Multiple Settings Brave Enough - A Werewolf: the Apocalypse Quest

[wonderandawe]

You dig through the laundry basket and pull out your well loved Led Zeppelin t-shirt. When you found it at the flea market, your mother mocked you for buying it “That band hasn’t been on stage since before you were born, Sigrid.” You hug the soft, well-washed material to yourself and then toss it on the bed.

You remove a pair of indigo blue skinny jeans from the basket. Artful holes rip along the knees and shins. You lied to your mother about these holes. “I ripped them by accident.” She knew you lied and helpfully offered to patch them for you. As a compromise, she patched the inside of the holes and you picked out the fabric. Instead of bare skin, the rips reveal florescent pink polka dots.

Glancing out of the blinds again, you see a few windows illuminated in the houses around the lake. Kirksville is waking up. The sun rises from the other direction, but the sky behind the Crying Rock is now a lighter shade of violet.

You search and can not find either your backpack nor your black pleather shoes. They must be down stairs, still in moving boxes. You sit on one of the beds in the room, chin resting on your fist. After last night, you did not want to go downstairs and face your mother. Nor did you want to spend the time before school digging through moving boxes.

As you sit and figure out what to do, you study the room. Besides the wolves in the forest print, there is little on the walls. A few pin holes and scotch tape markings reveal that the walls were once covered in posters. You notice a dirty white shoe lace trailing out of the closet. You fold the wooden closet doors. Inside are a stack of boxes, a mound of discarded shoes, and a pile of old yearbooks and photo albums.

The white shoelaces belong to a well worn pair of white and blue athletic shoes. You nose itches as you dig through the moldy mound of footwear. “Score!” You pull out a dusty pair of Doc Martens. Real Doc Martens, not the fake ones you own. You use the edge of your shorts to wipe them off. You slip one on your right foot. A bit big but nothing a pair of thick socks wouldn’t fix.

Pulling off the shoe, you search for a size. The size is a much larger number than your size ten. Must be an European size. Black on black, you find the name “Ella” written inside the shoes. Ella is your aunt who went though the change and became Garou. You set the shoes down in front of the open closet and stare at them. Should you ask first? You pick a dust bunny off the laces. If your Aunt Ella wanted the shoes, she shouldn’t have left them here. You set them beside your bed.

What other treasures can you find in the closet? A flannel shirt so dusty, it makes you sneeze. A matted grey witch wig from some forgotten halloween costume. You pluck the top yearbook from the pile and open it. The Kirksville Class of 1993 tome is slimmer than the yearbooks from your Austin High School. Farewell signatures and notes all addressed to your Aunt Anne fill the inside covers. 1993 must have been her senior year. One long note draws reads:

Anne,

Congratulations on your admission to UT-Houston! I know you are disappointed you can not follow in Ella’s footsteps, but know you have a bright future ahead of you. I suggest you take this opportunity to explore who you are as an individual, instead of a twin. I have faith you will be a success no matter what you chose to do with your life.

Remember to keep your Acids and Bases separate.

Mr. Collins

You search for a yearbook from your parent’s years, but you find nothing. This must have been Anne and Ella’s childhood room. It must have been rough for the twins to separate like that. One twin Garou, the other twin going off to college.

The mention of University brings up another question: Can Garou go to college? Your mother made it sound like once your father when though his first change, he couldn’t leave Kirksville. Your heart pounds as you replace the yearbook on the pile. Where you trapped here if you became Garou? Something to ask your Father. Or maybe Alex.

Before you unfold the closet door, a discarded photograph catches your eye. You pick it up a photo of your mother and her four sisters as children sitting on a wooden fence. Anne and Ella sit side by side. Anne is tall, skinny with long blonde hair. Ella is tall, big boned and with short hair. No, Ella’s hair was braided and wound around her head. Your Aunt Jessica, who now lives in Germany, smiles, showing off multicolored braces. She stands on the ground and leans against the fence.

