Well... that was an interesting movie. Beth wasn't designed to see horror films. Her pale eyes had frozen in 'deer in the headlights' mode about ten minutes in the Wolfman and hadn't recovered since, even now that the movie was finally over.

She was sitting at a small table in the food court near the places of ordering, and staring blankly at the glowing menu of the burger place.

The young werewolf wore a pair of slim jeans, a longsleeved, clingy, violet top and flipflops. Her pale brown hair, bleached almost blond from all her time outside this summer, was pulled back in a loose ponytail. She would have looked pretty nice if not for the terrible posture, a bit hunched and a bit tense, like she expected somebody to hit her any minute.

Smart girl. Good instincts.

Duck hasn't slept in a while. In.. in maybe two days. It isn't a long while, all things considered, but he hasn't even taken anything so he's really just the walking dead. Grr, argh, pale.

He paid for a soda and now he's desperately trying to get one, but his hands are shaking, and the Sprite's spilling, and he just launched a plastic drink-top across the room. Directly at Beth.

He blinks and shifts and nearly falls over his boots, tries to track the top, and fails miserably. Blinks and goes back to filling the Sprite.

Seraphine had only staopped just before the lid saild in front of her. She turned and looked to see who'd thrown it. That guy must have. She shifted uncomfortably and looked the other way to where the lid had landed. Her green eyes fixed on the girl, pale and wide-eyed.

"Are you alright?"

Is it healthy to be that pale? She looked back over her shoulder, the kid hadn't even tried to apologize for throwing the lid. Jerk. Sera wore a pair of baggy camoflague pants and poots, her top was a black mucle shirt. She wore no jewlry and her long blonde hair was pulled into a messy braid.

Beth flinched, eyes flashing fear in a way that was not quite... human. Human eyes don't have that much yellow in them, either.

She hadn't been paying attention to her surroundings. This was a pretty clear signal to start doing so. Tearing her gaze away from the glowing pictures of the sign and glancing around, gaze furtive, nervous, she located whoever it was- some kid. A few days earlier she would have found it strange that she did it as much by scent as by sight. Today, she just couldn't care. Life was too weird for words. Enough said.

Strange, how these days everything was a flight or fight decision. Other options, human options, just didn't apply. Not these days. And Beth was very tired of flight. Her expression was a snarl, but a contained snarl. She wasn't a confident creature. Certainly not confident enough to show anger plainly.

Someone else, female, didn't smell all that happy. ((I'm extrapolating. Hope y'don't mind.) Talking to Beth. The werewolf had to respond- it was polite. Most of her attention was on the young man, though, so she sounded rather distracted. "I'm fine. D'you know him?" Why else would someone be that nice? Strangers didn't help strangers.

More of it spills, a lot this time, and he drops the entire cup and soaks his shins, digging into the denim and smelling like the laundry detergent his friend Joey buys. He's shaking a little worse, now, still dehydrated, but picks the cup up and tries again.

Besides the soaked jeans, he's managed to splatter his shirt - a nondescript grey/green threadbare thing, looking a bit as if it's gone through three generations of men who wore it every day. The edges are fraying, but the frays are stuck together with Sprite-spray. His hair is a mess, but it's always a mess.

It's easy to ignore the guy wiping soda up from around his ankles, and he does, but tries to look grateful as he shoves the cup back against the 'dispense ice' mechanism, and then back to the Sprite (there are free refills, right? The guy below him doesn't seem to be saying anything). Big, gaping yawn, and he takes a sip. No spillage. Does a little 'yay' noise.

Hergreen eyes wander over the head's of other people sitting down enjoying a meal to look at the indicated man. She shook her head. "Uh..." She was frowning at the scene. "No." She watches a moment longer. How excited he seemed to finally have gotten his soda. Is that right?

For all of her hate and fear of most men, (which would partially be Faunus' fault) she couldn't help but feel sorry. "Poor guy." She mumbles.

Returning her attintion back to the woman she she chews on her lower lip. She's got a pretty face, all except for that scab on her lower lip...probably from chewing on it the way she was. "Your sure your alright?"

She wasn't sure what to do now. Walk away That would be the obvious choice, but for some reason, that didn't seem to cross her mind. Not yet anyways.

