It was ninety eight degrees outside, or it was something like it anyway, according to the weather channel that had come on earlier. Felt hotter than that due to the blood-boiling humidity that seemed to always wet the air in Tuscumbia. It was the kind of muggy air that persisted even all through the night on most nights. Even still, Bryson Fairbanks watched from his car as a tall, broad-figured man walked out of the Shell station in a black leather jacket. A damn jacket. In this weather.
The man's arm was curled around the waist of a blonde girl --the type of girl who showcased long tan legs from a short skirt and paraded around in cowboy boots all summer. It was all Bryson could do not to shake his head at the pair as they hopped in a truck that sat way too damn high off the pavement.
He knew even without smelling him that the man was like him --a werewolf. Bryson snorted, noting that the similarities ended there. It was like a plague these days. All the supernaturals were now nothing but big pussies, using once-amazing capabilities to bend to the fanfiction that was all the rage now, seemingly.
Even some of the older supernaturals were starting to take to the fad. Werewolves took their other werewolf friends and made make pretend "packs", while vampires made their "covens". Both packs and covens were easily spotted, even from a mile away. Most of the men wore clothes like the gentleman he'd just spotted, shiny leather jackets and pants that were just way too fucking tight. The women, well he'd only ever classified their chosen attire as thus: trash. Boobs and legs everywhere. Ah, he guessed he didn't mind that as much.
The best part about it was that, now, instead of acting like normal people... both groups were now not only ridiculously-dressed hooligans, they were ridiculously dressed hooligans that had taken to street-fighting. And why? Well, because according to the books, the two races are sworn enemies or something like that. Or supposed to be, anyhow. And what a crock of bullshit that was. Before all this shit, neither race had had any grievance with the other. Bryson himself had never had a problem with the vampires. Hell, he'd even made love to a couple before the world went apeshit.
Ah, it didn't matter. Bryson took himself out of his thoughts as the guy in the truck finally stopped making out with his girlfriend or "mate" or whatever the hell he called her to get into her panties.
Once the wolf man hit the gas a mite too fast and drove completely away from the gas pump, Bryson turned the steering wheel of a less-than-picturesque 1987 Buick to pull up at the now-empty pump . And, because his muffler was long since gone, everyone knew he was there too. In fact, there were a couple people that turned to look at him as his car purred loudly in the lot.
He didn't look back at them, only squeezed out of the small car and fueled it.
From his left, Bryson heard a small chuckle. He knew it was probably aimed at him, but that didn't anger him. He was a laughable sight and he knew it. After all, what was a six-foot-two, bulked-up and broad-shouldered man doing getting out of what could have arguably been his grandma's tiny car. Who was he kidding? It had been his grandma's car before she'd passed, only it worked a hell of a lot better when she'd driven it.
It had been a newer car then, though. And damn, had it already been nearly twenty years since the disease took her? Bryson shook his head in disbelief at the side-thought as he heard the giggling continue from the parking lot.
He turned to where he'd heard the laugh, and saw a teenage girl walking beside who Bryson assumed was her father. Oh yes, she was looking at him. She stopped laughing immediately when he looked over, as if she were intimidated by him, but he only smiled a little and acknowledged that yes, his car indeed sucked.
A few minutes later had him walking inside the station, rifling through the aisles for something to eat for dinner. He couldn't cook aside from microwaved hot-dogs and the occasional boxed mac-and-cheese. And wasn't that some shit? He missed home-cooked meals, almost enough that he wished he hadn't broken up with the girlfriend he'd had a couple of months ago. Damn, she might've been batshit as all hell, but she could make wonderful spaghetti.
A dinner of two bags of Cheese Ruffles, one king-sized Snickers bar, and a 20 oz. Mountain Dew hit the counter, and Bryson pulled out his wallet to pay for his mother-load of junk food.
"This and fifteen on pump two," he said, hardly paying attention to the associate as he ruffled through his bills and threw a couple of them on the table.
"Nice ride." The comment made him look up at the cashier as she grabbed his money and began counting out his change. She half-smiled as she looked down at her cash drawer, and dark lashes fluttered over pale cheeks. Her small movements were fluid, he noticed... almost too fluid. Bryson took a quick breath in. The air smelled saccharine and sweet, laced with a small bit of perfume, but that was it. There were no pheromones. No hormones. No warmth of flesh. Nothing. Nothing that made her real.
Eyes met his. They were big, and more-noticeably, pale red. Almost pink.
Ah, vampire.
Bryson moved his eyes from her and looked out the window at his car. It was only a glance.
"We can't all have nice, souped-up and overly loud trucks," he said with a half grin. "Some of us have to drive the ancients."
Her response was a soft laugh. "Hey, relax. No one said your car isn't overly loud."