Your mother stands on the bottom rail. She is no more than nine years old, wearing an oversized tie dyed tshirt. Your mother leans away from the camera and sticks her tongue out. Melissa, the youngest, hangs upside down from the top rail, her long pigtails brushing the ground.

Something drops in the kitchen. Your mother isn’t usually this clumsy. You crack open the door just in time to hear your mother curse. Movement attracts your attention. Democritus, the wolf from last night, lifts his head when you open the door. He stares at you with those all seeing golden eyes. Was the old wolf there all night just outside your door?

What do you do?

• Go downstairs and talk to your mother. The longer you wait to clear the air the more you’ll delay.
• Go for a run to clear your head. Bring this Democritus with you and see what his deal is.
• Sneak out of the house and head to Aunt Anne’s House. Five Teenage girls used to live in this place. There has to be a way out without your mother realizing you left.
• Other
  

(I seriously considered combining this decision point with the last one. Now I wish I did because it ended up splitting one normal sized post into two short ones.)

((We can discuss Tattoos and Piercings later. Once Sigrid’s eighteen! Or she gets a fake ID. ))

 

[Jairain]

Oh man, let's run with wolves!!!

 

[buggybran]

A run with the wolf. If he is going to be living in your house and creeping outside of your bedroom you have a few questions. Plus, he knows more about Kirksville than you do and maybe you can get him to spill some info.

 

[Howdyparker]

And I ruuuun. I run so far awaaaay.

 

[Nutmeggera]

You can totally out run this old wolf

 

[eura]

Go downstairs and talk to your mother. The longer you wait to clear the air the more you’ll delay. Don't hide from your mom you dork.

 

[JayTee]

Talk to your mom. You may be a dumb emotional teenager, but you're not a coward.

 

[wonderandawe]

Vote Count Thus Far:

Talk to your mother
Eura
JayTee

Run with Wolves
Jairain
buggybran
Howdyparker
Nutmeggera
budgieboi

 

[budgieboi]

Run with the wolves!

 

[Jairain]

Yay, I'm finally in the majority! This is effectively an old man creeping outside your bedroom. We need to know where he stands. Creepy.

 

[StoneWolf18]

Even though it doesn't help much, I'd say talk to her. Better to get it over with than let it simmer. ^^

 

[wonderandawe]

Setting your school clothes aside, you grab a pair of running shorts. You dig out an oversize t shirt, blue cartoon waterdrops smiling from the front. You exit the room, tucking your socks into your running shoes as you go.

The old black wolf lifts his head when you appear in the hallway. His tail wags when he sees you in running clothes. You cross your arms. This wolf has been creeping around your bedroom. What was his deal? Well, no time like the present to find out. “You can come along if you can keep up.” You taunt Democritus. The old wolf snorts and follows you down stairs.

“Sigrid?” your mother calls, from the kitchen. “Do you want breakfast?”

“I’m good!” you yell back from the front door. “I’m going for a run with the old wolf.”

There is a moment of silence from the kitchen. “Okay. Be back by seven. Your cousins will be here then to pick you up.”

“I know, mom.” That conversation happened last night. Did she think you forgot so quickly? Though you didn’t want to think about last night. You feel a stirring of those alien emotions. You shake your head. A run will clear your head.

Toddy, your kinfetch, squawks at you as you break out into oppressive morning air. It’s still summer. School shouldn’t be starting while the heat and humid still weigh heavy in the air. You sigh and lace up your shoes. “Come on, you old wolf.” You stand. “Let’s see what you got.”

The wolf yips. Your fragments of the dream last night return to you. The yip is a command to follow. But instead of taking off down the road, like you expected, the wolf circles around the back of the house. “Shit.” You hurry to catch up, shoes crunching through the dew dropped grass. Democritus leads you around the lake at break neck speed. “You aren’t going to get past me.” You let loose, running with joyful abandonment. You heave deep breathes and your heart thumps in your chest. You run past the docks and decks of the other houses. Nice houses, not mansions, but well kept and painted in natural tones of browns, tans, and greens. Yet a few sit empty, waiting for occupants who will never return. You run past a deck filled with dead herbs potted like the house’s ghostly residents are raising demented broom bristles.