Beth didn't really know what to do, at this point. She was pretty sure the movie hadn't been a politically correct version of what you were supposed to do when you got angry. And Beth hadn't really had many chances to practice her angry reactions. Instincts only took you so far, after all.

"Huh...." Can't think of something to say. Talking to people really wasn't her best suit. She fell back on politeness, since that had never failed her. "It was a bit startling, but I'm really fine. Did any of it splatter you?" Tone still a bit distant, because she still wasn't looking at Sera. She was looking at the guy, watching, staring.

The forgotten lid, slightly damp, is sitting by her flipflops. It really didn't do much to her- just a bit of lingering dampness that'd come out with some water.

Still trying to figure out what to do next, Beth mumbled "I should go and ask him to be more careful...." She took an abortive pace in the guy's direction, but stopped again. Not sure whether it was appropriate. Not sure whether she could handle going up to some random guy and telling him off. Or talking to him at all, actually. Beth was having a hard enough time finding stuff to say to the blond girl.

Another sip, another semi-orgasmic noise. Mm. Sprite-licious.

Now that he can feel the fizz and the sugar going into his veins, (or at least can pretend to), Duck's better now and can actually stand up straight. This means he's tall enough to see over the guy in line that's much, much shorter than him, and can look at the girls looking at him.

Blink. Sip.

He thinks about stepping forward but there's still a guy there, saying things he isn't listening to ('be more careful', probably, he gets told that a lot), and besides the floor's wet and he might slip. And also their heads keep blurring.

"Can I help you?", he asks, but not loud enough for anybody but the guy on the floor to hear.

Beth blinked, caught unprepared again. Why did that always happen? The world just moved so fast.... "I... you should be more careful." She nudged the lid by her foot with a cautious flip-flop, gaze slipping from the guy to his projectile in a glance designed to be followed. In the process narrowing the rather wide distance to the guy she was talking to. At least this way she didn't feel like she should be shouting.

She'd meant to sound angry, or at least put out. Problem was, Beth wasn't good at sounding angry. It came out hesitant, her attempt at anger just making it sound sortof sullen. "Do you make a habit of throwing things?" If he does, she calms down because he didn't do it on purpose. If he doesn't, she calms down because she feels sortof special. That's how it usually works, anyway. It's automatic, to calm herself down, get rid of anger through misdirection. She has a lot of anger to deal with lately. It's very useful.

Eyes on Beth. Eyes on the top. Eyes on.. himself, which doesn't work, and he gets dizzy a little and falters. It's either backward into the soda dispenser or forward into the guy, so he tries for the guy, and ends up somehow past him. Damn do his boots have good tread. Or maybe the floor was dry there.

Another look at Beth, the top, then Beth.

"I didn't throw that."

Nod, and another quick gulp.

"It escaped."

Damning tone, as if telling a priest in Salem of the witchy-girl next store, complete with distasteful look at the flying menace that unfocuses halfway through.

All schemes of emotional management were lost in the resulting 'huh' reaction. "But it's plastic." A bit frustrated, a bit confused, a lot lost.

You can tell that Beth was never really involved in anything to do with her own age group just from that reaction. She was busy reading books like Jane Eyre and Pride & Prejudice, not getting into involved arguments over the relative certainty of the sentience of inanimate objects and the evilness thereof.

Bethany stared at the flying culprit, absently pushing a bleached strand of hair back behind her ear. She half expected it to move. It'd fit with the weirdness of her current situation.

Chews a bit on the inside of his cheek.

"Plastic things are.. are aerodynamic."

A long moment and it's fairly obvious even Duck isn't listening to Duck, especially when he leans forward a little, probably encroaching into her space, and looking quite a bit as if he's about to faceplant into the table. How long has it been, again, without caffeine?

She stared at the top, blinked, mumbled to herself. It was certainly flat. So... she guessed that was true... sortof... she was still quite lost, though. "Like... a... frisbee?"

Beth doesn't play frisbee. It's a shot in the dark, drawn from the similarity in shape. She's trying to keep up with the train of conversation, but all that has really happened is to catch the last car by accident.

