908/Not My Pack

Not My Pack
Date of Scene:	11 June 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Mercy Thompson, Feral

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Mercy Thompson has posed:
West Harlem; it's evening within the city and the sun set only an hour ago. For the moment there's a lull between early evening traffic and late-night-ready-to-party traffic. The lull is for both pedestrian based traffic and vehicle.

That peace is soon to be broken, however, as the vague echo of animals yipping and growling begins to drift down the street. It only takes a few seconds before those yips and growls begin to grow closer and then with a sudden crescendo the creatures appear.

From a small, dark and damp alleyway a small russet and cream colored dog bursts outward onto the main street. The coyote, because that's what it really is, is going full-tilt, running as fast as her long legs can carry. The coyote's ears are laid flat against her head and her tail streams behind her as she neatly pivots upon her paws, streaking down the sidewalk now.

Behind her three more canines burst from the alleyway, though these canines are much larger. One supposes a casual look might give the impression of a wolf, but in reality, these wolf-sized creatures are built more like a greyhound; whipcord thin and muscular. Their coloring is mostly dark, with pitch black fur and inky scales intermixed upon their body. The only mote of brightness are their eyes, as they glow a bright phosphorus in color.

Even with the coyote being slimmer and lighter upon her feat, the three creatures behind her are slowly gaining upon her.

Feral has posed:
Blocks away and engrossed in an ice cream cone, the infamy of the dockyard pit fighting circuit is taking a break from her unofficial profession to enjoy the fruits of her labours - and recover. Dressed a little more loosely than normal, her tank top isn't fully on one shoulder, exposing a large pad of gauze covering the base of her neck. Other marks of cuts, scratches, and bruises pepper the woman's bare arms but they all just seem to fit with the tattered red pants covering her legs. It's far from the first time 'Feral' has been roughed up and it certainly won't be the last. What matters is she won.

Jarred from her victory cone, the brown-haired woman looks around and her ears prick at the distinctive howl and bark of canines hunting. Wild, large, and not so well recognized - the combination instantly has Vanya's attention and the injured but mobile brawler sets off down the side walk following her ears. Only a short time later, the coyote's bolting sprint closes the distance between them and the animals' forms come into sight.

"Kakogo cherta?" Vanya blurts in her native tongue as she spots them and growls warningly at the group. Unlike other pedestrians, she doesn't run, she doesn't flee, and she doesn't panic. Not special in size but the brown-haired woman is likely to stand out simply by keeping her feet.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Oh yes, the other pedestrians that are around are definitely giving this little dog-fighting-chasing-ring a wide berth. Some even run when they see the three large dogs chasing the smaller one.

Which is fine with Mercy. She'd rather not have anyone hurt simply because they were too close to her.

The coyote's muzzle at this point is open, as exhaustion flirts with the small animal, but she doesn't stop. She's continue to run, internally debating which way to go and what to do. Definitely not taking them to her garage, nor to a house, or any other place of business. Perhaps the warehouse district? There's enough abandoned buildings she could potentially lose them there.

All those thoughts flash through the coyote's mind, but before she can make any sort of decision on what to do Vanya suddenly comes into view. There's a loud YIP from the coyote; a sound that might hold a ringing note of dismay, when Mercy sees how close the other woman is and the fact that she doesn't seem to be bolting.

No matter, Mercy will just shift again. There's another pivot from the coyote, but with that turn upon paw the canine suddenly finds her paws slipping out from beneath her. It's the exhaustion, she's been running at full speed for long enough that the shift in direction has caused her to trip.

Down goes the coyote in a tumble of legs, tail and ears.

The lead creature offers a howl of triumph when it sees the coyote fall and with an incredibly quick leap, Mercy finds the reptile-canine jumping atop her.

The other two creatures immediately flank their leader, with the one nearest to Vanya turning its glowing eyes upon her. The muzzle crinkles back to expose teeth that are far sharper than any wolves.

Feral has posed:
There's a heavy thump of sinew and skin against fur and scales, and when the coyote looks up, her view of the wolf-like creatures is shadowed by Vanya's back.

The brown-haired woman looks down at the three beasts glowers at them through orange-tinted lenses. Her lip quivers up to snarl back as the muscles down her arms tense and bristle in warning. Her knees sink into a wide, combative crouch that expands her form and makes her seem that much larger up on two legs before her jaws part to respond with a sound far more than any wolf howl - the deep, rolling roar of a bear.

Not just in her shadow but also downwind, the coyote is privy to the smell of something more than human in the woman's scent; the mingled man and beast scents of a werewolf and old blood.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
As soon as the creature lands upon her Mercy goes all wriggle-squirmy. She's small and thinner than the thing atop her and that gives her /some/ leverage. That wriggle-squirm only pauses when there's the sudden thump from above.