At the edge of the woods, Democritus stops. He looks back at you, tongue lolling with laughter. You come to a stop and rest your hands on your thighs, breathing heavy. Break neck speed without proper warm up is not how you trained in Track and Field. “You win. I take back everything I said about you being too old to run.” You huff. The wolf licks his black nose and takes off into the woods, this time at a more manageable pace.

The woods near the lake are dark and thick. No logger’s blade has ever touched any tree here. Democritus leads you through the deep brush, following a trail you can not see. You leap over fallen moss carpeted logs and brush past sharp branches. Soon you reach a point where you can no longer run, only break trail through the shrubs and young trees. You wonder if the wolf is doing this on purpose. Is he dragging you through the thickest undergrowth to punish you for mocking him? Despite your annoyance, the forest canopy gives you a break from the summer heat. The air here is fresh and green. The last of the summer cicadas buzz. A mockingbird sings. A grey squirrel flees to the tree tops.

Finally, you break though to a clearing with a tall mound of pink rocks and red clay. A younger sister of the Crying Rock. You pause, brushing off the leaves and checking your arms for scratches and ticks. Democritus does not stop at the bottom. He climbs the mound, leaping from rock to rock until he reaches the top. You stifle a groan. Up until your run with the wolf, you thought you were in great shape. You step from rock to rock, shoes slipping on a patch of moss. If you are going to keep running like this, you are going to need trail shoes… or wolf paws.

When you reach the top, you find not an old black wolf, but a old man. The old wolf, now human, sits facing the Crying Rock. His wild, dark curly hair is liberally streaked with grey. He has the fine strong features of the Mediterranean, his skin well weathered, his face deep with laugh lines. The old wolf wears a bright orange Hawaiian shirt and black cargo pants.

You sit on the rock next to him and focus on calming your breath. You take deep gasps of the fresh air. As you recover and take in the landscape. The Crying Rock looms in front of you. Behind you the sun rises above the town of Kirksville. Everywhere else is green. Deep Forest Green of the trees. Bright grass green of the cattle fields. Deep blue green of fresh water lake. “It’s lovely.”

“It is.” The old wolf agrees, with a warm contented smile. “It’s good to get out of that dusty tomb of a house and outside among the living.”

You nod in agreement. “My mother will air the place out.”

The wolf grunts as if this was not enough for him. “You shouldn’t skip meals. Humans who are not used to fasting need to eat before or after strenuous activity.” The old wolf digs through the pockets of his shorts and reveals a dead mouse, its neck twisted. “No, not that.” Democritus mumbles to himself. “I found that in the attic yesterday. Here.” He offers you a ziplock bag with a homemade granola bar. Thankfully, he pulled this from his other pocket.

You hesitate. “I don’t take food from strangers.”

The old wolf smacks his head. “I apologize, Sigrid. Your Aunt told me all about you, but you know nothing about me. Of course you shouldn’t take food from strangers.” Democritus sits cross legged and faces you. “I am Democritus, Judge of the People in your language. I was born under the Waxing Half Moon to the Black Furies and ran on four feet to be claimed by the Children of Gaia. “ There is a note of sing song ritual to his introduction.

You attempt to imitate his introduction. “Hi, I am Sigrid Kirk. I don’t have a cool name yet. I am Get of Fenris born on the night of the Gibbous moon.”

“Close,” Democritus says in approval. “You have not gone through your first change, so your Kinfolk introduction is simpler. You are Sigrid Kirk, Daughter of Five Claws, Ahroun of the Get of Fenris, Sept Alpha of Crying Rock. If we were Silver Fangs, we’d spend the entire day listing off the great deeds of our ancestors.”

