words less than he had had anticipated though he had a feeling he had just gotten lucky that what he had heard fit in with his earlier suspicions. At least you didn't kill your 'mother', he thought with a soft snort. He doubted he would have any of her sympathy if she knew the truth behind that story. 'The Foolish Boy and the Captive Were: A Cautionary Tale of Friendship and Betrayal.' Certainly betrayal...but whose? Those thoughts slipped their spiky fingers into the cracks in his sanity and fought for leverage even as he struggled to resist them.

When she mentioned the silver, he shook his head. He recognized she had asked the original question in German and decided that the other weres and the nannies probably weren't all that familiar with the language if she somehow felt safer discussing what he considered to be a delicate topic in her mother tongue. He had his own reasons for desiring to speak in it as little as possible though he did not mind indulging a fellow were especially not one like Romy. "Later, prinzessin," he replied simply with a shake of his head, almost wishing he had brought one of his 'toys' to show the other weres.

"A break from what?"

What the hell was that? Alexander thought, snickering as she blurted out something that sounded very strange to him. Was it German or Gibberish? He was about to remind her that he had warned her he was rusty when she repeated, apparently taking more care with her diction as he understood her perfectly the second time.

"You can't be that old."

"Haha, the prinzessin is funny, ja?" Alexander murmured as he pulled the dark shirt over his head and tossed it to the side. He had no troubles running without his shirt if she was going to remove hers as well. But without his shirt, the bulk of his collection of scars were visible. Many of them were obviously made by the teeth and claws of other weres but a few...weren't. There was a staggered double row of small circles across his pecs which were all very white and uniformly depressed in the center. The only other of his stranger scars which was immediately visible was a similar looking single row of deeper indentations in the muscle of his left upper arm. Chuckling as he noticed her dancing in the growing puddles, he watched with interest for moment, even tapping his foot idly to the rhythm she was establishing. "If we were going with dog years, I'd be ancient."

He liked the way that laughter sounded in the ruins. But his smile faded slowly as he ran a finger along the oddly cool mark on his left arm. He had promised her an explanation-of-sorts, had he not? At the very least he owed her a story for sharing one of hers.

"My Mother gave me to the system in Germany. Nearly every minute was like my own personal hell. I was just a little boy when she left me with cold people who did not care whether I was happy. I was four when my father and I were attacked. He gave his life to protect mine. But, I was bitten." He motioned to the original bite with a hand, a soft sad smile drifting over his face for a moment. "I never hated my father--he did his best--but the weres...They had scars. I remember them clearly: red and silver lines in their bold dark fur. It took many years and scars of my own to understand them. They are my brothers now--or sisters--I was never really sure, to be honest," he admitted with a shrug, laughing. "I learned, finally, what it is to have someone who loves you and wants you to be happy. I'm sorry you feel you must live away from such a thing."

There was a brief pause before he broke from his sudden melancholy with a start, his eyes suddenly shining with excitement as he motioned to the strange marks the silver had caused on his own body. "These were from the silver, prinzessin. I do not remember if it hurt to touch it at first...we did not keep it simply lying around the asylum...but I can handle it with ease now. Something about the flesh...it has to be fresh. I thought it was fairytales and nonsense at first too. We learned very quickly otherwise. So I suspect if it was simply rings and things like that you would not notice a reaction. Now this 'dancing' that you have been doing..." He trailed off with a small sheepish smile not quite sure what to make of the strange movements but admittedly curious all the same.

[ROMY TABEA BRANNEN]

"If it's Lancaster you want to get to, Schatz and I could take you. She's an old girl but she's not falling apart--not anymore, at least. I'd hate for a pesky thing like needing more time to do your homework to keep you locked up, prinzessin."

The smaller were frowned, eyes sparkling with interest and softening up her face as a whole. "Homework is very important to me. Mutti wanted me to do well here, and I'm very dedicated to my work. The most I would have to worry about in Lancaster are . . . cows on the dairy farms, or getting lost in too many crops. Who is Schatz?"

"Yes, hilarious," she agreed, a low growl riding on the back of her words. It was not aggressive towards him, but more . . . celebrating the motion and the freedom and the fun. But when she turned and saw Alexander standing without a top, his shirt carelessly tossed aside
(like he wants me to see mein gott)
and watching her, teasing and smelling like he did and being covered in the scars that marked them as the same. She slathered herself with creams and lotions to lessen her own scars because of her modeling, though her photogs worked with Photoshop where they weren't appropriate, and the alternative mags were pretty welcoming even of the long claw marks that had turned her, calling them "full of character" and "dangerous," things that would appeal to the crowds into women who were not the typical blonde petite things who Romy was certain she could knock over with a particularly strong breath. Luckily, many people heard "German Jew," saw her scars, and filled in their own versions of things that allowed her to work around poses and fitted clothing and a little Photoshopping to deal with the worst of her blemishes (and the freckles on her nose, cheeks, and shoulders, given to her by her Irish father, which she always resented a little). Her light eyes scanned the scars peppering his skin, lingering especially on the dots along his pectoral muscles--yes, that was it; she wasn't just eyeing the slopes and curves of the muscles moving beneath his marked skin, tracing the shadows and highlights and cords of taught muscle in his arms. She wasn't licking her lips, that would be inappropriate.

"If we were going with dog years, I'd be ancient."
"Then it's good we're not going with dog years!" Her laughter was breathy, and though she kept her feet moving through the puddle slowly, absentmindedly, she didn't give up her gaze on the uneven patterns coating his limbs. She approached slowly, almost cautiously, and stood close by, not trusting herself to reach out without having too much difficulty breaking away.

"My Mother gave me to the system in Germany. Nearly every minute was like my own personal hell. I was just a little boy when she left me with cold people who did not care whether I was happy." The soft smile tugged at Romy's heartstrings. It seemed so out of place on his strong features, like it was looking into a part of him that she shouldn't have been allowed to witness. She never had such a poor experience with anyone involved in the System during her time as a were; they treated her well, a few even taking time to play with her when she was small. But she could understand how that could shape Alexander's views on the System that she held dearly. "I learned, finally, what it is to have someone who loves you and wants you to be happy. I'm sorry you feel you must live away from such a thing."
"Then show me." There was a little challenge in her eyes, but it hinted more at her seriousness than a sign of aggression. "The weres here . . ." she paused, searching for the right words and stepping closer, glancing up at his face, back down to his chest, and slowly raised a hand to gently touch his sternum, rubbing the marks with her fingertips and raking them softly with her nails, the light blue polish chipped but still sparkling in the little light that made it through with bursts of lightning. "None have interested me. We have no kinship beyond being here every month." Her other hand raised to his chest, laying softly against his hot skin.

"So I suspect if it was simply rings and things like that you would not notice a reaction."
Romy shrugged. "Maybe, yes." She wondered if she still had photos of the sparkling and elaborate silver necklace that had covered her throat and dipped onto the bared skin of her chest, and sparkled with canary diamonds. Perhaps Alexander would know from that whether the silver allergy applied to her. "What about my dancing?" she asked, leaning in to gently nuzzle her face into his collarbone, breathing in the musky, sweaty, animal, male scents wafting from him. "It's called shuffling," she said pleasantly, cheerfully, then leaned up and bit firmly bit without any real roughness where the slope of his neck met his shoulder.