The coyote automatically looks up and upon seeing Vanya there, she once more offers a YIP. This one sounds a tinge more frustrated now -

- Though that frustration doesn't last long, not when the woman offers that roar of a bear. Nor when her scent hits the coyote's nose. Werewolf and something else; that's enough to allow Mercy some sense of relief, knowing the woman likely isn't a complete innocent here. With that thought in mind, Mercy will go for one of the leader's throat and while the leader swiftly avoids her sharp canine teeth, Mercy still gouges the skin of the beast.

Of course, at this point the two guards aren't just going to stand there. Not when Vanya offers that roar of aggression, of challenge? Yes, they definitely view it as a definite challenge. With eerily musical calls, the one closest to Vanya will leap. It's close to three hundred pounds, even for all of its whipcord thin muscle, and when it leaps towards the other woman it's going for a collision course. It wants to knock the other woman down, exposing her belly and throat to its teeth.

Feral has posed:
Vanya falls backwards under the weight and force of the beast's charge but not without a measure of control. A sharp knee digs into the creature's side and her arms fight a deadly battle with its face, hooking underneath the wolf-creature's chin to hold back its fangs while raking at its neck with clawed nails. Rapidly, the were-woman's skin is sprouting a fur coat of its own that's thick, touch, and black. She can do more than just howl like a bear.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The fangs are held back, but that doesn't stop the beast from snapping its jaws open and closed, and offering another abbreviated musical howl. While Vanya's nails score the creatures throat it only affords the slightest pinprick of blood from the beast. The scales beneath the fur are tougher than what they might seem; it's going to take more brute strength, or perhaps even sharper claws to pierce the skin of the beast.

By this point the second guard creature has turned its attention to Vanya and its mate. Snarling, the second begins to move slowly towards the fur-sprouting woman. The second is going to give the first guard some time to win this battle, before leaping into the fray.

As for the coyote and leader, they continue to struggle, with the coyote offering an irritated whine. Claws scrabble at the belly of the leader, as Mercy squirms away from those sharp teeth. For now, the leader doesn't finish this particular hunt. It's not about death at this point.

Well, for Mercy.

For Vanya? That's a different story. Even as she fends of the teeth of the beast she's currently tangling with, she'll soon find the beast whipping its head sharply to the side, trying to break the woman's hold upon it. It'll also bring its claws up to try and gouge at the woman's torso.

Feral has posed:
As Vanya's form continues to grow and evolve, the wolf-beast on top of her quickly gets more to deal with than human strength and humans nails. Armoured as she now is in a thick white hide, the bear-woman slashes anew with fully formed claws and even bears a full set of fangs from something larger-mouthed at her attacker. An inhuman, animalistic strength roars down Vanya's arm as she swats as much as claws the pack animal's head.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Swatted away much like a fly; the beast goes rolling head over tail and feet. It won't take it long for it to regain its feet, but before it can its mate will offer that harrowing call of challenge. With a nimbleness that belies its size the second guard moves to attack Vanya-Bear. The change in the woman doesn't seem to cause any of the creatures to, though perhaps Mercy does, when she has a moment to consider the other woman.

But that pause is likely lost, as the second guard steps closer to Vanya. Its not trying to pounce her, no, it saw how that didn't work and these creatures are smart. Instead its coming in low and fast, its teeth ready to strike at ankle, leg and especially hamstring if it presents itself. If the prey can't stay upon its feet the easier it'll be for them to take it down.

Vanya's new and improved claws also scored the first beast and she'll find the black blood sizzling upon her skin; the touch like acid.

Feral has posed:
Vanya hisses and she shakes her claws as the acid eats away at their hardened edges. Scrambling hastily back to her feet, she only rises as far as a low, animalistic crouch and quickly sidesteps the monstrous mate coming in for her legs. The feral woman stays light on her feet, trying to weave just past the claws and fangs to the safety of its side and her arms stay outstretched and open, poised to take its neck from behind if the monster presents her the opening.

As she adapts her style to the acid blood and razor claws, Vanya's body continues to adapt as well. The peeks through her tattered pants hint at a growing coat of fur as gripping claws sprout from her toes and the feral brawler's tank top stretches under an enlarging layer of hardened muscles.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Smart as they are that doesn't mean the beasts can't be caught; especially by someone who fights both like an animal, but also human.

While the second beast continues to press its attack, that sidestep of Vanya's is enough to cause the beast to overcompensate. It's only for a second, because these creatures are fast, but Vanya is faster. Her arms lock the mate's neck and the beast howls a thing of anger, frustration, but no fear.