You smile at the old wolf’s exasperation at the tendious of these Silver Fangs. “Are Silver Fangs another tribe?”

“Oh, yes. Falcon’s Brood. The greatest of the tribes, the leaders of the Garou Nation.” Democritus snorts. “You don’t have to worry about remembering that because the Fangs will never let you forget.”

“I thought the Get of Fenris were the greatest tribe,” you joke.

“You truly are your aunt’s niece. You’ve been here less than a day and you have that Fenrir pride.”

You wonder which of your four aunts he is talking about? “What would my introduction be after my first change?”

“That depends on you and your choices and deeds. For example, you could be Run Ragged, Galliard born on two legs to the Great Wolf Fenris. You are not a member of your family’s tribe until you survive your Rite of Passage and choose Fenris as your Patron.”

“You mean I can be whatever Tribe I want?”

“Yes, you can choose whatever tribal patron you want within reason. I doubt Falcon would show up to your Rite of Passage. He has high standards only the most honorable lines of the Silver Fangs meet.” The old wolf sighs. “With a bloodline like yours, it would be a scandal if you don’t choose Fenris.” Democritus leans in closes and whispers. “If your family gives you any difficulties, my tribe will help you find the tribe that calls to your heart.”

You stop yourself from scooting away from the old wolf. “You are very helpful.” You start. “Is that why you creep around the hallway in front of my room?”

“Creep?” Democritus repeats with a confused frown.

“Yes, Creep. As in Creepy old man...or wolf in this case.”

“Ah. Do not worry, Sigrid. I have no intentions of mating with you.” The old wolf reassures you in an nonreassuring way. “I’m old enough to be your grand…” He stops talking and winces. “Did I just make this more creepy by bringing up mating?”

“Yes.”

The old wolf scratches behind his ear. “I’ve been walking on two feet longer than most homids have been alive and still some aspects of human etiquette escape me. Guide me, Sigrid Kirk, Daughter of Five Claws. What can I do to be not creepy?”

What can Democritus do to be not so creepy?

• Stop wandering the halls as a wolf. If he can turn into a human, he should interact with you as a human.
• Move his bed downstairs and away from his room. Having an old man… wolf sleeping outside your door is really weird.
• Leave you and your mother the fuck alone. Why is he even there in the first place?
• Other

 

[StoneWolf18]

Daaawwww, he's that one uncle that everyone wants, you know? I'd say Other, stay as he is. Sigrid will warm up to him eventually~ x3

 

[eura]

Move his bed downstairs and away from his room. Having an old man… wolf sleeping outside your door is really weird. I feel this option is written incorrectly but I know what you mean. I'm perfectly fine with Democritus being in wolf form because wolves are cooler than humans, it also makes him more vulnerable to being sassed.

 

[JayTee]

Just to clarify, is this a wolf who can turn in to a man, or a man who who can turn in to a wolf (who is also super old)?

 

[Jairain]

Nothing, we are the noobs, we need to adjust to our elders. He's creepy more cause we don't understand than anything he's trying to do. If he wants to help us to be less creeped out he can teach us more about himself and his time at crying rock.

 

[wonderandawe]

Democritus is a Lupus Garou, so he is a wolf who can turn into a man.

In comparison, Sigrid's father is a Homid Garou, so he is a man who can turn into a wolf.

 

[JayTee]

In that case I'm going to go with Other: Inform him of social cues that might be taken as creepy or weird by humans.

 

[Howdyparker]

I'm going to go with other. She chose to run with him, spend time with him. I think she should realize that they both simply need to learn each other's social norms and personalities. She is the newbie here, and she's got a lot to learn.

 

[Atraxia]

creepy is creepy no matter if wolf or man. Leave you guys alone.

