Werewolf tat
Mar. 21st, 2011 11:05 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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writing_shadowsRio Anderson took a deep breath.
She was just about ready. She was wearing her best running shoes to give her maximum maneuverability. She had a stiff leather jerkin against her skin which would slow up claw attacks slightly, and she had one illegal handgun, filled with silver bullets, tucked in one boot and a silver knife in the other.
Her car was parked directly outside the building she was going to enter, and she had her car keys in the pocket of her hoodie in order to be easily accessible and she also had stashed a motorbike around the corner in case she couldn't get to her car in time.
She had a decent first aid kit with both the car and the motorbike, and she'd written a number of letters for her family and loved ones which she'd left at her flat in case she didn't come back. Realistically, those letters probably weren't going to be necessary, but increasingly Rio had this faint suspicion that time was running out for her. Rusty's latest death rage had rather done that to her. It had been a horrible reminder that with the Uratha, it doesn't take much to buy your death from them.
Rio stopped again and took another deep breath. Of course, half of the problem with tonight was that she was also afraid of killing, almost as much as she feared dying. She wished Ian's aunt wasn't quite so suspicious of her. She wanted to talk to a wolf blood who had taken down frenzying uratha without killing them. However, she suspected that her relationship with Aunt Sophie hadn't really gotten to that place yet. Or, in fact, any place beyond awkward small talk and occasional conversations about the arranged marriage Ian probably should have had.
Rio tried to not think unkind thoughts about Ian Rock and failed abysmally. She lifted a hand to the small Tiffany's pendant around her neck that he'd given her for Christmas and felt slightly less tempted to shoot him in his sleep.
Rio took one last slow deep breath and looked up at the block of flats in front of her.
"Enough faffing around," she said sternly. "Enough avoiding your fucking responsibilities. You have a job to do, Rio, and you're going to get on with it. And if she goes into death rage at the sight of you, that's your fault. You got yourself into this sodding mess."
She forced herself to press the buzzer.
There was a long silence before someone answered, speaking in soft and well modulated tones.
"Hello?"
Rio swallowed and hoped she didn't sound as freaked out as she felt. At least the copious quantities of lemon juice in her hair and the painful chemical peel on her skin would remove any impolitic scents, even to Uratha senses. That would probably get her through the front door.
Still, when she spoke, she was sure she sounded sixteen again, having to deal with one of her dad's pack on a bad day.
"Hi. Helen." she said. "It's me. It's Rio. I'm here to do those translations, like you suggested?"
Rio Anderson had fought Claimed, had killed Pure. She had faced down snarling Forsaken and could do a handbreak turn at 75 mph without turning a hair. She had worked for the mafia and raised teenage daughter which was probably the most terrifying thing of all.
She couldn't remember when she was last this scared.
She was just about ready. She was wearing her best running shoes to give her maximum maneuverability. She had a stiff leather jerkin against her skin which would slow up claw attacks slightly, and she had one illegal handgun, filled with silver bullets, tucked in one boot and a silver knife in the other.
Her car was parked directly outside the building she was going to enter, and she had her car keys in the pocket of her hoodie in order to be easily accessible and she also had stashed a motorbike around the corner in case she couldn't get to her car in time.
She had a decent first aid kit with both the car and the motorbike, and she'd written a number of letters for her family and loved ones which she'd left at her flat in case she didn't come back. Realistically, those letters probably weren't going to be necessary, but increasingly Rio had this faint suspicion that time was running out for her. Rusty's latest death rage had rather done that to her. It had been a horrible reminder that with the Uratha, it doesn't take much to buy your death from them.
Rio stopped again and took another deep breath. Of course, half of the problem with tonight was that she was also afraid of killing, almost as much as she feared dying. She wished Ian's aunt wasn't quite so suspicious of her. She wanted to talk to a wolf blood who had taken down frenzying uratha without killing them. However, she suspected that her relationship with Aunt Sophie hadn't really gotten to that place yet. Or, in fact, any place beyond awkward small talk and occasional conversations about the arranged marriage Ian probably should have had.
Rio tried to not think unkind thoughts about Ian Rock and failed abysmally. She lifted a hand to the small Tiffany's pendant around her neck that he'd given her for Christmas and felt slightly less tempted to shoot him in his sleep.
Rio took one last slow deep breath and looked up at the block of flats in front of her.
"Enough faffing around," she said sternly. "Enough avoiding your fucking responsibilities. You have a job to do, Rio, and you're going to get on with it. And if she goes into death rage at the sight of you, that's your fault. You got yourself into this sodding mess."
She forced herself to press the buzzer.
There was a long silence before someone answered, speaking in soft and well modulated tones.
"Hello?"
Rio swallowed and hoped she didn't sound as freaked out as she felt. At least the copious quantities of lemon juice in her hair and the painful chemical peel on her skin would remove any impolitic scents, even to Uratha senses. That would probably get her through the front door.
Still, when she spoke, she was sure she sounded sixteen again, having to deal with one of her dad's pack on a bad day.
"Hi. Helen." she said. "It's me. It's Rio. I'm here to do those translations, like you suggested?"
Rio Anderson had fought Claimed, had killed Pure. She had faced down snarling Forsaken and could do a handbreak turn at 75 mph without turning a hair. She had worked for the mafia and raised teenage daughter which was probably the most terrifying thing of all.
She couldn't remember when she was last this scared.
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Date: 2011-03-21 11:19 am (UTC)