These things don't seem to fear humans.

The original beast that attacked Vanya has finally regained his, her, its feet and with a crinkle of muzzle, the thing starts to slink away. It's intending to circle behind Vanya, pounce her from there -

- Mercy sees this. Again the vaguest of frustrated whines can be heard from her, and the noise causes the leader (who's just standing on her, really) to turn its head and snap air at her. That's enough to cause the coyote to growl, a low thing, a pissed off thing. While other shifters often take full seconds to go from one form or another, Mercy doesn't. Mercy's shifting is almost instantaneous. One minute the soot-colored creature is atop a coyote, the next it's flying through the air, as a human woman suddenly appears beneath it. She uses that surprise and her higher mass to flip the thing off of her. "Behind you!" Shouts Mercy, and then a millisecond later the woman is back to a coyote, her furry body rolling back to all fours. Then she's streaking for the one trying to catch Vanya from behind.

She may not be as powerful or as heavy as Vanya, but forty-plus pounds of coyote slamming into a creature will still often cause an attack to fail. Or hopefully it will.

Feral has posed:
Mercy isn't the only one with a size advantage and the brown-haired were-woman above the second monster-wolf smiles in feral satisfaction as she locks down her choke and begins to suffocate the creature while lifting its massive weight halfway off the ground. Vanya grunts at the surprising heft but keeps her feet as her clawed toes scratch against the pavement for support.

When the coyote-woman calls out, the wrestling bear grits her teeth, turns with wolf in tow, and flings the creature at its companion, adding one more animal to the ensuing pile.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
If a coyote could curse she'd seriously be doing that right now.

The second creature-wolf-thing goes flying by her muzzle, millimeters from it, enough to cause the coyote to scramble to a stop. There might even be a head jerk to the side, as she tries to avoid a collision with the second beast, and the first beast now.

The two beasts do go down in a tangle of legs, tails and teeth, and for a second both Vanya and the coyote can breathe.

Then the bell rings, as the leader finally joins the fright. He-it-whatever gives very little warning, no howl, or growl, instead it just springs like a fox, straight for Vanya's back. There might be the softest sound of claws clicking slightly with its jump, but that's about all the warning it gives.

Mercy, for her part, hears that quiet click-clack, but it takes her a second to pivot upon her paws to see what's going on.

Feral has posed:
The monster slams into Vanya's back like a train into a steel wall as the woman howls in surprise and lancing pain. Its teeth and claws cut into her back and shoulder and the were-woman skids against the pavement, drops towards the ground, but reaches back with her bear-clawed hand and flips the creature over her with the last of its momentum. There's a slam of scales and bone against concrete before Vanya follows it to the ground, dropping her knee to its neck.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The slam proves effective against the leader, as it offers a soft sound of pain. Something like a whine, but beneath that sound is an echo of the creature's eery calls.

And while typically a knee to the neck wouldn't do much to it, the combination of Vanya's movements, her weight, and its own sudden jerk and twist to try and escape brings about its demise. When Vanya's knee hits there's the audible sound of a sharp crack and beneath that joint of hers, she'll feel the beast go quite limp. The glowing eyes of the creature immediately begins to dim, as whatever life it holds within it suddenly ends.

Oddly enough, because this isn't all that odd to begin with right, the second and third beast likewise find themselves slumping to the ground, the light within their eyes dimming, before going completely dark.

The coyote just stands there looking at Vanya, the leader and then swiveling her head to look at the two guards too. Puzzlement might be read upon her lupine-like features; she wasn't expecting that to happen.

Feral has posed:
Vanya's hands go to the leader's chin and nearest leg to keep control after her knee stops and it's a few moments before she trusts it to stop moving. The were-woman's head whips towards the other creatures next and only afterwards do they finally find the coyote.

The bear lets out a deep sigh as she stands back up to her full height before panting softly for breath. Angry red gashes are freely bleeding from wide tears in the back of her shirt from where the beast's claws found purchase, and she pauses with a wince as a hand goes to her already-bandaged shoulder - the same one the leader's jaw found.

"I'm getting tired of being bitten there..." she grumbles.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
When the eyes dim completely and the sockets merge into their dark skin and fur the beasts simply disintegrate into dust.

The wind will briefly kick up those ashes and whisk them away, before too much studying of them can happen.