 

[buggybran]

He definitely has to stop hanging out outside of Sigrid's room, but she is aware that he is knowledgeable and could be useful to have around. Sigrid will help teach him some normal human behavior, while he teaches her more about wolfishness.

 

[Nutmeggera]

It's cool to have a wolf companion so other, you need to teach him about human things if he will teach you more

 

[wonderandawe]

No post today due to out of town travel and time mismanagement.

Next post will be Monday, June 5th.

 

[wonderandawe]

“You’re fine,” Now you met Democritus in person, the wolf isn’t so creepy. Just odd. “Can you move your bed downstairs or into one of the other rooms? You sleeping in the hallway is weird. And the whole wandering the halls staring at people is creepy too.”

You were afraid he’d be offended, but Democritus weighs your advice carefully. “I can move my pillow downstairs. It will put me closer to the fridge, where the beer is anyways.” The old wolf stares at you unblinking. “Would you be more comfortable if I was human when I stayed with you?”

“Yes,” That way you consider him a guest in your home rather than a creepy wolf. Also, you could talk to him and find out more about Garou in general.

Democritus grunts. “This is a problem. Your mother prefers me to stay as a wolf while I am with you. She would like to pretend I am a dog,” The old wolf’s voice growls on the word dog. “As she is the mistress of your home, I need to abide by her decision.” Democritus stares off in the distance. “Your mother has been gone for a long time and has forgotten what it means to be kin. Me throwing my weight around as Garou will not help her remember in a good way.” The old wolf focuses back on you. “Sigrid, can you talk to your mother and convince her to not fear me?”

“Umm…” You still need to talk to your mother to convince her not to fear you. You pause before agreeing. He lead the conversation to this point, you realize. Democritus has walked on two long before you were born. There are some lessons he has learned well.

Sensing your hesitation, Democritus adds, “If I am to be trapped in a human home, I would prefer to be human. Wolves are not meant to live in boxes.”

You frown, but can’t find any reason not to agree. “It will have to be after school.”

Democritus smiles. “That is fine. I am patient. Is there anything else I can do to make you more comfortable?”

“I can’t think of anything,” You search your mind. “But if I do I’ll let you know.”

Democritus snorts. “I’m sure you will. You are Fenrir after all.”

You squirm uncomfortably. “I don’t know much about the tribes, even my own.” You admit. “My father told me the Child of Gaia were peacekeepers.”

“You arrived yesterday, Sigrid.” Democritus reminds you. “No one expects you to master the lore of the Garou Nation in a day. You will be taught everything you need before your Rite of Passage.” The sunrises over Kirksville. “Speaking of Teaching, you need to go to school.”

“School! Shit!” You race down the hill. “It’s nice to meet you on two feet!” You cry out to the wolf when you reach the bottom of the rocky hill!

Democritus waves you goodbye.

You run through the woods, ignoring the branches scratching at your face. You race past the decks of the lake houses and make for the street. You stomp up the stairs into your grandmother’s house. You grab your clothes and head to the shower. Shit Shit Shit. You are going to be late, you think as you wash your hair. You throw on your clothes. You look into the mirror, and comb your wet hair.

“Sigrid! Alex and Regine going to be here soon!”

Alex? Shit. You had forgotten about him. Your hair's a mess and you have no time to blow dry. Not that it matters. You’ve given up boys. Yep, not more bashing boys heads into car windows for you.

Still, you pluck the make up case from the box in the bathroom. You dig around and find a deep red lipstick. You put some one. You rub your lips together and look into the mirror. Pale Face. Red Lips. “I look like a clown.” You decide.

“Sigrid!”

“Coming!” You line your eyes with a black pencil and throw on some blush on your cheeks for color. You zipper your makeup bag. You find some of your mother’s hand made perfume oils and pick one at random. You dab oil behind your ears and on your wrists.

You run down stairs carrying your boots and make up bag. You sit on the bench and put your boots on.

Your mother raises an eyebrow at the boots. “Where did you find those boots?”

