Good Afternoon, Blackwood [open]

[MICKI ANDERS]

-Outside of Nico's-

Sliding out of the cab of a rusty pick up, a young woman throws her pack over her shoulder. Orange Converse scuff the ground as she bumps the door shut with her hip. It has been a long trip, and she is glad to get out and stretch her legs. And what a beautiful day to arrive at her destination. The midday sun is hot, and the air is clear. It's downright perfect. Her beast seems to preen, rumbling contently at the new landscape. It has been looking forward to this day since they left Denver. Finally making it to their destination, the young woman is excited to dive right in.

Exhaling loudly, a grin spreads across her lips.

"Thanks for the lift!" Micki chirps.

The elderly man replies with a smile of his own. Beautifully gap-toothed and mustache ruffling. He says his own farewells, pointing her in the best direction. Micki nods as she steps back with a wave. The engine lets out a rusted cough and the truck ambles off into the distance.

Micki turns, finally taking in the town.

Blackwood, California. She certainly had never imagined a place like this. In a way, it reminded her of home. Cody is a lot like this place - kind of rustic and quaint. Jackson had a few of those qualities. And Denver had certainly been nothing like… this. But Micki is not the sort to remain in one place for long. At least, she had not found a place she wanted to stay. Maybe this will be different. Looking around, she still could not believe that an actual forest cuts through the center of town. 'That must make getting around pretty tough,' she wonders, rubbing the back of her neck. She just hopes that she doesn't make a fool of herself and get lost in the woods. That would be kind of ridiculous.

Either way, Micki takes a hearty breath of Blackwood air.

Yep, definitely in the right place. The town reeks of their kind. From the dirt to the buildings, the place is practically saturated by the scent of werewolves. It calls to her, almost invitingly. But a nervous flutter alights in her gut. This is new territory - foreign territory. the beast within seems to let out a soft rumble, curling beneath her skin and shivering through her bones. It is cautious - afraid. That uncomfortable twisting persists. The fear is there, gnawing through her nerves and trying to tell her to leave. It's tears waiting to fall and a whimper resting on the tip of her tongue.

"No!" Micki barks, hands fisting. "I'm already here! There's no turning back!"

And with purposeful steps, she marches towards the place the elderly man had pointed out to her: a bar and grill called Nico's. Micki wrinkles her nose. She supposed this is what she gets for being a newcomer to the town.

The young woman sighs. "I just don't want to make a fool of myself… again."

With a solid nod, she enters the establishment…

[MERLE E. WALLIS]

Merle was sitting at a booth. The vinyl seats lent a charm to the place. He was sitting with one arm hooked over the back of the booth, his elbow crossing over into the area of the other people, who found this to be rude. He was waiting for his waitress to come, to give him some sort of menu or something. All he had was a placemat that he had drawn all over in boredom. He'd arrived almost ten minutes ago, but was hungry. Starving actually. He had a gun in a shoulder holster underneath his raggedy jacket and the strange calm that made people think that he was waiting for someone to come and hurt him. The front door opened.

Like lightning, he had his hand ready to grab at the knife that he had put on a sheath on his belt. His face was a bit dirty, but this was his break from gravedigging. He didn't like digging graves when the sun was high. Mostly because it would make wearing a jacket too hot, but taking it off too cold. It was a predicament and he avoided it.

He shut his eyes and then let the grip from his knife. Mr. Wallis then regained a straighter posture, letting the family on the other booth to relax. The establishment was busy, but Merle had a history here. It was only a couple times that he lost it and had to be removed forcibly. The place had enough people on hand for his waitress to come.

"You're late," he said without raising his eyes to her. He scribbled a portrait of his dog, Charlie, on the back of the paper placemat, meant to preoccupy children with its puzzles.

"You're not allowed in here," she said, crossing her arms, stamping her foot. Then, she braced herself.

Immediately, Merle stood up, took his gun from its holster and pinned the pistol against her cheek. The entire restaurant went silent. He was a veteran and though his public antics were showy, they were completely harmless. He was in control, he could simply pull the trigger. "I'm just hungry," he said calmly, nodding his head at the word hungry. He pulled the trigger. The gun was empty. The red-headed waitress gulped.