She flinches, just a bit, as he moves. She was off balance and things were just happening too fast. "Are...." Cuts off the rest of 'are you okay', pauses, rephrases to compensate for the fact that she doesn't know him, doesn't even know his name. "Is something wrong?" Her look is more alarmed than concerned- somewhat afraid that whatever's wrong with the guy is contagious.

Mm. Contaaagious.

Sleep deprivation is not contagious. Sprite-spillage, though, just might be and he's kind of tipping forward (kind of a lot) before jarring, and catching himself, and now there's Sprite on his shoe. Which is okay. It looks nice there.

"Um," he says. Steps back. Straightens.

"Are you my mommy?"

Eyes a little wide, but it was all he could think of.

Okay, now she's really frightened. Bad enough to throw things at her, but this was too much. Her expression crawled, wavering between Run Awaaaaaaaaaaaaaay and Ewwww. Sadly, her new instincts insisted that she shouldn't run from challenges- she should embrace them. Conquer them.

She doesn't like her new instincts very much. They're just so counter to everything she believes. Plus the new ideas never work out right. "No. No, no, no." First one to him, the rest to herself, because she is not happy with what she wants to do.

First rule of her life: do what is sensible, not what you want. Like running away. Running away is sensible. She's always been able to follow that rule fairly easily. Nowadays, she has to fight herself for it.

Her classical influence can't resist the need to be polite and speak in complete and grammatically correct sentences. "I'm much too young to be anyones mommy." She smooths a hand self consciously down her side, smoothing imaginary wrinkles in the smooth purple fabric, real wrinkles in her jeans. She had been sitting down for a couple of hours now.

Checks her out, then, at that remark - a bit obviously, and maybe a bit lewdly. Mostly he keeps getting distracted by the floor behind her. Obvious consideration, of her age and maternal abilities, and he finally nods.

"Right. Okay."

Another wavering second and he sits (collapses) into the chair across from her, drink settled on the table and liquid inside rippling like an earthquake. He's thinking, here - mostly trying to (how much money do I have, how much money does she have, where's her purse, how much would a milkshake cost, I wonder if I'm lactose intolerant), but it comes out as blank staring. Which it is, really, and he doesn't try to hide it, eyes fixed very intently on the her side of the table.

"Um."

Introductions, maybe? He forgets what he came over for.

"Do you have anything?"

Money. Caffeine. Speed. Sex?

Her verdict was that he reminded her of a puppy. A very clumsy puppy from one of the big, scary breeds, but still a puppy. Sorta cute in a very clumsy, clumsy, pathetic way.

She has some money in her back pocket- no purse. Always seemed to forget the thing, way too much trouble.

Plus the literature said muggers always stole purses. Seemed a bit frightening, to always be walking around waiting for a mugger to rob you. So, she didn't. Sensible, if paranoid, solution.

"Um. I haven't ordered yet." Beth took that as what he, whoever he was, was asking. Couldn't deal with the creepy factor. The girl rubbed her wrist absently, where her charm bracelet was chaffing.

She'd been too busy staring at the colors of the sign. Well... to be more accurate, she'd been too busy watch the colors fade into black-and-white and back to blinding vibrance again.

"Oh."

Watches her wrist, then, and the movement around it. Slight movement of his jaw.

"Um.."

Itches his hair, which is short again and not much worth itching. Another drink from the Sprite, which is getting flat.

Slides his head onto his arms, which have found their way onto the table, and for all appearances seems to be laying down to sleep. The ALF theme song is stuck in his head.

Waaay to close to the personal space. Beth inched her chair backwards, head cocked in a 'what the hell are you doing' way.

Beth can't stand awkward silences. She just can't. "So... you're a student?" She sure hoped not. Reeeally didn't want to be going to school with this guy. Beth didn't want to be going to school with anyone like this guy.

She didn't really expect a coherent answer. All she really wanted was an excuse to, well, excuse herself. Maybe if she went and bought something to eat, he'd magically disappear while her back was turned. Leave her and her table in peace.

She wouldn't be altogether surprised if that happened literally, come to think of it.

Mumble muffle grr pllt.

Head lifts, a little - his eyes are still closed, and his face has slackened a bit to a sleepy, childlike look.