“In the closet.” You reply as you lace up the tall Doc Martens. You dare your mother to say something about the boots, then you remember what happened last night. Of all people, you didn’t want your mother to be frightened of you. You open your mouth to speak. To apologize.

Ding Dong! The doorbell rings. Two tall figures cast shadows in the green plastic window.

“Here’s your bag.” Your mother hands it over.

“Thanks.” You shove your makeup bag in your well patched backpack. “Look, Mom, I’m sorry about last night...”

“No, it’s okay.” She gives you a weak smile and counts out your lunch money. “You are growing up too fast on me.” She retreats to the kitchen.

Ding Dong! The doorbell rings again. You groan and open the door. “What?”

“School, that’s what?” A girl in a black pinstriped pencil skirt and a professional cap sleeved shirt snaps back. The girl is more prepared for a day at the office instead of school. Annoyance burns in her caramel brown eyes. “I’m Regine, in case you don’t remember.” Your cousin is tall like most woman in your family. With her burnt orange hair, caramel brown eyes and dusting of freckles she is fire to your ice.

Alex stands behind her, dressed in dark jeans and a plaid button down shirt, left untucked. He has a leather messenger bag across his shoulder. He gives you a little wave and then holds up a finger. He opens his bag and gives you three books: ASL for Dummies, The American Sign Language Dictionary, and Dirty Sign Language: Everyday Slang from “What’s up?” to ‘Fuck off”.

Regine rolls her eyes. She signs something to Alex. Alex signs back. “Sorry, you don’t have to take the books if you don’t want them.” Regine apologizes for her step brother.

“I asked for them.” You snicker at the Dirty Sign Language book.

“We should go. We don’t want to be late. If someone would finish fixing the car, we’d be driving to school.” Regine signs and speaks at the same time.

Alex pulls out his notebook “Car’s been sitting for years. Need money for parts.”

“Just sign, Alex. I’ll translate.” Regine tells him. Alex frowns and puts his notebook away. He signs at Regine. She snorts, signs back, and doesn’t translate.

“What did he say?”

“He’s afraid, I’m going to edit what he says.”

“Do you?” You’ll need to learn Sign Language as soon as possible if people weren’t going to translate right.

“Me, no.” She frowns, offended. “Shoving his foot in his mouth will teach Alex not to be weird.”

“Mom and Dad edit what he says. Mom’s trying to be helpful. Dad does it to be concise but loses some of what Alex says.” Regine explains as Alex signs.

The three of you walk in silence for a while. “So what is there to do in this town if you are our age?”

“Absolutely fucking nothing.” Regine groans. “This is my last year. I can’t wait to get out.”

“I heard you got accepted to Harvard.” You remember what you Aunt Anne told you. “Congraduations.”

Regine beams at you. “Once my kinfetch left, my step-father said he’d pay for any school I could get into. Dad almost frenzied at the Ivy League tuition costs, but he arranged things with the tribe.”

“The Fenrir will pay for college?” You add scholarships on the list of things to ask your father about.

“The Get of Fenris? No, they are too traditional to worry about college. College doesn’t help fight the Wyrm. Not that I’m not proud to be Kin of Fenris.” Regine quickly adds. “I meant the Glaswalkers. They are a much more forward thinking tribe. As Kinfolk, I got to take all the advantages I can.” Uncle Greg was a Glasswalker. You remember the Glasswalkers were the computer tribe. If any tribe had money, it would be them.

“There is the militia.” Alex signs, missing the conversation you and Regine were having. “That is something you can do.”

You make a fist and circle around your chest. Sorry was one of the few signs you knew. “I didn’t meant to leave you out of the conversation.”

“The militia isn’t fun, Alex. When you start high school, you are allowed to join the militia.” Regine explains to you. “The teens go out and cause trouble for any strangers who come to town at night. It’s part of Crying Rock’s defense. We can’t have strangers wandering around the town. They will get ideas they can wander around the Rock. The Garou aren’t suppose to do anything Garou in town unless it's something the kin can’t take care of.”