"You're not allowed in here," she said again, with the idea of suing him later. She didn't understand why he wasn't locked up somewhere.

Merle snorted and then let her go. "What's a guy gotta do to get a damn roast beef sandwich around here?" He tucked his gun into the holster, and then shuffled toward the exit, a heavy limp in his step marking the fact that he was a disabled veteran. As he passed Micki, he told her, "Well, seat's open." as if everything that he had done was just part of his everyday routine.

He hopped into his truck, turned the classic rock station up, and sat there. It was moments like these that he wished he had brought his dogs rather than leave them at home. But then again, he didn't want those guys to be in trouble. He didn't regret his actions, which could explain why he seemed to never learn from them. Mostly he just wished that he could find a place where he was allowed to be himself.

[MICKI ANDERS]

Not even twenty minutes in town and there's already drama!

She watches wide-eyed from the entrance of the establishment. A grungy, older man pulls a gun on a waitress. Micki does not dare to move. Her beast is running circles through her veins in panic. What the heck?! Who does stuff like this?! Mind in a frenzy, she wonders if the gun is loaded - if he will open fire on the rest of the people in the room. There is a shout on the tip of her tongue. An urge to rush in and stop him before he does something stupid. She is still in denial. No way is this real! This has to be some sort of… movie set or something!

But a quick look shows no cameras.

The rest of the patrons seem just as spooked as she. And just when she is about to take matters into her own hands - forgetting the fact that she's new to this town and that, perhaps, being held at gun point could be normal - the situation dissolves. The gun goes off with a sharp, empty click. The waitress is visibly shaken. And the man is stalking towards the exit.

… oh crap.

The man mutters something to her in passing, and Micki nods dumbly.

… What just…?

It's a few calming breaths later that she finally comes back to herself. The waitress- poor thing - is slumped into the vacated booth and is running shaky fingers through her hair. She looks frazzled. Poor thing. What a terrifying experience! Micki's beast seems to whine, as if its tail is tucked and it's ready to flee. A sick, gross feeling settles in her gut. Maybe… coming here was a bad idea. She's second-guessing. This is strange territory - to both her and her other half. Instinct tells her to leave - to get out while the going is still good. But curiosity says stay - linger and see what happens.

So, instead, she takes a page from both.

Micki storms out the restaurant in a huff. It takes her a few minutes to locate the source of her current frustrations. The reason she is debating with herself in the first place! It's all his fault! Her beast quietly rumbles, pressing beneath her skin. It does not like this. Intentionally looking for trouble is not something it approves of. But with a firm frown in place, the young woman ignores it. And finally she finds him. Blaring loud music from his truck, Micki wrinkles her nose at his actions. He's having a tantrum, she surmises. That's certainly what it looks like.

Her fist raises to pound against the side of the driver door…

And suddenly, she's not so sure about this plan. Did she even have a plan to begin with? Micki has never been one to think ahead. Do things on a whim! Always willing to rush in headfirst, and always the first to come crying back. She is your usual coward. But… oh drat.

Micki softly knocks several times on the truck door.

"Um, excuse me?"

She just hope she doesn't come to regret this...

[MERLE E. WALLIS]

Merle was a lonely man. Nobody wanted to come up to a man who was a gravedigger of all things. That sort of occupation had a stigma to it. And his personality didn't help him any. The visions of war that floated behind his eyelids. Mostly, he hated the fact that it didn't make him crazy. He was already crazy before he left. If anything, it allowed him to cool down, to be good at what he did and know how good he was. He didn't want medals for killing people. That's why he left. He just hunkered down, shot himself in the leg, and pretended that he was just one of many causalities. But really, he was. At least now, he could pretend that the war overseas was to blame for his character, his love of guns, his skill with them, and the hermit-like way he hid in his home with his two dogs.

He was blasting the radio, but turned it down when he heard the soft knock against his truck door. Calmly, he winded the window down, turning it quickly with a practiced motion. The wailing of an 80s band continued in a small volume, but was there all the same. He cocked a brown eye toward the bi-racial woman looking up at him. Werewolves didn't exist for him yet. At this moment, for all he knew, he was the beast. However, he was quietly grateful that perhaps this woman hadn't figured out that she was supposed to stay away from a crazy gravedigger.

