Snippet #2679607

located in Seattle, Washington, a part of Wolves Reign: Blood Moon, one of the many universes on RPG.

Seattle, Washington

Seattle is not it's vibrant Capitol Hill or Space Needle attraction; it's dark, uninviting, and cold in more ways than one... Crime and danger lurk around every corner in this werewolf populated metropolis.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Lauren Silverstein Character Portrait: Jackson Kastner
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Lauren’s eyes opened to the sight of damask wallpaper. The light on the bed stand was on and when she turned over she saw through the tall slatted windows that it was still dark outside. She didn’t know why she had woken up but now that she was, she was parched. The metal springs of the bed whined as she shifted her weight to the edge and set her feet down on the wooden floor. Tip-toeing out of the room, she tried her best not to wake her teenaged son in the room beside hers and went down the stairs to the kitchen. A mouse scuttled away unseen as the bare bulb over the table came on and she walked over to the basin sink to fill a glass of water.

She downed the metallic tasting well water in one eager gulp and stared outside into the obscure blackness. There wasn't any sort of light pollution where they lived. To her, living out in the country was peaceful, while her son suffered and felt his youth was being wasted in solitude. They had spent most of the past 18 years of his life on the road, but on Jackson's last year of high school Lauren had decided it was best for him to stay in one place for him to graduate... But of course, she had to choose the most isolated, boring, back roads town that she could find.

A creaky step gave away the movement of another in the house. It was near impossible to sneak around with every floorboard, faucet, and rusty hinge that squeaked in the old place. She must have woken Jackson up and she turned to look at him as the footsteps behind her ended at the doorway to the kitchen. Only it wasn’t Jackson her eyes rested upon, instead the visage of an older, more menacing likeness of him stood there staring back at her.

Heart-stopping, mind-numbing, panic that slowed down time overtook her; the only thing she could hear was the whooshing sound of her heartbeat in her ears. She couldn’t tell whether it was a malicious spirit or the flesh and blood person of her ex-mate staring her down from the kitchen door, but her instinct to fly kicked in, causing her to bump back against the glass basin and drop her cup clumsily. It hit the floor with a loud crack, bringing everything back to full speed.

"You have been very bad, my dear." He said in his all too familiar condescending voice; his placid tone belying a truly savage nature.

"You’re dead." She stammered.

His face broke out in a smile, eyes crinkling with belittling delight; as smug as a cat batting around an injured bird. She recognized that look, loathed and feared it, knowing that nothing good came of it.

"I was about to say the same thing about you." He said.

She immediately b-lined it for the back door attached to the kitchen, only to open it and reveal her son Jackson obstructing the way. Her heart was now beating the inside of her chest cavity so hard it threatened to burst out.

"Jackson! Run!"

She tried to direct him out the door but her son simply stared at her quietly in return, behaving unusually impassive to her panic. A sense of dread washed over her before he suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her back into the kitchen.

"Run? Why? Why are we always running? What are we running from?" Jackson questioned in monotonous rapid-fire speech. With confusion came clarity, she realized something was not right, yet this didn't help calm her any. She backed away from her son who continued stepping further into the kitchen.

"This isn’t real."

But just as she thought this she was captured from behind by a pair of massive hands on her waist – as strong and possessive as she remembered, so real her breath caught in her throat.

"Not real? Not real?" he scoffed with an arrogant chuckle, his hot breath curling around her neck. "What part of this doesn’t feel real? Aren’t all dreams in some part based off reality? This is your psyche, your emotions, your problems" - his hands slithered down from her waist to her hips, sending a tingling sensation up her spine – "And you still seem to have a lot of those to work out, don’t you?"

He twisted her around with a quick flick of his wrist and like an illusion, he was gone; as was everything else, the kitchen falling away into nothing but blackness and she was face to face with her son again in a dark void.

"What are you afraid of, mom?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, placing her hands over ears, and with all her might wished to return to consciousness.

"This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real."

At last her mantra seemed to work as her mind and body pulled themselves back together like polar opposite magnets, colliding, and awakening her on the other side. She gasped and jerked herself to an upright position, rubbing her eyes until they found their focus on the floral wallpaper ahead. She glowered at the peeling paper; how had she not caught on sooner to these inconsistencies in her dream? She kicked off the tangled bed sheets and crawled out of bed, making her way downstairs.

Every slatted window in the house cut rays of morning sunshine through the dusty air inside. She went into the kitchen over to the sink and turned the faucet to fill the coffee pot, only to have nothing come out... Reminding her the sink didn’t work either in contradiction to her dream. She sighed.

Just as she managed to get herself a cup of coffee made from water in the bathroom sink and sit down to watch the news she heard the noise of a vehicle making its way up the gravel driveway. She curiously got up to go see who was approaching; wrapping the robe she had on over her night gown and walked out onto the front porch in her bare feet. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach as she saw through the blinding sun rays the Deputy Sheriff’s vehicle pull up into her yard, and her son and two sheriffs exit the vehicle. Jackson waved with a cheeky smile on his face at her and she resisted the urge to hide her own face behind her hand in shame.

Deputy John Griner – a sheriff that she had become almost too well acquainted with the past few months they’d lived there– came over to her. "Hello, Officer Griner." She greeted uneasily, thinking in the context that good morning would not be so befitting to say. As friendly as the officer was he must have been tired of seeing her and hearing her excuses for her son.

"What happened this time?" she asked.

A loud thud drew her attention momentarily away to see Jackson being slammed onto the hood of the cop car. It took some willpower not to growl, clearing her throat uncomfortably, and looking back to Griner calmly and expectantly.