“The first meeting is after school, you going to join?” Alex signs.

“They do give you self-defense and firearms training.” Regine wrinkles her freckled nose, but schools her expression.

“What?”

“You are Franklin Kirk’s daughter.” Regine frowns. “It’s total bullshit, but it's expected you will join.”

“Alex has to go.” Alex tells you through Regine. “Alex’s is Garou. They want the Garou cubs to work with the kin so they can get used to each other.”

“I’ll think about it.” Not wanting to commit to anything. “Depends on the sports.”

“We don't have much sports at Kirksville High, but we’ve have trouble keeping the coaches. Kinfolk don’t keep their temper well and the coaches get banned. ”

“We have football.” Alex explains.

“Yes, only because Coach Richards isn’t kinfolk. He calms down all the helicopter parents of the opposing teams. Used to be the other schools wanted to play the Kirksville Raiders. We were the toughest team around. Now, everyone’s worried about injuries and their kid not getting in college.”

“We have Cross Country, right?” What will you do with your time if you don’t have sports?

“Oh yeah.” Regine is the type who pays little attention to sports. “The track team doesn’t compete except amongst themselves. Though if you go through your first change, you won’t be able to play. Being Garou is an unfair advantage. Garou don’t have time for sports anyways. So you won’t miss it.” Regine reassures you or at least attempts to.

Alex whistles. He points as you peak a hill. Kirksville High School lays in a valley amidst cattle fields. On the far side of the school is deep dark forest; the same forest you ran in with the wolf this morning. The school is a hodgepodge of buildings. A two story building built of white stone is the tallest one. A row of warehouses labeled with various trades sit behind the main building. All evidence points to college students not being one of Kirksville’s main exports.

Wide eyed, Alex stares at the students walking around the dim lit atrium of the white stone building. This is his first day of school, you remember. While Alex is distracted, Regine takes you aside. “You’ll keep an eye on him, right? You are in half his classes. Make sure the other students leave him alone.”

You look at Alex and remember him healing the gunshot from the convenience store robbery. “I’m sure he can take care of himself.”

“That’s the problem. Alex can’t be mauling the other students.” Regine bites her lip and worries about her stepbrother. “He doesn’t know the small cruelties the other kids play on each other.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” you promise.

Regine squeezes your arm in thanks. She joins the line for Senior Schedules.

You and Alex join the line to pick up your Junior Schedules. You look over your schedule. For the first time in your life, you got all the classes you want. Though you still mourn the lack of sports. Oh well, maybe it’s time to focus on your academics. Alex shows your his schedule. Biology with someone name Aguado for first period. Same as you.

You walk through the hallways, emptier than at your previous high school. Lemon scented cleaning chemicals scent the air. The clatter of tall blue lockers - taller than the shoebox sized ones of your urban school - echo down the empty hallway. Rednecks in pressed flannel shirts and clean cowboy books lean against the lockers. They halt their conversation as you and Alex pass. A group of blonde girls, half in cheerleader uniforms, move aside to give you both space.

A few students fight in the intersection between halls. Their boots smear mud all over the clean floors of the new school year. The Dean, a big beefy dude with a military haircut, breaks them up. To your shock, the dean’s grey twill jacket reveals he is armed with a tranquilizer gun. Alex gives the dean a wide berth. He stays close to you, treading on the heels of your boots and almost tripping you. No need for that with the halls so empty.

What do you say to Alex?

• Nothing. Ignore Alex invading your personal space.
• Glare at him. One look should warn Alex to back off.
• Be Stern. Set your boundaries with Alex early.
• Be Reassuring. This is Alex’s first day at school and he is nervous
• Other

 

[StoneWolf18]

Be Reassuring. No need to be so hostile towards him when he hasn't been in a public school before.