do you bare your fangs at us, sir? MOONLIT RIVALS LOG 2, SCENE 2

[libraryassistants]

Who: Readers and Actors
What: The werewolves who are not sneaking into the party cause a bit of mischief... and did anybody actually agree to keep the peace tonight?
When: The night of the ball itself. [ooc timeline: Feb 6th - 19th]
Where: The city of Montica.
Content warnings: Please include any warnings in headers.


Waxing Gibbous Moon

In Town

Above the city, the Umbra Mansion stands tall. Its grand doors and windows have been opened, spilling light like a beacon. Music lilts in the air, drifting so far as to be faintly heard even in the neutral centre of the city.

The streets have emptied, particularly in the vampiric half of town. Most of the vampire loyalists have joined the masquerade, leaving their homes and shops unattended. Tonight is a special night - a once in a century event, and they wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Even some werewolves and neutral citizens have been enticed to attend. Jadis the Mystic has created a lotion that will disguise the scent of a werewolf; an effect that is broken by shifting, breaking the skin, or the gradual passage of time. It is not widely distributed, but rumours travel fast. The lotion is only given to any Guildulf-aligned werewolves, but… well, there’s nothing wrong with a little trade here or there. Right?

For all of the wolves in town - with the moon so close to being full, it’s natural for them to feel a bit more excitable. Energetic. Ready to take on the world. And seeing as Montica is so empty, it’s like a playground has just been opened up. The young wolves in particular are eager to take advantage of the empty streets, the sound of not-quite-mature howls breaking through the air in their excitement. There are hardly any people around to be scared if they play too rough or run too fast, and they are taking advantage of this with great enthusiasm.

In the highly-debated 'neutral' zone, some small packs of adolescent werewolves are gathering. There's banter and roughhousing, the not-quite-adults playfully shoving each-other over the invisible line where the vampire territory begins.

Some of the bravest amongst them take the challenge to dart over and brush their fingers over silver doorhandles - their yelps spurring courage and adrenaline in the others. What starts harmlessly enough quickly escalates as they urge each-other on, teenage excitement and the thrill of the moon encouraging all sorts of bad choices. The longer they go without reprimand, the more bold they become; and somewhere along the way, bulbs of garlic start winding up in places they wouldn't normally be found. (There is at least one group who is excitedly challenging each-other to leave the garlic in more and more absurd places. If they happen to sting themselves on some silver ornamentation on the way, all the better.)

Not all homes are unoccupied, though - sooner or later someone’s going to disturb someone else’s peace, and tensions are already so high. Hopefully there are some Responsible Adults around to curtail the worst of the mischief before someone’s temper is sparked.

Comments

Jun Ushiro | Reader (Human... ?)

[icanhearscreams]

I. You are a saucy boy. Is ’t so, indeed?

Jun should be in the inn. He should be in bed, quite frankly. It's late, and the streets are quiet, even in the neutral territory - which doesn't mean they're safe.

But he needs some fresh air, his mind swimming with nightmares and horrible images of the other pilots. Machi. Kana. Kanji. What would they say if they could see him now?

... It doesn't matter. He hears the yipping and freezes, looking towards the sound. There's some people - werewolves? - close to his age. They're roughhousing and shoving each other around, and one of them looks at Jun. His whole body shifts, straightening up and narrowing his eyes.

"What do you think you're doing? Just go home, idiots!" Anyone else want to back him up? He's still a scrawny nerd.


II. Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean... [cw: blood, injury]

There's a loud thump in one of the alleyways of the neutral zone. A shadowy figure runs out of it, leaving something with the scent of blood lying there. On closer inspection the blood leads to a small figure, his arm clutched in pain. Blood is welling up - and his sleeve is getting stained.

He stands - with difficulty - and starts to walk back towards the inn. He's not hard to follow, between the scent and the occasional drops of blood following him in the street.

Honestly he's just glad that his arm wasn't fully taken off. He looks up at the moon - it's almost full. Wasn't there something about being... bitten? Or was that just vampires? This is so out of his knowledge base that he's got no clue.


III. Wildcard

[Got any other ideas? Grab me on Discord or my plotting comment!]

II

[keytarheroine]

One of the sisters of the Laurelthirst - who looks hurt herself - reaches for Jun's other hand. She's wearing gloves, and seems to have... something wrapped in a flour-sack in her other hand?

"Cass knows herbs and stitching, can help your wound," she says, hissing it, sybillant, concerned, "But unless you want to howl at the moon, we'd best find you a proper chemist soon."