At this point the coyote turns its yellow gaze upon the other woman; Mercy can see those gashes and the bleeding, not to mention smell it. A faint chuff of sound can be heard from her, then the coyote is trotting up to Vanya. She'll carefully lean forward to give the woman's hand a nose-touch, to get her attention, before the coyote is turning towards a specific direction. She'll trot a few paces, stop, then trot again. She's waiting for Vanya to follow -

- Once the woman does follow her, Mercy will lead her back to a one-story building, an auto repair garage named Mercy's Garage. Instead of going for the front door, the coyote will lead the two towards the side of the building, where the garage door is open just enough to allow the slim form of a coyote beneath it.

Yip!

Goes the coyote, possibly saying 'one sec', but unless one can understand coyote that might just be confusing to Vanya.

Feral has posed:
Despite the bloody wounds up her back, the were-bear passer-by seems more concerned with her shoulder - and more annoyed than anything else. There's no alarm as she looks down at her bloodied palm and takes a couple short licks before turning to the coyote now at her side. Yellow eyes meet a molten orange-bronze for a moment before the animal trots away.

Vanya's nose twitches and she casts a last glance towards the ash piles before following - her more-than-human features fading back to sapien flesh as she walks. "You have somewhere for me to go, huh?" she asks idly before they reach the garage.

Another twitch of her nose as she reaches the doorway. The bronze eyes still mark her as not quite human and the shape-shifter's sense of smell is anything but. Propping a hand on her hip letting her weight sink lazily into her opposite leg, Vanya waits her turn outside.

Who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks?

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Old dog, old coyote are somewhat similar, but it's a relief when Vanya follows and then diplomatically waits outside.

It's only a matter of seconds as the coyote's clack of claws is replaced by the sound of bare feet. A few more seconds and the garage door is being pulled completely open by Mercy Thompson; dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, though shoeless for now. In her hand is a first-aid kit, and her expression shows concern, even as she steps aside to allow Vanya to step inside.

There's no point in hiding what she is, simply for the fact that she shifted once already, and it's clear that Vanya isn't quite human either. "Hey, thanks for the help back there - I got a medkit too."

Yup, she smelled the blood on the other woman.

If Vanya enters, she'll find the interior of the garage is quite normal, tools, work benches, the smell of oil, exhaust, metal and cleaning products as well.

Feral has posed:
Vanya allows herself a smirk as she steps into the garage and comes eye-to-eye with the coyote woman. The bear's lazy smirk remains as her nostrils take in a lungful of shop air and Mercy's scent - and her eyes quietly fade to their natural dark brown, a close match for the loosened mane of hair at her back. A heavy sun tan from the summer's light has darkened her own features several degrees since the end of winter and there's a casual, unhurried calm to how she hangs for a few moments staring eye to eye before the visitor bothers to move.

"It was fun," the other shape-shifter dismisses as she surrenders to the urge to rub her injured shoulder a little and wanders inside. "What were those things?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
That stare is seen and Mercy will consider that look from the other woman.

While others might try to outstare the other woman, Mercy doesn't. Instead she'll stare long enough to show she is neither the lowest of the pack, nor striving for alpha. Somewhere in-between. Then her gaze will shift to the side slightly, moving for an unantagonizing gesture on her part.

She may not be a wolf, but it's clear she understands the hierarchy of a pack; whether wolf, bear or cat.

"Fun." Begins Mercy, even as she moves towards a work bench. A folding chair will be nudged towards the other woman, should she wish to sit, "I'm pretty sure our definitions of fun differ." Amusement can be heard within that tone of hers, "And I'm Mercy." She'll add, her gaze turning briefly to Vanya again, waiting to see if the other woman will give her name.

As to that last question, that earns a roll of her shoulders, "I can't quite say. Something created with magic, but specifically what they are? Your guess is as good as mine."

Feral has posed:
Vanya takes the offered chair and spins it backwards before sitting. There's a momentary, subtle pause just before contact as the visiting were-woman eases her weight onto the metal seat. Her toes wiggle a little as she crosses her arms over the seat back, settling into a comfortable hunch that bears her wounds carelessly to the room.

"I'm Vanya," she replies easily. "Wolves, fish... and something magic. Nothing on this planet has acid for blood," the seated shape-shifter notes. Her eyes lift gamely to the coyote woman. "You can turn into a coyote and you don't enjoy a good fight? That's a waste of your genes."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Nice to meet you, Vanya." Mercy states, always polite, she was raised by polite werewolves. Or perhaps that's werewolves who knew when to use manners and when not to.

The medkit will be set upon the work bench and popped open. "How bad is the back?" She asks, that concern marking her expression and her scent at this point. As for the description of the creatures, Mercy considers it for a moment. "Possibly snake. They had scales. Or at the very least some type of leathery hide. Possibly reptile."

