A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Werewolf fighting 101 | July 24, 2010

Some werewolf females are just bitches and should be treated as such.

It was left up to Jules, to tell Gabby that she couldn’t sit at the Alpha’s table in the club the other night. It didn’t go down well, that the Manhattan Maen Alpha female, was once again, being vanquished from the good graces of the leading pack’s Alpha male, Paris. See, status and hierarchy is a very important thing in a werewolf pack.

Being an Alpha automatically sets you up, as being far more superior and precious and better, than the majority of your fellow werewolves. So seeing a beta wolf, from a neighboring pack, sit at the leading Alpha’s table with him and his hierarchy before her, was never going to go down well with the likes of Gabby’s ego.

Especially since, awhile ago, when I was off the Manhattan scene, she seemed to be filling in the place of ‘female’ required seating at the pack leader’s table. But now I’m back, and that means, she has to go find other places to hang out in the clubs when I’m around. Paris and the boys know, we do not get along.

Werewolves, butt heads with them, if you’re bored or assured of your superiority.

I was in the female restroom when Gabby stormed in, slamming the door behind her, clearly, not taking the news that she was being shuffled around the club to accommodate my presence, all that well.

“Oh it’s you.” She said looking me over as I stood in front of the counter top.

“The feelings mutual.” I muttered back at her, not taking my eyes of the mirror before me. Which was my mistake. It’s like I forgot how feral a pissed of she wolf could be. She marched over to me.

“They treat you like you’re one of us!” She spat in my face, pushing me backwards so I stumbled over my own high heels, off balance slightly and hit the nearest wall.
“You’re not one of us!” She poked me in the chest sharply. “You’re not even an Alpha! I’m the freak’n Alpha female here and you’re the one they treat like the freaking queen of the wolves!” She said moving in front of me so I was backed into the wall with her blocking my escape.

“No, I’m not you. I’m better than you.” I replied smiling at her.

Remember kiddies, the golden rule when werewolves are fighting, is werewolves do not back down. Especially when confronted by pack. Or you know in this case, another, pack wolf bitch.

Her eyes widened, like she couldn’t believe I had the audacity to speak back, let alone throw a massive insult at her. Of course, that just made things worse.

She growled at me, I heard a sharp snap of something and Gabby showed me her fangs. I heard something similar to a popping sound and realized it was muscle and bone breaking. She was shape shifting part of herself, not smoothly or elegantly. But she was getting the job done.

Again, not a good sign, for me.

Gabby grabbed me by the throat with her still very human hand while her right hand slashed at my chest with razor sharp talons for claws. She moved fast. But not so fast I couldn’t see it coming and try and fight her off. She was stronger than me and had me in a bad position to be taken advantage of.

So I decided to play dirty.
You want bitchy, come see me when I’m pissed off. I can roll with the best of them.

I threw up my knee, hard into her body. And as she flinched in sharp pain – yes girls are just as sensitive to getting kicked in the crotch as boys, I threw out a right jab into the side of her face. This caught her off guard and she momentarily loosed her grip on my throat. Which was what I needed to get into a better position of attack, rather than defend.

Werewolf fighting one-o-one, we fight by attacking, not defending.

As she slashed back at my arm with her werewolf clawed hand, I had enough room to move off the wall and throw my elbow into face. She lost all sense of grip on me then as she cried out, her nose bursting with blood. I shoved her aside, into the counter top, which she hit hard, in the side of her body before falling down onto the floor, before she could stop herself.

I kicked her pointedly in the ribs, once, with my heels and got out.

I emerged in the club and it was only then that I realized I was in pain. That I seemed to allow the sensation through my brain haze. The stinging sensation across my arm and chest, was bleeding. I looked down at my top, which was just concealing my breast on one side.

That bitch, she’d cut the shoulder strap off it and had nicely slashed open the left side of my chest, with a wicked streak of claw marks.

When I looked up again, I swear every pair of eyes in that club was on me.
It was the blood.
Fresh blood and every werewolf in the place, could smell it.

My blood, still bleeding, enticing their inner beasts to want out. To want to bear fangs and fur and shred me even more. It’s a natural instinct, a really powerful one, that’s harder than hard to ignore or see reason through. Especially if you’re a werewolf with little self control or weakened will.

Potentially, a very bad situation to be in.

Because bleeding so obviously, out in the open, indicated I was injured. Injury assumes weakness and weakness to werewolves, means prey. Prey gets attacked or eaten.

I could not be seen as prey.

I saw Addison and Jules readying in the distance, throwing hand signals at one another and grabbing their people. But there was still around fifty or so werewolves between them and me. I looked at all the wolves around me, who had stopped whatever they were doing and were now staring at me hungrily, like they were just waiting for a green light to clean me up. Or for some one to make the first move.

So I did the only thing I could do.

I picked another fight, with another wolf. A male wolf nearest too me.

I started throwing punches at him, as hard as I could. Knocking him around, again and again. He threw out a few return punches, but they lacked power. He went down easily enough and I followed him down, continuing to smack his skin with my fists, until my knuckles split open from the hitting. I can not tell you how much that hurts. Werewolves, tough, but not completly oblivious to pain.

Werewolf.
Does not back down.

I couldn’t let this pack, see me as a weakness, or think they could somehow take advantage of me because I’m not one of them, or because I’m just a beta wolf. It was a show of strength, and I think the wolf I laid into understood that. Otherwise he’d have really fought back at me.

By this time, Jules was pulling the guy out from under me. Nobody touched me, as I slowly stood back up. Aching with throbbing pain in my hands, arms, stinging abrasions across my chest. Covered in blood.

Addison looked at me.

“I got you another drink, it’s at your table, if you’d like it.” He said loud enough for everyone around us to hear.

I sighed heavily and flicked my hair back over my shoulder. Like nothing was amiss.

Addison and Jules had a guard of older wolves, either side of the crowd that had formed. Like a formation guard for me to walk through. We were putting on a show of who was who, for the pack to see.

Addison started walking beside me. But once again, everything stopped when Gabby appeared from the restroom, holding her hand to her nose. She had blood smeared across her upper lip.

I looked back at her and she at me. If looks could kill, I’d have been dead and buried.
“I hope I broke it.” I said smiling at her.
Addison rolled his eyes at me. As if to say ‘you two are so immature’.

“Shall we?” He asked as I turned around and we walked back over to Paris, at his table.

If I’d have been in real trouble for starting a fight there, Paris himself would have been pulling me off that wolf. Berating me in front of everyone. Or at the very least, instructed Addison to yank me back off him.

But they hadn’t, so clearly, I’d done something right, in standing up for myself.

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