"You're right." He watched her bag his items. "In fact, a few police here and there agree with you. Never gotten a ticket, though. Only a handful of warnings. So it's not my problem, yet." That emitted another laugh from the clerk. And for a moment, it felt weird that he was having a completely cordial conversation with a vampire. For the past however-the-fuck long, a great deal of them had treated him with the disdain that they'd treat a stray dog.
For a moment, he had to wonder if she knew what he was. Surely, she did. They all seemed to know.
He narrowed his eyes at her, taking note of her appearance. From the little he could tell, she wasn't that old. Of course, vampires never looked old. The lived for centuries and centuries, just as the werewolves did. Ah, but something about her face screamed youth. Bryson couldn't place it. Her dark hair fell in long curls down her waist and her rosy mouth curved into a playful smile.
"You expecting me to sparkle or something? Or did you need something else?" she asked. She was joking, he could tell.
He was broken out of his stupor. "Nah. It's just... weird."
"Hmm?" she asked. "What? That I'm being nice? I wouldn't risk pissing off an alpha male." Her last words dripped sarcasm like a leaking faucet. "That what you are? That's what every other wolf seems to be." She knew. "That's what that guy was." She gestured out the window to the show-boat that was no longer there. Bryson still knew of whom she spoke.
"Oh, I bet." He grabbed his junk food. "World's gone mad, hasn't it?"
"You know," she perched on the counter, and almost looked past him, "When those Twilight books first started coming out --you know? The ones that started it all? I read them. I read them and laughed at them, sort of wondering what would happen if we really did act like they did. Never thought I'd live to see the day."
"Guess you jinxed it. Better than the Dracula and Van Helsing days, I suppose. Few less people chasing you guys around with stakes and garlic."
"You were around for those? I mean, I figure you were," her words quietened, as if she were embarrassed she'd said them. This only made him laugh.
"No, but I've heard some horror stories for sure. I'm only about seventy."
She sighed, and Bryson could tell she was a little disappointed. Her voice was quiet at her next words. "I suppose that makes you a bit less cool than you were before."
"Well," Bryson paused, "For what it's worth, I'm honored that I'm old enough to know better than the young ones running around. That what made you think I was old enough to be around centuries ago?"
"Well, that, and the fact that you rolled up in a car straight from the years of Jesus Christ." She grinned. It was a bit infectious.
"Speaking of which, I better go move it from the pump before someone moves it for me." Bryson headed for the door, issuing a wave with his empty hand before pulling it back through a thick mane of dark brown hair. "Nice meeting you, err..."
"Amelia. Amelia Brand," she answered with a courteous nod and a small bow. "And you should probably wash it while you're at it."
"I could wash her and polish her, I suppose," he said, thoughtfully running his hand through his stubble. "Hell, I could dress her up, paint her, and call her Jessica too if I wanted... but that's not going to make her any less of an eyesore." He paused, and put a hand on the door handle. "She's best dirty... that way people know that I know she's not worth shit. And also, Bryson Fairbanks."
"You should come around more, Bryson. Nice to see a supernatural who's still worth talking to."
"And yourself. Take care, Amelia."
"Have a nice day."
He walked back to his Buick, pulling out a bag of chips on the way. Needless to say, they didn't taste as good as he'd wanted them to. But ah, that was the way of life. That seemed to be the theme of his day as he pulled away in his loud and sputtering old car.
On his way home, he was a bit excited. And it wasn't the caffeine of the Mountain Dew either. The full-moon came out tonight. For the other wolves, that meant excess drinking and what do you know, more street fighting and cock measuring to find out who had the biggest balls. But he was a traditional guy. Tonight, he'd shift and run through the woods under the light of the only god he followed.
Maybe he'd hybrid up and kill himself a deer to eat. That was a concept that was strangely barbaric to humans... but hey, nothing was better than fresh meat. He wasn't about to give it up for some stupid movement. Especially when vampires fed on the blood of people, which to Bryson, should have been the more-concerning choice of diet.
But eh, he didn't judge. So long as nobody was murdered, which they usually weren't, it was all fair game.
Bryson wondered if he'd be alone in the woods tonight. He figured he would. And that? That almost made him sad. The woods used to be full of his kind --reveling in the light that embraced and empowered the werewolves. And now it was alone. Alone and empty. Just like the rest of his life had been since his father had been killed in a car accident.
He used to run with his father...
He forced the thought away. At least his father didn't have to suffer through the new era. That much brought Bryson comfort.
After a few minutes, he stopped at the last stop sign before his road, and glanced in the rear view mirror. He saw no one behind him... only a pair of tired, blue eyes staring back at him. He turned left and made his way from the old baptist church to his driveway. As soon as he had the car in park, and the keys out of the ignition, Bryson jumped from his car.
He quickly took a look around and stripped down to the suit he'd worn on his birthday. And after that, the transformation racked his body until a bipedal, dark wolf took his place. With one click of his teeth, he darted off, using his two front claws to push him far forward.
Tonight's run would have an early start.