A shrug is given again by the coyote, even as she turns a look to Vanya again. "Genes." She say with a crooked grin. "Mine isn't from genes. Not in that respect. Birth right, magic - specifically a skinwalker." She'll end with, even as she pulls out antiseptic and pre-packaged bandages just in case they're needed.

Feral has posed:
"Bleeding like a stuck pig still. I might need a new shirt again," Vanya complains as she leans back enough to take her arms from the backrest and unceremoniously yanks off her tank top. The were-woman looks it over without any other thought and frowns pensively as she notes the wide tears and their bloodied lower edges.

The sight this leaves Mercy is one she might have expected. The long, distinctive taper of claw marks walk up her back with vibrant crimson highlights. They're not the dark visceral red of a deep wound and despite first appearances, the monster didn't penetrate far into the armour of muscle that sculpts Vanya's back. Human in figure but a familiar stage beyond the non-were norm, the feral woman is garbed in nature's oldest defence.

"Oh, let me get these off too," she adds absent-mindedly as one finger sprouts a long claw and cuts thoughtlessly through her bandages. The were-woman's remaining covering falls to the floor in pieces, exposing the rest of her back as well as her shoulder; a massive bite mark, far larger and deeper than the wolf's brands her like a red and brown tattoo. It's half-healed so far and Mercy might recognize the teeth pattern from her larger, more famous cousins.

Putting her hands together for a moment, Vanya alternately squeezes, stretches, and rolls the joints and sinew across her core and upper body - enjoying a muffled crackle from stiff tendons while showing the coyote exactly what killed the leader wolf. The size difference of her bear transformation was mostly fur.

"What's a skinwalker?" the shape-shifter asks idly.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Wolves rarely think anything about taking clothes off; thankfully the coyote isn't skin shy either.

Still those claw marks, it's enough to cause Mercy to wince, as she brings antiseptic and bandages around with her, to view Vanya's wounds. "I don't think they'll need stitches." She murmurs, as she considers the freely bleeding wounds, "But definite cleaning out, especially since those beasts were magical -"

You never want to mess with wounds created by magical beasts.

At the sight of the werewolf bites, that's enough to cause Mercy to pause. She understands all too well what those teeth-marks are from and with a faint flare of nostrils, Mercy asks, "Ran into a wolf? Was it a lone wolf or pack?" Just as she asks that question of hers, Mercy's eyes likewise pick out the smaller injuries. Not from teeth, but claws. A grimace briefly flares across the coyote's features now.

Still, Vanya's own question about skinwalkers is enough to pull the coyote's expression away from that grimace. "It's magic based, versus gene based, and we don't have a transition form. It's either human, or animal form. There are some perks in the human form, but nothing like the wolves." Or Vanya, for that matter.

Feral has posed:
"Hmm, your loss. I can't grow four legs if that makes you feel better," Vanya jokes, offering a crocodile tear of sympathy as she lets her eyes roam the shop while the coyote is at her back. The dark brown lightens back to its earlier bronze tone then proceeds all the way to pale yellow as the hybrid's eyes draw from better genes.

"Just one," she adds with a wistful smile. "Rover. I finally got tired of trying to catch his cage-fighting dog-butt in the ring and hunted him down myself. I gave him one to match and won a hundred dollars too." The hybrid unconscious sits a little straighter and draws in a deep lungful of air as she puffs herself up in pride at the recent memory.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
While Mercy isn't some type of EMT she knows how to clean wounds quickly. Again, wolves, they like to hurt themselves far too often. Sometimes for incrediblys tupid reasons. A word of warning will be given right before; 'this is gonna sting', then she went to work.

"I've some extra shirts if you want a couple." Offers the coyote, even as she glances at the mess of Vanya's back. Truly, it's wince worthy.

"A lone wolf likely. Most packs wouldn't let their wolves fight -" Wait, did she say ring, that's enough to cause Mercy's eyes to narrow slightly. "- Is this some type of shifter fight club?" She'll ask, a vague sense of amusement in her voice though concern too, even as she steps back to her work bench and that open medkit.

Feral has posed:
Vanya barely seems to notice as the were-coyote works on her wounds. Like the wolves she's used to, the brown-haired shape-shifter has been banged up enough times to have a high tolerance.

"I'm fine. I go through a shirt every season anyway," she dismisses as she hunches forward over the chair back to laugh. "I *wish* it was, that would be so much fun! It's open invitation so anyone with guts or powers can step in and fight. Most of the circuits have power classes but no one cares too much about them."

