*WARNING: There's some cussing as well as blood and gore. Show Less
This argument was based off of the idea that werewolves and vampires can be created from humans. Of course, it doesn't account for the Vampires with no discernible origins, or the ones that can procreate with each other. Hell, it does not even mention the fairy folk that come across the hedge or the hobgoblins or imps or spirit people.
And it certainly did not mention the Elderbanes or the other werewolf clans.
“Quiet back there, Lumpy.”
Fury Elderbane, natural born and raised werewolf, reached a hand back and thumped on the plastic bag that wriggled noisily in the back seat of her dumpy Taurus Wagon.
Gurgled murmuring and a few smooth turns later, and she was pulling into South Reilly Street. It was a long, lonely lane in upstate New York, dusted with foreclosed Victorian houses and a few empty lots. Number 209 was at the end of the cul de sac, and just as old as the others, in equal parts disrepair and neglect.
Fury parked the wagon in the gravel drive and took a deep soothing breath.
As the engine ticked with cool down, she gently released her grip on the wheel and allowed herself a moment to relax. It had been a long night; she was dirty and tired, and all her muscles ached with the dull throb of a good run. It was one in the morning and although the big part of her night was finished for the time being, she still had more work to do.
FedPIC agents slept very little, and regardless of her humble living situation, the pay reflected the long hours.
She opened the door and swiveled to drop her feet onto the gravel. Her flip flops clapped on the ground and her feet were dirty and flecked with bits of grass. Her yoga pants were threadbare and covered in grass stains and she imagined her tank top was similarly decorated. Over top of that, she had a plain brown bed sheet wrapped around her like a toga.
Every day was casual day in FedPIC.
She bowed her head. As her breath went out, Fury's beast stirred, and her nostril's flared. She felt the essence of her wolf shift beneath her skin. The little hairs stood up on her arm and she felt its warmth within a second.
On the next inhale, she took in the scents around her. She smelled the fresh cut grass of her only neighbor’s lawn, and the smell of two or three stray cats close by. She smelled the rubber and metal and fluids of the car and the rough, dusty smell of the gravel under her feet. She could smell the fresh earth turned over in her attempted garden in the back yard and the sorrel and sage that tried to grow there.
Then of course, there was the plastic and old blood flavor in the air from the back seat.
Once she had determined that there were not any strangers lurking around her house, she stood there for another moment and let her ears hear the little noises around her. The tinging engine and the crickets and the distant sound of traffic several blocks away.
“All right, stumpy. Let me give you the tour.”
Fury stood up and stretched, tugging the toga-sheet over her shoulders. She yanked the back door open (it needed extra convincing, sometimes,) and started heaving out the lumpy plastic bag with a series of quick jerks.
With the bag slung over her shoulder, Fury pulled her keys out of her pocket and worked out the lock on the front door. When she heard the click, she pressed her sweaty forehead against the wood.
“Enter here, Elderbane.” She whispered.
A warm haze briefly blurred the corners of her vision and she smiled.
Good old Spirit magic had protected her grandpa's house for years. Fury liked it because it was not that bloody stuff that vampires do, and it was not conditional or temporary like that fairy magic either. Just a good natured spirit with a good relationship to her gramps.
When she moved in several years ago, it took a liking to her too, and she has always been grateful.
Fury named it Stevie. In her head it looked a lot like her gramps as she remembered him from her childhood – a bushy salt-and pepper beard, long wavy hair, and hands like a lumberjack. He always had a smile and a lame one-liner pun joke.
Maybe that was why the spirit liked her, because it had loved him so much.
Grampa Kirk had been the Elderbane's shaman. He had always been in tune with the local spirits. He taught Fury how to get to the spirit world in her dreams when she was just a kid, haunted with bad dreams.
But like all the Elderbanes, he was gone. And she hadn't been in the spirit realm since.
Sometimes Fury felt like she was gone too, in a way.
The door opened smoothly and she stepped into the familiar threshold. She flicked the switch and the hall light bathed her in a warm glow.
The bag wriggled on her shoulder and she gave it a good smack against he door jam before locking up behind her.
“This is the foyer.” She muttered.
Other then the little oriental throw rug under her feet, there was very little adornment this early in the tour. She kicked her flip flops into the corner and dropped the sheet on top of them with an awkward shrug.
Stumpy let out a gurgling hiss and she chuckled. “I know, I know, its very lavish, isn't it?”
Fury made her way down the hall. She passed the hall closet and the living room on the left, and the dining room & kitchen on the right. At the end of the hall was a sitting room. She switched the sitting room light on as she arrived.
“This is where I order pizza on Fridays.” A smile lit up her face. “Well, tonight, then. Meat lovers, as you could imagine.”
Stumpy gurgled something. It was probably a string of profanity.
On the left side of the sitting room was a staircase to the second floor. (Her bedroom, guest room and master bathroom.) The door beneath those stairs went to the basement. On the right was a half bathroom and past that was the door to the back porch and her garden.
Fury flipped her keyring around and used another key to unlock the door to the basement and flicked on another light.