Will Jun take the implied offer of help? Are there still werewolves chasing him?

III. What shade is this? Something of Hell, perhaps?

[birdchasingecho]

And when the hurly-burly's done, when the battle's lost and won--
When blood runs its course and words have had their say--

There comes, yet, a knock on Jun's door.

At The Laurelthirst... (Troublemakers, Jun, Cassandra, and anyone staying here not at the party)

[keytarheroine]

It is well known, and somewhat resented by yahoos who favor both silver and allium, that the Laurelthirst Public House is open to all who would not disturb it's peace. Vampires that do not flaunt their powers, werewolves who do not react to bitten thumbs with torn out throats, confirmed bachelors and confirmed spinsters, and those as changing as the moon. All, who would not disturb it's peace.

It makes for a tempting target for young bravos beating their chests and howling at the moon who are not fond of vampires and those who tolerate them.

The sisterhood of wifwolves called the Blood Moon Troupe have a few who find such things as a vampire's fete distasteful or dangerous, and so have stayed behind to discourage trouble and keep each other company. Hazel Hoffman, their human purser; Nova, the Luna in Azure, the youngest; and Cassidy, the Luna d'Or, Sara's second in command have all stayed behind, playing cards marked with acorns, bells, hearts and leaves, looking over their shoulders, wondering when the other shoe will drop. Other patrons, mostly mortal but some low-class vampires and wolves who could not get invitations or did not want them, also drink and flirt.

Who disturbs the truce here? Who defends it?

[ugh_emotions]

Later on in the evening, SecUnit appears at the door Laurelthirst. It's carrying a dazed-looking injured human, one who has clearly been bloodied and bruised from a werewolf encounter.

"Where's the medical practitioner," it demands, standing in the door and glaring inside without actually looking at anyone in the eye.

It knows there's medical treatment available here; Jun said so in the journals. And they had better make themselves known soon, so it can drop off this human.

[fearinahandfulof]

Cassandra has been spending the last few days learning to play darts - not out of any particular interest in the game, but to have something she can use in combat that isn't her sword, in the event someone gets inside. She'd rather be able to get any invaders outside, but even there, she has no training in nonlethal combat, and Dust-Eater is very... thorough... as far as sword techniques go.

Still, the Laurelthirst is a safe haven, and Cassandra would like to keep it that way, so she'll do her part. And even without Dust-Eater, she's a superb swordswoman... and at least as much of a monster in her own right as any werewolf, if not more.

[icanhearscreams]

Late in the night, Jun wanders downstairs again. He looks exhausted, his body language tense and anxious. He sits at a table near some of the wifwolves, glancing over at them.

"... Still up?" Obviously. But he doesn't know what to say at this point. He feels awful, mentally and physically.

Re: At The Laurelthirst... (Troublemakers, Jun, Cassandra, and anyone staying here not at the party)

[thickasacastlewall]

Midway through the night, a tall (seven foot!) and strapping young man shows up at the doors of the Laurelthirst, looking already somewhat the worse for wear. "Lord Azuresky sent me to help defend this place," he says, breathlessly. "I hope I am not too late."

This idiot wolf can't stay in one place

[angel_of_baal]

before the party
Sigwulf tries his best to dissuade the foolishness. There's something about his presence--perhaps he has inherited, after all, his father's Disapproving Look--that serves to slow some of the fractious wolves in their steps.

"You grew up on tales of valor. Of battles fought against the Umbrans. But we live in peace, although an uneasy one, because we neither side, ultimately, could defeat the other. And battle is not what you think. It is not glory and honor and fun. It is pain, and suffering, and watching your friends fall, their lives cut short." He shakes his head. "You do not want this. Restrain the tides of the moon in your blood, lest you show the Umbrans that they, perhaps, are right in thinking us nothing more than savages."

His words will fall on deaf ears and bared fangs, and he knows this. He is not a great speaker. But perhaps some will listen, and heed, and maybe they will learn the wisdom of it easier.

after
The party breaks up late, but he leaves before that. Perhaps he heard something, perhaps he had been tipped off. Or perhaps it was some instinct, deep in the sinews, the part of him that howls at the moon with a longing no human throat can hold. But he leaves the party, alert, bone knives tucked under the long cuffs of his shirt, looking for trouble.

after

[curzed]

Sigwulf's being followed.

It has taken a while for Curze to really figure out who exactly Sigwulf is, there's so many strangers here and no familiar scent at all to act as a guide that he could have been anyone.

Any werewolf.