"Too many metal men in this city, they're no fun at all," the were-tiger grumbles as she recalls another fight.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There's a few more dabs of antiseptic from Mercy Thompson at Vanya's back and with another grimace, the coyote puts aside the stinging solution. Now it's time for bandaids - well, perhaps butterfly bandaids, not necessarily the normal kind. Just to help support the most serious gashes.

The sound of paper ripping is easily heard as the coyote pulls a few of the butterfly bandaids free. She's careful to keep the bandage sterile, even as she applies them to the other woman's back.

"You wish?" Says Mercy sounding perhaps a bit incredulous, though not as much as she /could/. Again, wolves, they are /very/ similar. Always wanting to show off their prowess to each other. "Well, I suppose we all have to have our hobbies, right? Just be careful - I've seen things like that turn into something far darker than just beat-em-up-fun."

Feral has posed:
"You mean like a death match?" Vanya casually asks over her shoulder as she reaches back to pull her hair out of Mercy's way. The puffy strands more or less keep themselves over her shoulder.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
When Vanya looks over her shoulder and offers that question of hers Mercy will nod, her own eyes rising upward to meet the other woman's. "Exactly."

Her head tilts to the side slightly as she considers the woman again. "Unless it already has?" Hazards the dark-haired mechanic, a frown starting to form upon her features.

The last of the butterfly bandaids are applied with a quick, light and deft touch. "Your back is as good as it's going to get. Well, until you heal." Adds Mercy, as she turns a quick glance back to Vanya's back a moment. It still looks bad, but there's not much more she can do. Now it's up to time to heal it.

Feral has posed:
While Vanya is clearly no Wolverine her wounds have at least sealed over now. She's no longer at risk of bleeding out, though how well she stays still to avoid reopening them might be another matter.

Pale yellow raptor-like eyes stare back at Mercy with an inhuman intensity not matched by the easy-going calm of the shape-shifter's expression. A transparent eyelid swipes sideways across her lenses like a pair of wiper blades to clean them as Vanya lazily tosses one hand to the side. "I might have killed a person or two... or four or more. Death fights aren't *that* bad. It's not like I take them apart first."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
With the wounds cleaned and already healing Mercy will straighten from her slight hunch. The other woman's words don't seem to help her expression as it turns somewhat more severe. And while it turns darker, it's clear she's not shocked by Vanya's answer, or even judging. Too much, at least. She's not judging /too/ much. "That's a dangerous game to play." She says, even as the mechanic moves towards the locked cabinets across the garage. Keys will be grabbed as she moves over and with a jingle the doors are unlocked. The coyote rummages around for a few long seconds until she finds a clean t-shirt that should relatively fit Vanya.

With prize in hand, Mercy will walk it over to Vanya and hold it out to her, "Here, you can keep it. I've quite the hodgepodge of clothes here at the garage."

Feral has posed:
"They're not as common as you think. It's not good to kill off the second best every week," Vanya dismisses, seeming at ease by the mechanic's displeasure. "Besides I've fought almost everything else at least once already. My shopping list is almost down to table scraps..."

Smiling at the sight of the shirt, the were-woman pushes herself back to her feet and carefully works her arms to check what range of motion she has left. "Fighting is kind of what I do." Accepting the t-shirt, she flicks it open for a moment's study and adds a polite "Thank you," before wiggling it down her arms and past her shoulders. It's a slower process than it probably should be owing to the wounds of her back.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"That doesn't mean someone can't take you by surprise - table scraps or not." Lightly admonishes the woman, "I've seen too many cocky young wolves -" Not that Vanya is so young as that, "- get their clocks cleaned because they feel they have no equal. I'm going to assume you're smarter than that."

The last bit is said with a small portion of humor there, even though there's still a displeasure there. Death fights are really not something Mercy can get behind. Not at all.

"Like I said hobbies." The coyote says, "We all have to have them. Though some are far /safer/ than others. Just try not to get your head knocked off of you." Her head will cant to the side as she considers the now dressed woman. "I have some coffee on in the back if you'd like some?"

Mercy is totally going to try and feed the other woman now. That's just who she is.

Feral has posed:
The predator in the room laughs again while she pulls her new shirt the rest of the way down and inspects the fit. It gets a smile; a little snug maybe but not too tight. "I need to find these wolves you keep talking about. They sound fun. And I mean animals too, fighting only people would be silly," one were-woman adds to another.

"Sharks, tigers, bears..." she counts off on her fingers only to pause. "I still need to visit Africa to find a lion..." Ticking her head to the side in a shrug that barely marshals her shoulders, Vanya's attention shifts back to the mechanic with a little excitement in her wrong-coloured eyes. "Coffee would be great!"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Her head tilts to the side again, "Perhaps I can introduce you to them sometime. Just promise you won't start too many fights? I'd rather not burn bridges with them. They're .. family."

