The Causeway, Friday Afternoon

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The Causeway, Friday Afternoon

"Okay, I could have planned this better."

Verity stared up at the staircases and tiny streets that made her new home, her luggage in a small circle by her feet. She hadn't brought much with her--most of her belongings were being shipped to her once she found a place to live--but she definitely had enough to make hauling it all a pain. Especially the oversized Barbie Dream House that was nearly as tall as she was--and the colony of Aeslin mice that made it their home. At least they were still tucked away in their travel valise with a thick wedge of cherry tart and a couple of mini Babybel wheels. They were celebrating the sacred Rite Of Moving with the traditional cheese and cake and had been relatively quiet. Which Verity appreciated, as moving was difficult enough without having to try to explain a valise that was yelling "HAIL!" every few minutes.

After a moment of debate when she realized that, no, she couldn't just decide to camp out in this spot for the next year and another one when she also decided she couldn't just ditch her stuff and go exploring (from what she could see of the rooftops, this place looked amazing for free-running), Verity started organizing her belongings, trying to figure out how to combine them into the fewest trips.

"Hail to the move!" the valise squeaked. The shook as a number of voices returned, "HAIL!"

Verity pinched the bridge of her nose. She needed coffee to handle this.

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Mike had been out shopping for some random shit for Saturday's party. Then he'd been by Caritas to dump said stuff in the back room, because like hell was he lugging stuff back to the house only to bring it back again tomorrow.

Anyway, he was homebound now, but the route went past the causeway and, well, you saw someone on there with a bunch of stuff, it would've been rude to just ignore it.

"New arrival?"

Oh hey. Hot guy! Hot guy who'd stopped to make conversation! Hot guy...who saw her standing with a Barbie Dream House. Verity was just loving today, oh yeah.

"Yup," she said, resisting the urge to step in front of the bright pink monstrosity. All that would do would bring his attention to it. "Might have overestimated the size of the streets and underestimated the number of staircases."

All of her research had gone into the local cryptid populations and last verified Covenant sightings. She was Price, they could get a little monofocused sometimes.

If Mike had had a judgmental bone left in his body by the time he'd come to Fandom, four years on the island would've taken care of the rest.

That said, it was a bright pink mosntrosity, and he did give it an amused look. "Nice house." But he wasn't going to dwell on it. "But yeah, I know. Island's got a weird European small town thing going on. When all my shit got here, the movers refused to deal with carrying it all to my place."

"It's a long story."

Well, okay, not really, but It's a house for a splinter colony of talking rodents who worship my family as gods wasn't the kind of thing she was about to share. Even if it didn't go against the general secrecy she and her family operated under, she wasn't terribly keen on coming off as crazy right off the bat.

...She'd learn, bless her.

"How'd you manage to get everything up there?" she asked. "I don't suppose there's a business on the island that rents out burly folks to haul people's luggage everywhere?"

They could call it Lugs By Lugs and make money hand over fist.

Mike scratched the back of his head. "Well, back then I used to live with someone, so he helped, and then a bunch of our friends showed up and they helped, so it was just dumb luck, I guess." He shrugged. "Got my bed and everything half across the island. Didn't need to work out that week."

Goddamn, he'd been sore afterwards.

"But uh, I didn't think to start up that business so I guess we don't have one. Can lend you a hand, though, if you want?"

"At least I'm not trying to move furniture," Verity said with a grin. "And I'd appreciate the hell out of a hand or two getting this stuff up there."

She just had to make sure he didn't grab the bags full of things that no one needed to know she had. Like mice. And guns. And the couple of grenades that her mom had slipped into at least one of her dufflebags.

"I'm Verity," she added, deliberately omitting her last name. "And a definite pleasure to meet you."

Mike smiled at her. "Pleasure to meet you too, Verity. I'm Mike."

He was only omitting his last name because mentioning it would've been too formal.

He took another look at her stuff. "Any preference? I don't wanna accidentally jostle all your favorite Sunday brunch china or whatever."

"Sooo...I really hate to say it," Verity said, scooping up the valise just to make sure she kept it safe, "but could I convince you to haul the Dream House?" She was only about a foot taller than the stupid thing; there was no way she could carry it and see where she was going at the same time. "Even if you just grabbed that and I made multiple trips for the rest, I'd be grateful."

It wasn't the weight that she had a problem with. She was a professional dancer, it took serious muscles to hold those poses for any length of time. It was trying to juggle them all at the same time.

"I'll totally owe you coffee for your help."

And now just because she desperately needed a coffee after all of this.

Mike smirked. Just a tad. "You really won't, but I'll definitely take it anyway." Coffee with a pretty lady? Sign him the hell up.

He stepped up to the Dream House, sizing it up. "But before I pick this thing up, whereabouts is your destination?"