But he'd been pointed in the right direction, by someone who didn't think enough about voices in the dark pleasantly asking for more to work with than a name. And now there's a bat the size of a coyote patiently following him through the city. Not in the air for the most part, not when he can skitter across walls just as easily and stay hidden a little better.

There's trouble in the city tonight. And he has no bead on what the creature encasing his brother might even be like, to defend himself or join in on the rabble rousing. Patience and observation will do for now.

*timeskip* wooftime

[angel_of_baal]

Sigwulf was avoiding shedding more blood than was necessary. Often just him rounding a corner, flashing his bone knives, was enough to dissuade the younger pups, to send them scattering. He did not want to further the blood feud among the packs, not when the Umbrans and their ilk were on the rise politically.

But he hears a noise that even his human form ears cannot mistake--that is the alarum bell of his own household. He turns so fast that he drops one of his bone daggers, as he shifts into his wolf form--it was larger, faster, and better for fighting--as he races toward his home, leaping over anything in his way until he reaches the battered front gate.

Mina Harker | Reader | OTA

[starandhope]

Mina didn't appreciate being forced into a role, and a life, not her own in the last Story. But somehow, this time, finding herself still herself, surrounded by monsters, leaves her feeling far worse. Suddenly, she is trapped in a strange world, with unholy creatures, and she's not sure there's anyone she can turn to for assistance. She's tried to find Jonathan, to no avail.

This evening, she finds herself making her way to the tavern she's heard tell of, the place where (supposedly) it is safe for humans such as herself to stay. But the streets are dark, and she feels vulnerable, unable to tell friend from foe.

[hellandbackpack]

At least the person that she came across in those poorly-lit streets was a familiar face? Even if he didn't look like he recognized her, Kiran knew the look of a person lost and nervous, so he slowed his stride, attention turning to the woman with a warm, welcoming sort of smile.

"Alright there miss? Look like you got yourself a bit turned around, yeah?"

[keytarheroine]

And here is someone with gloves, a silvered dagger and a wooden stake both at either hip. Her grimace has prominent canines, but they aren’t a vampire’s fangs.

“Are you seeking the Laurelthirsts’s safety?” she asks, holding up her lantern.

Murderbot | Reader

[ugh_emotions]

i. Monitoring the situation
SecUnit was fucking pissed off.

The damn fauna humans were running around all over the place, making stupid fauna noises. That alone was enough to trigger SecUnit's Threat Assessment; this was exactly the kind of situation where shit could go sideways fast.

So it deploys every available drone to monitor the situation. Without the ones it gave to Curze and Sanguinius, and the ones it has watching Illumination's hideout, it only has seven drones. Seven drones, to try and keep an eye on the entire neutral area.

It's not enough. But the drones watch anyway, as SecUnit patrols the streets.

ii. Wrestling with fauna
At some point, one of the werewolf packs gets bold. Maybe someone reacts aggressively to their stupid antics. Maybe they just decide that stupid antics aren't enough, and they need to start hurting people.

Maybe the werewolves decide that the person they want to hurt is you.

Regardless of why, when it happens, SecUnit starts running. Not like how a human runs. A SecUnit's run is precise, methodical, relentless - and far faster than any human. It runs, right towards whichever werewolf decided that violence was a good idea.

And then slams right into the offending werewolf, bodily pushing them away from their intended target.

Re: Murderbot | Reader

[keytarheroine]

And the juvenile wolf with blue streaks of dyed fur behind it’s ears - the one trying to break up a fight - blinks, and shifts back to human, wincing at popping bones.

She’s emblazoned azure from toe-top to dyed crown, shaking twin tails.

“Stranger, I don’t know you from Adam but… thank you for doing your part to keep peace.”

i

[obeir]

It's very late in the night when Kade finally slips away from his guard duties at the Umbra manor to investigate the goings-on in town. All those howling adolescents have him worried about his younger brother and what he might be getting caught up in. Kade travels as a wolf through the largely empty streets, pausing occasionally to scent the air, or to peer in the windows of a building.

This time he does notice the very small device hovering in the air and pulls up short, staring up at it. It could almost be mistaken for a large insect, but it smells all wrong; he's never encountered anything quite like it before.

ii

[starandhope]

Mina is, quite frankly, not very well equipped to be navigating a strange city alone at night. Especially one which she knows to be full of monsters. She does her best - but pluck and courage can only get one so far, and eventually, she finds herself in trouble.

There is no handsome prince at her side, to tame this particular wolf.