"Nn. Yes. At Keaton."

Nod, nod, yes, this is true. Proud of himself for remembering. Eyes open, and then he looks at her, and he smiles, and it's not really a smile at all. Just his mouth twitching.

"Um. Are you a. Student? Too?"

Odd, gaping pauses. He wouldn't be surprised if he disappeared either. Well. Maybe a little.

Pause.

"Too also? Student?"

Head back down.

Well, that backfired in a big way. Now she had to say something polite and meaningful or feel like an insect. Just perfect. "Starting this fall. Freshman." She's starting a bit late, almost a year. Clipped, more than she liked, because she just wanted to get away. Her instincts couldn't contend with the combined impetus of fear and hunger.

She backed off, turned and headed for the line. Maybe she could buy a sandwich or something. Meat, or at least protein, preferably. Beth resisted the urge to glance back at the table. A watched weirdo never disappears.

Turns, to watch her leave, and falls rather promptly off the seat. Remains there, legs still on the padded plastic, eyes lolling back a little and shirt soaking up something spilled on the floor.

"Right. Yeah. Make sure you check out your dorm room beforehand."

She's already quite gone. He doesn't seem to notice, even though he'd watched her leave.

"Sometimes they'll stick you in somewhere with a leaky roof.. my friend Dave had that happen.. they wouldn't give him a refund so he switched with a friend who wasn't in his room at all because he stayed at his girlfriend's but then his girlfriend broke up with him and that was a shame because they were kind of a good couple but anyway she broke up with him and he didn't have anywhere to stay so he was going to stay in my room for a while but my roommate didn't want anyone else there so I got a girlfriend and tried to stay at her room but her roommate was the same way and eventually Dave.."

Duck doesn't quite trail off, but the words get quieter and a little more inward. The guy who'd mopped up his spilled drink by the dispenser is starting to edge toward him.

Standing in line doesn't take much thought, so Beth's free to ruminate about that little episode. She should have been more assertive. Being assertive is good. At least, that was what she understood to be the case. Heroines were assertive and things turned out okay for them.

Of course, that was fiction. Though she turned into a wolf once a month, and really didn't have any room to speculate on the reality of fiction. Werewolves were, after all, the subjects of bad movies and bad fiction everywhere. (Beth's opinion of everything written after the 19th century was showing through a bit.)

She mumbled through her encounter with the clerk, mumbled through paying for her meatball sub, and made her escape. Beth intensely disliked talking to people working in the food industry- it was just so awkward.

She kept her eyes on her feet on the way back to her table, watching out for any hazards in the way of misplaced foodstuffs. The fact that she didn't want to check to see if the guy was gone really had nothing to do with it. Really. Nothing at all.

He's not gone, but he's asleep. Very asleep, on the floor, and Dispenser Cleany Man is standing over him asking him questions which Duck is very obviously not hearing.

"Sir?"

"..n."

"Sir, are you all right?"

"..n."

And so it went, with occasional other consonants, and Dispenser guy noticed Beth (yay! an awake human!) and turned to her and put on his biggest greatest Please Don't Hate Me This Is My Job smile.

"Is he with you?"

A gesture to the kid on the floor, who isn't snoring but looks as if he might start at any second.

She didn't want him to be with her. Though the sleeping did seem to explain quite a bit....

She reined her thoughts in carefully, taking a breath and the opportunity to put her sub down before answering whoever this was. Uniform said he worked here. Please let her not get in some kind of trouble because of this.... "We were talking- I had to get my sandwich." A bad explanation, but the only one Beth could come up with on short notice. She didn't think well on her feet.

She resisted, almost, the urge to poke Duck with a foot. By which I mean she failed in the attempt, and he was most definitely poked. Not hard, mind you, but certainly nudged. Here was one thing she really didn't want to step in, thank you. She turned yellowgreen eyes on the guy in the uniform- she was pretty sure mall people were supposed to do something about guys sleeping in the mall.

Dispenser Guy seems to have the same idea, but is trying to avoid the inherent responsibility. There's a guy asleep on the floor. Getting kicked by some girl with yellowish eyes. That's.. that's not in the training video.

