A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Vargr | June 16, 2010

When important things happen in your life, you catalogue them internally. There are instant reactions and sensations that your body does that make them, that much more memorable to you.

When I spied Vargr, the world pretty much stopped on it’s axis. I mean, I didn’t hear a sound for a good twenty seconds. I was so focused on him.

I could barely remember what he looked like, because the mugging had happened so swiftly with movement and motion. I’d never got a clear look at his face, or a lock on his scent because of the adrenaline surging through me. Because I’d been reacting.

It was the sight of him and the realization, that I was finally catching up to my mistake. That’s what had me frozen beyond all other comprehension.

“This crypt’s taken find your own.” He muttered at us, as we entered the mausoleum he’d decided to camp out in. Then slowly, as if he realized something, he turned his head and sniffed. Jumping up to his feet. Looking at me and Conall with renewed interest. He knew we weren’t homeless bums looking for a place to crash. “Don’t I know you?”

“You ought to. About a year ago, you mugged me, stole my handbag, my ipod, my wallet.”

His eyes brightened. “Lady, you could be anyone, muggings happen all the time. New York’s not a safe place these days.”

“Oh yeah, why’s that?” Conall asked him stepping towards him. The damp air in the crypt suddenly felt tense. And still, I couldn’t get a fix on Vargr. Mould, dampness and dank, rife air that felt like it’d been compressed for some time, was showering my sense of smell. We’d already been in the cemetery too long, not to get overwhelmed by the mixture of it’s essence, which was essentially rot and decay, a smell animals know strongly.

“Who are you, man?” Vargr said tilting his head and putting his hands on is hips as he moved towards Conall. Not the least bit intimidated by Conall or me. He was rather smug about stepping up to Conall.

Conall stood still. Also not the least bit intimidated or worried about Vargr.
Vargr glanced back across at me.

“Oh you her man? Is that it? You come to make sure she’s going to get her stuff back from me?” Vargr said laughing as he backed away again slowly, his arms out wide. “Well you’re a little late, I don’t have it lady, I don’t have anything to give you!” He said slapping his arms down by his side.

I needed to get closer to vargr, to get a fix on his scent. I was struggling to figure out what we were dealing with other than a shady street criminal in a crypt.

“So what are you going to do about it?” His eyes twinkled. I know that look, it’s rather gleeful and simmering. It’s the ready to rumble look. Vargr was ready for a fight. I got the impression he wanted one. Maybe to test himself out, against us. To test his new abilities. Whatever they were.

“I’m pretty sure you remember me. I bit you on the collar bone when you mugged me.” I moved past Conall and kept walking towards him. His grin got bigger.

“Lady you got some balls on you, I’ll give you that.”

I inhaled him. I got past the dankness of the room, the stench of his body odor, the grease of his hair, and the stale smoke and beer smell his clothes seemed to be coated in. I got a faint tint of animal. But Conall was right. Not fur. Not exactly. Feathers? Fluff? Something else. He wasn’t a lycan.

Vargr wasn’t a lycan. Definitely not a lycan. Maybe this wasn’t vargr. Maybe we’d got the wrong guy. I mean, what was the likelihood we’d ever run into the mugger again?

“Oh, now, I remember you.” Vargr stated, locking eyes with me. “That bite, stung like a bitch with the clap.”

Some sort of animal, but why couldn’t I figure it out. It wasn’t coming to me clearly. Something about him. Vargr, I wasn’t making out.

“About that bite, did anything happen afterwards? Did you get sick? Have body spasms, anything like that?”

“Why, you try to infect me with AIDS or something?”

I hadn’t created a lycan. A small part of me was relieved. This guy would’ve make a psycho lycan. Which would be, so beyond bad. I heard Conall shuffle forwards and saw vargr’s eyes dart towards him.

“Not Aids. Lycanthropy. It’s not lethal.” I lied. It was only lethal if you didn’t survive it’s initial infection into the bloodstream. Vargr had survived it, clearly. “But you’d have had symptoms.”

“Lycanthropy.” He muttered softly back at me. Before chuckling. “Well now, that explains a few things.”

Shit.

He was a lycan? What things did he mean? How could he be a lycan? Why was my sense of what he was, so screwed up? I wanted to glance at Conall. But if he’d have figured it out, he’d have muttered something to me. We were both at a loss as to what Vargar was.

“What do you mean?” I asked suddenly nervous.

“So you’re what a lycan looks like, huh?” He said slowly circling around me, visually examining me.
Okay, so vargr didn’t know about werewolves.

“Werewolf.” Conall muttered angrily at him. I would’ve let the insult slide, with his ignorance, not armed him with information.

“And you too, am I right?” Vargr said looking over at Conall, who gave no response, other than a stoic face.
“So I mugged the wrong woman huh? I got myself bit by a damn werewolf in New York. Well now, that is a first.”

“You seem to be taking it pretty well, considering you stole from one of us, your in a confined room with two werewolves, and we’re blocking your only exit out of here.” I replied as vargr stood opposite me again. He was about my height, hard to make his build under his layers of baggy clothing. But two werewolves against one man, the odds were in our favor, should we fight. Not that I wanted this reunion to come down to that.

“Why wouldn’t I be lady? No harm, no foul. I mugged you and I got bit. It’s my own fault, hazard of the job. I don’t have your stuff with me. But you can help yourself to whatever I do have that might be of value to you.” Vargr said indicating his latest stash pile of no doubt, assorted stolen items.

I frowned, not liking the sound of his words. A gnawing feeling of tension built in my gut. It wasn’t about the stolen goods, he was trying to fence me. It was about what he wasn’t saying, about why he was so at ease with being infected with lycanthropy, with being confined in a room with two werewolves and no way out.

Why he didn’t fear us, especially when Conall was there, doing his dark scowling thing.

Maybe it was because Vargr didn’t know about the other side of Brooklyn. The world, he and I belonged in, more than the regular, human world. The world that came alive at night and was inexplicably linked by the moon and it’s lunar cycle.

Was that why he didn’t fear a werewolf? The thought kept playing over in my head as I stared hard at his features, trying to figure it out. He knew I was trying to decipher what he was.

“I got handbags, I got wallets, you like leather?” He asked slipping back into con mode. Conall glanced at me, silent but clearly expecting me to indicate what we should do next. What the plan was.

Animals tend to live in a hierarchy system. There’s usually something bigger, and badder than they are and that’s what they fear. It’s the difference between Predator and Prey. Like when I get close to a domesticated dog or cat, they sense my werewolf and freak out, getting their claws out and going crazy. Like that children’s poem about the fly. The fly gets eaten by the spider.

“Will you walk into my parlour said the spider to the fly.”

Vargr stopped rummaging through his stash and looked over at me. He looked at me as If he knew I’d just figured out the puzzle that was him.

There’s only one thing I’ve ever come across that like a werewolf, lacks fear of a predator coming after them, because they can become a predator, themselves. Only, Without only being bound to the one shape.

“You’re a shape shifter.” I blurted out.

Conall looked over at me, frowning. “Are you sure?”
I ignored Conall.

Shape shifters aren’t obvious to pick up because of their multitude of shapes they can become, so their scents mingle and mix a lot. It’s been my experience, that shape shifters don’t tend to be seen in public, a great deal. They don’t act like lycans or behave like werewolves. Us werewolves, really don’t know that much about them, as a result of our limited interaction with them.

But I’ve come across three in my lifetime. Vargr, would make four.

Vargr straightened up and looked back at me. “Yeah, I believe that’s the name for my uh, condition.” He replied back at both of us grinning broadly. “Mighty useful.”

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