"The hotel," Verity said, glancing up the staircases in hopes of seeing it. You know, nice and nearby. "I figured it would be easier to find a permanent place when I was here already."

And after driving across the country, she'd wanted at least a few days when she didn't have to worry about her own space.

"Know of anywhere that's renting? Preferably furnished?"

The hotel was easy. At least compared to lugging furniture made of heavy wood across the island and into the woods.

Everything was relative.

"Off the top of my head, no," Mike said, looking for good spots to pick up the house from. "But I think there have been free houses on Godiva for a while. At least one of 'em has to come pre-furnished."

"Houses?" Verity asked. "I can't afford a house, not even to rent. I don't even have a job yet."

Though places almost always needed a waitress or something, so she was confident she could pick up something quick to pay the bills while she did her real work.

Mike shrugged. "I don't know, the economy on this island is fucked up." He shouldn't have been able to buy the damned mansion, either. (Though that had been in seriously worse condition than advertised.) "But there's the MCA, they have apartments."

One day, an actual economist was going to the island and cry.

"MCA?" Verity asked. "So, what can you tell me about this place anyway? I don't get a detailed rundown of this place before I started driving."

Oh God, the newbie speech. He was going to pick up the Dream House right now anyway. He'd just put it down again if anything he said freaked her out too much.

"Short version? Quaint little island... where weird, freaky shit happens on a semi-regular basis."

"Weird shit?" Verity asked with a small chuckle. "I dunno, I'm from Portland and just spent two months in LA. The bar is set pretty high for weirdness."

Case in point: he was hauling her Barbie Dream House up something like a million flights of stairs.

"Yeah, we're not... really in the business of LA style weird," Mike admitted with a chuckle. "Or, Portland. We're more like..."

What even.

"I used to have a werewolf party in my basement once a month."

There, that was something that could also be taken non-literally.

"A werewolf party?" Verity looked more alarmed than she probably should have at that, though she tried to play it off with a laugh. "Some kind of full moon thing, then? With silver and rare steak and all that jazz?"

He couldn't be talking about real werewolves., could he? The lycanthopy-w virus was incredibly dangerous, the kind of thing that could turn a bunny rabbit into a raging murdering beast. ~~And also what her brother's second book was about, stealing the plot would be poor form.~~ Still, that was exactly the kind of thing she'd been sent to look into. And contain, if necessary.

"Nooot exactly."

Well, the stake thing could've been a good idea.

"I mean I'm pretty sure silver would've been poor form."

"Well, if you were having a party, you had to be confident they weren't going to turn on anyone and eat them or whatever werewolves do."

Which was usually that. Lycanthropy-w was a lot like rabies, obliterating the rational mind while leaving a ravenous hunger behind.

Look at her! So casual. So cool. So just playing this off like a joke! Which was good if he was just joking around. But unhelpful if he also knew about cryptids and was trying to subtly suss out if she did, too.

Dammit, they really needed codewords for this.

"Technically, I said there was a party at my house, I didn't say I attended," Mike pointed out, and boy was this an awkward conversation and boy did he wish he'd maybe taken a different approach but hey, he was going to stick it out now.

While climbing stairs with a giant Dream House. "'Cause I just stayed out of the way and out of the basement. I prefer my face unmauled."

Wasn't Fandom fun? It led to all the awkward conversationss with Barbie accessories you never expected to have!

"Sounds like a pretty terrible party," Verity said, giving him another smile. "But you're not giving me much in the way of details, so for all I know, you're buddies with people that like to dress up in fur coats and watch cheesy horror flicks while practicing their howl."

Which, in fairness, would be pretty weird.

"Nah, they were actual werewolves."

He said it with the kind of sincerity that could only be mistaken for something else by someone really adamant to not believe him.

"Used to have a bunch –- well, I guess a pack of 'em, before. It's much quieter now."

"Wait, you seriously had werewolves?" Verity asked. "Were they fully infected, then?"

Fully infected werewolves had a little more control over their transformations than the newly-infected. Neither could be considered anything close to a rational, thinking being during the transformation, but at least you wouldn't have to worry about someone randomly transforming--and eating your face off--over breakfast or something.

"Did you figure out the infection vector?" she asked. "And when you say used to, you mean--oh. Um. I sorry for your loss."

People infected with lycanthropy-w didn't usually have much of a lifespan. The longest survivor had lived--what? Ten years?

Mike's eyebrows bounced and he glanced over at her. (Most of his focus had to go on his feet, here.) "My -- wait, you think someone died? 'Cause, no, they just moved out. Or, uh, off the island, actually."

In with their fiancés for the most part, no less.

"I mean, I didn't really get most of the other stuff you just said but yeah, no one died."

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