Duck, to his credit, tries to roll away from the kick-nudge, slamming his ribcage into the supporting pole of the table. It clamors out nicely, but he doesn't wake. Dispenser Guy leans down to, well, look at him. Maybe beg him nicely to stand. Duck, at that second, flails an arm about and catches himself on it, edging into a kneeling position and then back upwards, into his seat as if nothing had happened, a bit covered in floorgrime. A shallow gulp of the Sprite and Dispenser Guy says things and leaves, again, making motions to other people in other in-charge places.

"Dave is an asshole.."

Sage nod, another sip. His body posture is that of a badly beaten small child.

Huh. So violence does solve problems. Who knew.

Okay, not so much violence as poking, but Beth wasn't an aggressive person. A cautious nudge from her was akin to landing on the Moon for an astronaut. A small step for her, one giant leap of the mind.

"Who's Dave?" This guy, whoever he is, is fascinating in a creepy way. Beth just keeps wanting to see what's next, what he'll do. Like a circus act. Freak show. Clown.

Maybe he was Dave. That'd make some sense... well, actually, it still wouldn't make sense, but at least it'd make no sense with extra information, rather than with little information. That was why she was grateful for that guy who'd she met at the bar... that'd been an enlightening experience, sure enough.

She slid back into her seat, pulling the sub across the table to her place. She unwrappened it slowly, using it as an excuse to not look at whoever.

((..so.. short..))

Stares accusingly, but the effect is ruined by his stare being leveled at a ceiling fixture.

"Dave is my friend who got a leaky dorm room."

Stare, stare. Neck-crack.

Beth giggled nervously. This guy has friends? Perhaps the word was titter- it was one of those annoying, chittery sounds that some girls could make. Not a pleasant sound, and she knew it. She doesn't do it often, but it was a nervous habit she hadn't managed to break. "So if he's Dave, who're you?"

Fascinated, repulsed, a bit lost, a lot off balance. That was Beth for you.

She bit down on the sandwich, glad that she had an excuse to not meet his (non-existent) gaze. But how could she know that, after all, when she'd been avoiding looking at him for the past three minutes. In her mind, for certain, he was glaring right at her.
ooc: <_< Mine isn't the longest either.

He had been glaring. Now he looks confused, as if they're long-standing friends and she's gone and forgotten his favorite colour. Which was blue, by the way, but he wasn't going to tell that to her now and it's very obvious in the tone and set of his body that's he's indignant. And possibly asleep.

"I'm Duck."

A little lilt at the end of 'I'm', childish, and it gives the unfortunate impression that he said he was a Duck. Back to sipping on flattening soda, and he watches her as if expecting her to scream apologies for forgetting it, and bestow upon him gifts and praise and pretty virgin girls.

"Oh." Her tone didn't even try for dawning understanding. It went to Lost and Disbelief and bought a nice splitlevel house.

She was quite willing to believe, for one long scary moment, that he was a duck. Literally.

Only after that moment did her sense of reality hit, bringing her back to some semblance of rational thought. "That's a nice name." Ridiculously bright tone. She's countering her own feelings with the most simple mask possible: I'm Feeling Just Fine Right Now, Thanks For Asking.

She doesn't have the money for gifts, the personality for praise, and the third is just not happening, even if she does have the option. Poor Duck.

Very poor Duck. Nobody loves the Duck. Nobody gives the Duck virgins, and he's all pout-y, still, except when she compliments his name.

"Thank you!" Brightly. A little wetly, as he says it practically on a swallow. Acting as if she just extolled the virtues of every action or thought he's ever had.

"What's yours?"

Spoken into the cup, curious and a little echo-y.

Bite of sandwich, yum, meat. Meat is good. Chewing, chewing, 'Duck' was strangely happy, chew.... Ah, done. "You're welcome. I'm Beth." She could have said Bethany, but it saved explaination time to go with the short form.

The sandwich was disappearing at an alarming rate, given her normal eating habits. Beth just didn't eat that much. She watched her figure.

And despite the exercise she seemed to be getting once a moon, eating this much couldn't be good for her. Three meals, plus hearty snacks.