Which is truth, just complicated family which causes that slight hesitation from the woman.

Whether Vanya meant her words to skirt so close to being a pun isn't known, but Mercy finishes it, "Oh my." With a flash of a grin the woman walks toward the back of her garage. She'll disappear for a few minutes through that third door in the back, but when she returns she'll have a tray with coffee, creamer, sugar, milk and even a plate of home made cookies. "Brought some cookies too. The carbs will help." Just in case Vanya was feeling any sort of shock to her system; and besides, cookies. Who can say no to cookies?

Feral has posed:
A gamely smile spreads across Vanya's features at the mention of more wolves. "I'll let them attack first, da?" she offers casually before quirking an eyebrow at the notion of relatives, but the shape-shifter doesn't press and lets Mercy leave the room in peace - though she does wander a few steps after her as her eyes look curiously around the garage and her nose twitches while taking in its scenes... oh hey, there *is* coffee back there!

When the skinwalker returns, Vanya laughs and pats her heart theatrically. "Wow, aren't you a host! With this I might be awake until dawn." Reaching out a faintly clawed hand, the tiger-woman swipes one of the treats and bites into it cheerfully. She's a simple woman with simple pleasures.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The scents of the garage are pretty normal. Metal, oil, gasoline, cleaner and Mercy's own scent are dominant. Lesser scents come from the cars that have been within the garage; from the owners of those cars. Most of those scents have faded, as the only car within the garage is a rusted up Volkswagen Rabbit.
Yes, most wolves react much the same way when she brings out cookies. That stray thought allows a smile to pull a corner of Mercy's mouth upward for a second.

She ran away from the wolves her pack and yet, here she is, finding people who are eerily similar to pack life.

Something to ponder about, but later.

The tray will bet set upon one of the work benches, with all being quite clean, neat and orderly. "Well, I'd say don't drink or eat too much, but I'm just not that type of person. Eat as many cookies as you like, coffee too." For Mercy she'll take one of the mugs, leaving the other for Vanya. Then she'll put a bit of creamer and sugar in her own. The cookies, for now, are left alone. A temptation to be eaten later perhaps. "Do you live around here?" She asks curiously, a cautious sip of the hot coffee taken.

Feral has posed:
Vanya almost purrs as she works her way through the cookie without breaking for a drink. There might be more than a few cat genes lingering in her system still. At ease with the coyote, she licks her lips clean before taking her own mug and softening it to a tone a few shades lighter than her hair. While she does, the were-woman's eyes fade their way from pale yellow back towards a dark brown. They get stuck somewhere burnished orange.

"Sure," she answers easily. "I rent a small place across the city sometimes but when it's this nice out I just sleep outside."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The change in eye color is noted by Mercy, but not asked about. That'd be the height of rudeness, after all. Or so it is in Mercy's mind.

"Across the city?" Mercy asks in a rather rhetorical manner, "If you need a place to crash tonight you're welcome to crash here. I've a cot somewhere -" And really she does. Those wolves she's spoken about have often crashed at her place; she's always prepared. Always.

"Or at least near the garage. I can't say I've never napped as a coyote." Mercy adds, when the woman reveals her happiness with sleeping outside. Of course that thought allows another question to flicker into the skinwalker's mind, "You mentioned you can't shift completely to an animal form - how close can you get?" Her tone is mostly curious, though by far from prying if the other woman doesn't want to reveal. It's really a natural question from one 'were' to another. Even if Mercy isn't quite the normal shifter.

Feral has posed:
"Honestly I've never tried," Vanya admits. "I can turn into a bear but that's just a human with more fur." The Russian were ruminates on the thought as she sips her coffee, her brow knotting itself. Eventually the simple approach wins out and Vanya holds out her free hand. The skin discolors as fur spreads across it, first a familiar grey, then black, then brown, then striped orange and black.

"Hmm... I think right now I can just do 'bear'," she concludes as her tiger eyes fall back on Mercy. "I could do 'wolf' but they're too small. I'm a little too big to shrink," Vanya adds with a proud grin.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Curiously Mercy will watch Vanya's skin change to fur and then the fur change as well. "Neat trick." The mechanic says, as she takes another sip of coffee and finally, she'll snag a cookie too. She'll take a bite as she considers the other woman before her. "Wolves are too small?" Mercy then says, a grin flashing across her mouth, "You clearly haven't met the right /wolves/. Most that I know of easily mass over three hundred to four hundred pounds. Hardly 'small'. And would calling them small surely start a fight."

/Surely/. Wolves are so touchy sometimes.