And then something slams into it from the side, almost too fast for her to comprehend, and she startles, backing into the brick wall behind her in an attempt to stay out of the way. Then, she sees the face of the combatant in the light of a street lamp.

"Rin?" she asks, shocked almost completely out of her fear.

closed

[steelfeathered]

The Umbra Masquerade, for plenty of werewolves, is the perfect opportunity to not just boisterously race about playing 'pranks', but to actively, consciously strike at their counterparts. After all, entire manors have been left with a reduced guard, all but open for plunder. And of course, not all vampires are attending the masquerade, but the absence of many neighbors leaves those homebodies comparatively undefended. There hasn't been a chance like this in decades, but the Lord of Wolves has been very firm. This plum will choke them, Roberte Guildulf has said. Taking it means coming far closer to catastrophe. Many of the humans of Montica are favorably inclined towards vampires; a major enough shift could unite both against all werekind, maybe even beyond the city proper.

Across the past couple of days he's been acting on intelligence provided by his family's mystic Jadis Akabane, trying to head things off by sending enforcers to or meeting with members of various families and select individuals, putting pressure on them. This is unprecedented. He's acted on her information before, but never so openly addressed things that haven't happened yet. Roberte's "cowardice" and outrageous trust in this mad, beguiling witch has parts of the community dissatisfied.

Now, Sigrid and Sigwulf have set off to attend the masquerade, one covertly, one openly, with Loic along. The rest of the household, much of the staff included, pass through Roberte's study, where he and his mystic consult over a map, and are dispatched to different locations in the city. They'll intercept family and friends, in several cases, and hopefully be able to stamp out sparks before they can catch into flame. The house is almost empty now, with just a few very young and timid maids left. And these two, of course.

Jadis has a chair at Roberte's elbow but has been up and pacing, flapping her hands now and then to try and release nervous energy, her dark eyes glassy. She's seeing so much happening out of the room that she's almost blind in it and has to keep putting her hands out to find the desk, her chair, his chair, his shoulder ("Sorry, sir"). That cold skin-prickling feeling she gets when danger is near has been getting stronger, but she's been so preoccupied, and so confident in the sense that she's safe in her patron's presence, that she's been thinking of it as danger in very general terms.

"What now? Should we go out ourselve- wait. Sir. Do you smell burning hair?" Surely if something was on fire he'd scent it first. Is she smelling the future? She hasn't seen a lot of arson...

[guilliman]

Jadis has proven her worth to him a hundred times over, since he saved her. She has proven it a hundred times more, just in this past week. Once this is over.... once this is all over, he thinks, as he pores over his map of the city, he will have to thank her. Reward her. Somehow. Without her, he's certain, the city would already be in flames.

Damn these blind fools, damn their shortsighted bloodlust! He risks his entire power base to save them from themselves. (And if they cannot join with the Hunter family, there may be no recovery from it, and what then, what then...?)

They don't see, they don't comprehend the ruin they risk leading them all into. Roberte comprehends. His first wife had been a refugee of one of those far-off towns, where wild wolfish greed pushed the human population too far. She had told him of the silver-tipped knives and clubs, entire districts in flames. The smell of burning flesh and hair carrying for miles --

...burning hair?

"No," he answers automatically, then breaks himself out of his reverie. Sniffing at the air, then shaking his head. "No. You do?" But even as he asks, he's moving to throw open the window. The night air blows in, carrying the smell of lit torches, and those carrying them. No burning hair.

But. Wait.

He closes his eyes, and breathes in the night once more.

Torches. Humans... no. Weres, in their human forms.

The Night Heron had bade him be sure that his household bear his scent, for their safety. He had done so. These wolves did not smell like his.

"-- visitors," he says softly. "Not ours."

Magnus the Red | Reader | OTA

[logosmaxima]

i. Because to talk about Him, vexes (before the party)
Early on the evening of the Umbra Ball -- the event of the century, all Montica twitters -- Miracle Max is among those keeping his shingle out for those who need last-minute party supplies. Whether it's potion meant for warming someone's heart, a hangover cure bought in advance, or a charm to invite focus and calm, he's all but giving them away to any comer -- except those whose auras and attire say they can afford to pay for his services.

The initial forays of the young werewolves into the neutral district, near his wagon, don't go unnoticed. He's got a mild word or two of warning for them -- "See you don't let the moon go to your heads, hm?" -- that of course fall on deaf ears.