"I passed you on the way out," Merle said, lucidly, sort of to prove that he wasn't out of it, that he had noticed her. Although he had made a big show in the restaurant, he had done so with full mental faculty. He wasn't insane in that he lost himself. No, he simply made a choice that most people would keep to themselves, live out only in fantasy. "I guess you were turned off by the service, too?" He had offered a joke, then continued it. "Can you believe that they kicked me out? I didn't do a thing!" He didn't think it was fair. He was having a good day. Some days, he would be the instigator. And those days, he was okay with being kicked out. This day, he wasn't, not really. They kicked him out before he had the chance to order.

He sighed. "I'm bad at conversation." His words were terse, rough. He was unflappably calm, but just a little frustrated at the moment. Merle leaned back and then looked at the young woman with a sidelong glance. Early twenties, but he was coming up on his fortieth, so anything younger than thirty was young to him. He hadn't seen her before going to Nico's, so he guessed that she was from out of town. "I'm Merle, new girl." Most would think that, given his tendencies toward drawing his gun and pulling a knife, he would be more of a dragon. But underneath the dirt,the grime, the roughed up exterior, he was quiet and patient. It was why his dogs liked him so much.

[MICKI ANDERS]

Outside the truck door, she fidgets. Tugs on a lock of curly hair and rocks back and forth. She doesn't know why she's doing this, but she can give a guess. He shouldn't pull guns on people, she surmises. This is what she has determined. And as he finally rolls down the window, Micki takes a careful step back. She does not want to get up all in his face. Instead, she gives an awkward bow at the shoulders and waits. He's speaking and she nods.

"Yes."

It's a simple answer. She does not go further than that. He continues, and Micki cannot help but be weirded out by him. Service? Kicked him out? Of course! Why wouldn't they? He had pulled a gun on someone! No normal person does this. It certainly has never happened to her before. And she hopes it never does. But none the less, this man seems almost… oblivious to the wrongness of his actions. It makes the girl wonder. Just what kind of town is this? It's certainly nothing like Jackson. And all through this, she's taking a better look at him. He kind of puts her in the mind of a black bear or a badger. Scruffy and rugged and kind of gaunt. She would not say that he looks sickly, but more of a scrawny lumberjack.

Micki sighs, rubbing the back of her neck.

"Well… you did pull a gun on her," she mutters softly. Micki is all quiet words and gently coaxing, looking at the ground and scuffing her orange sneakers. Green eyes glance up at him nervously. She is trying to put this as gently as she can. Who knows how far off the deep end he is. And she would really rather not have a gun pointed at her either. "It's not nice to do that."

He introduces himself, and she does the same. "Micki. Nice to meet you."

The young woman huffs at his comment, rolling her eyes slightly. He seems pretty upset for being kicked out. An idea tosses around in her head, but she hesitates. It's not charity, but more out of kindness. Her stomach rumbles at the thought. And for her own benefit.

"… If you're hungry… I can order something to-go," she starts. She waves her hands to stave off any incoming questions. "I'm kinda hungry myself, so it wouldn't be any trouble. You just tell me what you want and I'll go get it, along with something for myself. And I'll bring it back to you."

She smiles, bright and genuine. Her offer is indeed true. There is no pity in her expression or mockery of Merle. Her stomach rumbles again and Micki blushes. It was a long ride to get here. And I haven't eaten lunch either.

She doesn't quite know what she's getting herself into.

But she can at least help one of the locals...

[MERLE E. WALLIS]

"Well, I did make sure I didn't load it," Merle snapped right back at Micki. "And, and also, if you noticed, she went to kick me out before I pulled the gun at her." No, it was futile. He was in the wrong, and he knew it. As proof that he understood that Micki was right, Merle sighed and slumped in the driver's seat. He wished his shepherd-collie mix, Charlie was here, trying to crawl in his lap. Or that Beau, his hound-dog mix, was around, respectfully nudging his hand with a big, wet nose. Mostly because he knew them as friends. Micki was unknown. But he decided, she might as well be a friend. Besides, if she wronged him, well, let's just say she better not.