"Either way, you still have a lot of power." The coyote continues with, "And I wouldn't have gotten away from those beasts without it. Thanks again."

Feral has posed:
"No problem," Vanya answers easily as she wiggles striped fingers sporting a wicked set of needle-like claws before shifting her hand back to human. "Normal wolves are too small," she clarifies with a smirk that flashes a pointed canine. "I *have* met werewolves and some of them get *big*, but I don't need any man-wolf genes when I already have man and wolf."

"Besides," she adds with a cocky wink. "My version is better."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy allows a quiet laugh at those last words of Vanya's. "I'm pretty sure I know a few wolves who'd disagree, but I'll just say I agree."

Her mug of coffee will be offered to Vanya for a clink of 'cheers'. It's not unusual to see a definite deviation between the sexes in the pack. It's one of the things that drove Mercy crazy. One of the things that drove her to do things that weren't always the brightest things to do.

"Do you just need to see another animal to 'change' into them? Or take on their aspects, I guess might be a better way of putting it. Or is it all just inherit?"

Feral has posed:
Vanya clinks her mug back and smiles in quiet confidence. "Well I can turn into a werewolf - and a were-tiger - and a were-shark... and do them all at once," she adds as familiar tiger fur runs down her hand and a far too pointy set of teeth grow into the were-everything's smile. A shark in the mouth, a tiger in the fur, and Mercy will likely recognize a wolf in the claws.

"Oh no I eat them," she explains despite the rows of white spears that she's calling teeth. "I'm not some imitation, I *am* all these things."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There's a moment of stunned silence at that last remark.

Mercy wasn't expecting that type of answer, or really, the easy tone that Vanya says that with.

The silence lasts for perhaps a good thirty seconds, before Mercy finally manages to pull her thoughts back together. "You eat them." She unconsciously echoes the other woman's words, "Really." Mercy didn't miss the shark teeth either, the irony is not lost upon her, at all. "Well, I can definitely say I never expected to hear you say that. I figured it was line of sight, or something of that sort." A sip of coffee is taken now, as the mechanic mulls over that revelation. "I'm going to say, in this instance, I'm glad I just shift to a coyote and nothing else."

Feral has posed:
In the silence that lapses, Vanya smiles a little wider - is she smiling? Her teeth might just be too big for her mouth now. The were-everything tips her mug back again and awkwardly pours the coffee in between her rows, tilting it over her mouth rather than sipping it as before. The points of her ears twitch in a cattish way and looking closely at the underside of her chin, a stubble of grey scales have cropped up as well.

Mercy takes long enough to reply that the shape-shifter even gets bored and lets her animalistic features recede back to her faintly were- norm. Then she starts eyeing another cookie...

"Really," she implores with an amused lilt, sparing a moment to slap her stomach. "I am what I eat and I killed every one of them with my bare hands." Vanya pauses at the other comment and cocks her head to the side with a small snicker. "Why, afraid I'll eat you too?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The tray will be pushed towards Vanya, a helpful reminder to eat as many cookies as she'd like.

Mercy is nice like that. Also, those teeth. It's enough to cause the woman to shake her head slightly.

The coyote laughs, however, at that last question. "No." She starts, even as she finishes off the last bit of her cookie. "You may have weight and strength on me, but I'm pretty sure I have speed on you." Little coyotes are fast things and Mercy knows this. She's used that speed to run away from bigger things than Vanya. Straightening from her half-lean against the work bench, Mercy continues with, "So, shall I pull out the cot? I'll even leave the tray of cookies for you to munch on if that helps - and I owe you one too. It's the least I can do to repay that debt."

Feral has posed:
Mercy needn't be any more direct. Another cookie disappears from the tray. "I wouldn't try. If I want to turn into a coyote I'd eat a coyote. Eating you would just turn me into you - and I've already got that," Vanya assures as she chews through another sweet. Her eyes take a little walk, trying to remember how her own appearance matches to the mechanic's.

"Cookies are enough for me. That was a fun fight anyway," she dismisses easily, offering a nod before pausing to open her mouth wide for a heavy yawn. The feral woman makes to cover her mouth but an all-too-long tongue still lulls its way out around her hand before curling back in.

"I blame you for that one."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Nope. Mercy isn't even going to stare too long at that lengthy tongue.

It's not like she hasn't seen some crazy things in her life.

It does, at the very least, earn another shake of the woman's head. Not in horror or anything of that sort, just an amazed sort of humor. "Come on then." Mercy says simply, her head tilting to the door she disappeared within early. "Let's get you all settled and then I can toss something in the oven."

After all, Mercy was raised by polite wolves. If you have a guest you feed them; more than just cookies.