So deaf that eventually he judges it wise to pack away his wares, close up his wagon, and disappear before the sun's fully down.

ii. And time to vex is now -- (and after)
Soon enough, the young wolves turn from mere mischief to real harm. Soon enough, there can be heard the splintering of wood, the shattering of glass, the yips of pain and triumph as houses are broken into.

They are a clarion call for those hoping to keep peace in the streets tonight.

Here and there, where the worst troublemakers have found their way into an occupied house or pinned some helpless wight caught out after dark, a truly massive apparition appears. A long-legged crimson wolf, large as a carthorse and possessed of a single blazing violet eye, the beast is quick to use his superior size to end fights where he find them. Vandals are dragged kicking and howling from vandalized houses, and bullies bodied away from their cowering victims; he is not shy to shed blood where it's unavoidable, but most of the stupid youngsters receive no more than bruises as they're tossed unceremoniously into rubbish heaps or gutters.

Quick as the creature appears, he disappears as soon as the targets of his ire are quelled, fey laughter and an odd smell of burnt garlic following him. (Any bulbs someone might've been holding to hide in an unsuspecting vampire's residence burn to a crisp in his presence.)

Though he has no words for the young wolves, anyone who isn't out for mischief -- especially anyone with an aura he recognizes from the Library -- might get a sunny baritone +Hello! Lovely evening, isn't it?+ sung into their mind as he ghosts past to the next disturbance.

iii. And he wants little, hungers, aches not much
Near dawn, with the better part of the disturbances quelled, the giant red wolf vanishes from Montica's streets, and Miracle Max -- Magnus -- reappears by his wagon in the neutral district. Out comes his sign promising wonders of education and magic, and down the man himself sits on a trifold stool by a smoldering brazier to examine his own arm by the light of the rising sun.

There's a long bubbling score on it, a brush-wound from a piece of silver he hadn't noticed. It's not healing as fast as he's accustomed to, and that's fascinating. Fascinating enough that he does not look up immediately, should someone approach, though he will offer a wry, "Good morning. Did you have a good night, I hope?"

He expects there will be call for many of his gifts, even if only those suited to easing heads made sore by too much to drink.

iii

[curzed]

Dawn isn't far away, and with it the evidence of all the night's rampant forms of mayhem, from pups getting too rambunctious to an assassination attempt or two. Most of the undead have already retired for the day, but one.. hasn't as yet.

And lands on the roof of Magnus' wagon in a slide of claws in a black and gray bat-shape the size of a large eagle, hanging briefly by thumb claws before dropping further down and into the relatively protective shade. The rank smell of blood follows, bitterly edged not in mortal baseline but werewolf. Is he welcome here?

Maybe. Maybe not.

But getting belowground before the sun burns its glaring path through the city is going to be much more difficult, and unlike Sanguinius and Roboute, Magnus still smells more or less like himself. Still looks more or less like himself. He'll take the chance, the question about a good night drawing a distinctly grumbling growl from his shrinking puddle of darkness.

Closed to Amalia

[keytarheroine]

Selune Endymion was running, pursued by the blue one, what was her name, Nova.

Armando bowed his head and licked that stranger's boots, but she wasn't going to stop fighting for the dominance of her pack, not now when it was critical and her allies were assaulting the Guidulf demense. She ducks into back alleys to evade her.

Surely no one in Montica knows this route?

Re: Closed to Amalia

[birdchasingecho]

There are unhurried footsteps in front of her. An unlucky bystander, perhaps? No matter. She will simply go through them.

Around Selune, the shadows deepen.

The moonlight glimmers on the sharpened edge of a dueling shield. "You, who broke the peace of the Laurelthirst. Did you think you would escape the Hunters' wrath?"

That's. Amalia, or at least Amalia's voice. And then it echoes from the alley's walls. "Did you think you would escape us?"

Nyla Vereca, Reader in Distress cw blood

[not_scrap]

Nyla's looked a lot better. It's probably hard to tell, because when you already look like a glass of milk and a piece of chalk had a baby, the line between pale and too pale might be hard to parse for some.

What isn't, though, is the blood that has cascaded from her throat, all down her white dress, staining the fake satin fabric (she doesn't have real satin money are you kidding her?), and sticking between the beads of the (also fake) pearl fringes of her dress.

The walk, also might give it away, a bit more of a stagger, just aiming at 'not back there' as a general direction, as she pauses from time to time to hold onto whatever wall is near. "Think, dummy. Some place has to be safe." Because even she can tell this is not a night to be caught more vulnerable than she already is.