Merle knew that he was a special brand of crazy. His mother's brand, to be exact. She had the same devil-may-care attitude when it came with guns and had the same lack of social ettiquette. It was something he inherited, or learned, or both. He knew that it wasn't good that he had to empty his pistol to ensure that nobody got shot. But he just had to bring a gun with him, everywhere. And he understood how trigger-happy he was. But one part of Micki's chastising had especially struck a chord with him.

"It's not nice to do that."

"Well, maybe I'd be nicer if people were nicer to me," he said in retort. He wanted desperately to redeem himself in Micki's eyes. Mostly because she had gone out of her way to introduce herself to him and be friendly-like. He didn't have too many people do that, least of all after he waved one of his weapons around in public.

"You know, new girl, er, Micki." It felt strange for Merle to state someone's actual name. He hadn't met a new friend for awhile. Being a gravedigger tended to scare off people who would have been a friend. Being a crazy veteran did the same too, but he didn't like blaming that part of him. Wasn't his fault, not really, that he went to war. Nobody told him how it was going to be. "You are the first nice person I'd met in awhile." He played with the little nob on the corner of the truck door as he spoke—unable to say yes to her offer straightaway, but desperate to get that roast beef sandwich his belly was missing. "Well, yeah, I was gonna get myself a roast beef sandwich, but I'm not a picky man." The door locked and then unlocked.

"I'll pay for yours too." He half stood in his eat and fished out his wallet from the back pocket of his worn-out jeans. He retrieved a couple of five dollar bills and then offered them to Micki. "You can order and get them, but I'm paying," he explained, and he was adamant. Merle didn't want his new friend to owe him already. "For yours too." His gaunt face looked determined. "I'm nice too, y'know." He didn't want to be hostile and drive away this young woman, and, of course, there was the chance to eat from a restaurant that he rather liked.

[MICKI ANDERS]

Micki stifles a giggle.

It seems like he's almost pouting. She believes that he knows he is in the wrong. It's not right to pull a gun on someone, whether they like you or not. There are just some things you don't do. However, she decides not to force the issue. Micki has only just met the guy. No sense in chasing him off or getting on his bad side either. Besides, she does not think he's the sort to shoot people over silly things. She hopes he has more sense than that. But his comments almost make her think of a child.

Honestly, he's a lot grown to be whining.

"All right," she replies, taking the offered bills. She smiles warmly, gesturing towards Nico's. "Wait here and I'll be right back."

And with that, she hurries back into the bar and grill. The afternoon crows is still there. They have returned to their meals and don't seem to care too much about the guy with the gun anymore. Just going about their business. Micki wanders by the bar, looking for something in particular. And finally, she spots the waitress from before. The other woman has gone back to her job, busing tables and taking orders. She doesn't seem to be as rattled as she was earlier. Micki approaches.

"Excuse me," the young werewolf starts, waving to the waitress. She approaches carefully. "Do you know where I can make an order to-go?"

The waitress pauses, and gestures. "Over there."

Micki nods with a thanks. Trotting over to the counter, she smiles at the bored-faced teen. He's leaning half-asleep on the lonely counter top, surrounded by take-away menus and a fortress of toothpicks. He sits up quick, laughing nervously. The young woman glances between him and the makeshift structure. Instead, she puts forth her order - two roast beef sandwiches, two orders of fries, and two bottles of water. The boy nods, takes the the orders, and asks her to wait.

About fifteen to twenty minutes later, and a plastic bag of boxed meals is paid for.

With a wild grin, Micki exits Nico's and heads straight for Merle's truck. As promised, she holds out the boxed meals.

"Here's lunch, as promised," she starts, removing one of the boxes and handing it to him. Fishing through her pockets, she withdraws the left over payment. "And here's your change. Thank you for buying my lunch too. I appreciate it."

She fidgets outside the truck for a moment. Unsure what to do.

Micki doesn't really know anyone in town. And while Gun-Totting Merle is a nice guy, she doesn't want to impose on him. Guess… I can find a park to eat at or something…

She'd just rather not look like a lost tourist…