[curzed]

Konrad Curze isn't keyed to defending the vulnerable. It's simply not part of his makeup. Addressing the criminal element, yes, but tending to the victims? Not at all.

Who knows how many victims 'saved' by his intercepting a murderer or a rapist failed to get home that night simply because they were left on their own, vulnerable and weak. This may become another one of those cases.

But he is a hunter. It's the smell of blood, fresh and sharp and utterly mortal, that had drawn his attention at all. With this night running wild, literally, she's not the first injured - but she is the first non-werewolf he's come across. it's possible the one who attacked her is still around, looking for their target, and it's that goal and not altruism that sets him on her trail at first.

Nyla's not unfamiliar. But usually there's the sounds of life that accompany her presence, such as ... a heartbeat.

"What have you gotten yourself up to?"

The dark of the night shouldn't be as difficult to see through, for some reason. He's not hiding, but to mortal eyes the shadows he's in would render him invisible. To a vampire's senses..

[fearinahandfulof]

I. Before the Masquerade (anywhere)

Cassandra is not going to the masquerade; she doesn't know how to behave at such things, and even if she did, she's really not fond of crowds. She has, however, heard tell of misbehaving werewolves, so she's on high alert wherever she goes, be it the neutral zone in general, the Laurelthirst in particular, or the woods outside town, where she's been sleeping in lieu of staying at the inn.

(She does take a slight detour into the north part of the city in search of a silver knife, or possibly a short sword. You can't be too careful.

Though it does make her wonder what happens if the vampires decide to cause trouble. She's not really sure how best to deal with them if need be.)

II. During (Laurelthirst and/or surrounding environs)

On the night of the Masquerade, though, Cassandra makes sure to be at the Laurelthirst. After all, it's meant to be a safe haven, and just because Cassandra's never really had one doesn't mean she thinks others should be deprived of one. She'll try not to kill or even hurt any werewolves who do invade, but that doesn't mean she won't hit back if need be. Possibly against their ankle tendons, if Dust-Eater comes into play.

II

[icanhearscreams]

Jun wanders downstairs in the Laurelthirst, his arm wrapped up and his sleeve still shredded. He'll need to replace the shirt, but not in the middle of the night.

He stares at Cassandra and sighs, sitting down nearby. "... You're awake late." So is he.

early morning at Guildulf house

[steelfeathered]

As the sky lightens, the Guildulf staff and family members returning from their work of the night are presented with what happened in their absence. The courtyard is filling with bodies. More keep getting brought out, loosely covered in bloody canvas, sometimes with names attached. Jadis is there, supervising and evaluating whatever minor injuries or strains her people have come back with, carrying herself with a brittle dignity that's quite a lot colder than her typical demeanor, though she still clasps their hands and presses their shoulders. Touch remains a grounding sense and she's dosed herself to the gills to stay alert and focused after last night, making it that much more important to stay in the moment.

She is not wearing the evidence of what happened as openly as Roberte is, and by comparison she's not nearly as shocking a sight. Her face is pink and glistening with a broad first-degree burn and the layer of ointment she's applied to it, she has no eyebrows, her arms and hands are bandaged, and she's wrapped her hair in a scarf which, like her clothing, is clean. Little visible blood, mostly dried under her nails and in her hairline.

But bathing or combing the ash out of her hair would take some time and there's so much to do, so even if it's not as obvious as with Roberte, she's wearing the evidence as well. The odors would be present to a human nose; to a wolf's, they speak. Under the scents of her remedies - including the nostril-stinging wolfsbane concoction which prevents turning after a bite - the reek of burnt hair and fur follows her. Magefire and charred flesh. And even if she's wiped or washed the worst away, as with the whole house she smells like she was present for slaughter.

She might meet you at the gate, harried-looking and clearly not actually quite seeing you, because her gaze is glassy and no matter how familiar you are she asks "Hello? State your business." You might also come across her leaning against it, clutching at her head, or just with her head bowed and eyes screwed shut against something upsetting, mouthing denials and pleas to Tyche Automatia and Agathos Daimon.

Re: early morning at Guildulf house

[birdchasingecho]

"... Good god, it's worse than I thought." This the first thing out of Amalia's mouth on approaching the back entrance. She's been up all night, as well, defending the peace of the Laurelthirst and anywhere else a small, flying squad could go to put out the metaphorical fires. "-- No, first-- I am Amalia, I have news from the Noctiluna, the Endymion, and the Hunters. How have you been, Jadis?"

She's lost track of Lily in the confusion; though she suspects it won't be long until the full reconciliation.