Only one thing could she identify that was a true positive effect: beef jerky. She'd never have tried it if her nose hadn't started insisting, and now she was hooked. So salty and smokey and good. She'd run out again yesterday. The werewolf thing really ran through her cash on hand. Lucky school was starting up soon... she'd be able to use the meal plan.

Finally, she brought herself to look at the guy, no, Duck. His name was Duck. To look at Duck, gaze a puzzled and somewhat wild thing, a wild animal trying to figure out something strange.

Duck's eyes are closed and his body is shifting, lazy, downwards - face soft and slackened, shoulders tensing and releasing in an effort to stay awake. It's been at least a day since he's had any sleep at all, and that was only barely an hour or two, and.. it's warm, in here. Warmish. The air sticks, greasily, to his skin and the inside of his throat, the laundry detergeant/sweat smell of himself and the animal-meat smell of the girl across from him, maybe the dry scent of napkins somewhere to his left. Olfactory senses up, his hearing takes this moment to shut down - a warm buzz of his own breathing and the flourescent lights and the blood in his veins. Not really.. not really doing anything. Just moving. Distant awareness that he is, actually, hungry, unrelated with the growl of his stomach which he feels instead of hears. His hands are cold, despite the warmth of the rest of him, and shaking a little as they drop to his lap.

A great deal of effort, to respond, to be polite or at least nice, this sort of thing programmed into him so deep it would take surgical effort to remove it. Jaw works a second, trying to open, before speaking.

"Beth."

Soft and acknowledging, not much more, head drooping with the weight of itself. His boots are sticking to the floor beneath him and he takes this stimuli to mean he's entirely stuck where he is, and reacts accordingly, falling further into the haze of what is entirely too close to sleep.

He could hit him, or leave, or scream at this moment and he might not notice.

She could hear his sleep. Breath, heartbeat, russle of cloth against cloth. This is one of the abilities that slip into and out of her mind, much like scent and black and white vision. She doesn't control when they come, and is extatic when they leave. It hurts to hear so well. Beth could hear herself chewing, a rubbling grind, unbearable. She swallowed, a liquid swish of meat and bread, and sat, hands locked around her sandwich. Wishing it would just go away.

Beth hadn't wanted to be a werewolf. She still didn't want it. Not yet.

Didn't want to eat, yet, because taste was a common change. The most minor sense, it switched as often as the wind blew. With the hearing, it'd be an overload. Sensory overload, that is. That made her twitch.

So she sat, and dug her fingernails into the soggy bread, and willed it desperately away. Forced herself to speak, though it was hard, loud, raspy. Spoke in a near-whisper. "Yeah.... Um. What year of university are you going into?" Luckily he didn't seem interested in her at the moment. That was good. Maybe he wouldn't say something loud.

((..gah. There are limited things to do with a sleep-deprived human. Heh.))

The kind of guy who actually does answer in his sleep, in the right level of it - his friends used to interrogate him when he was tired just because they knew he'd answer. They stopped when he ran out of things to say.

"S'ph'mo."

And that seems to rouse him a little, and he doesn't move much but his head and looks up and smiles, a little.

"You're pretty."

Voice soft and distant, and in the back of his head he can support fantasies of water and beach and Beth, maybe.

ooc: We can wrap this up, if you want.
ic: She gave another one of those little nods, not because she thought he'd notice but because of long ground in habit. She'd been taught to be polite as a child.

Beth had never, ever, known how to take compliments. She just didn't. Mostly because she'd never had any as a child, and you learned to do things like that then. If anything, she'd had nega-compliments. So she colored, looking at her hands, up at him, down again, and finally said "Um. Thanks." Looked up again, expression at once vulnerable and quizical. Trying to figure out why he said it, what he hoped to gain by it, because not for a moment does she consider that it might actually be true. Beth's mentality just didn't include 'pretty' in the lexicon of self-descriptive words.

She offered him a shy smile, just because it seemed... appropriate. She actually looked pretty good wearing one, as it was one of the few expressions that didn't look artificial or tense when she wore it.

((I don't want to, especially, but I know I've been pretty useless the past.. uh.. two pages. So. Uh. I think I will.))

It's true, he'd say, were he awake and aware and other such things that he is very, very much not. In fact, he's asleep, and quite deeply so, and all crumpled up in the chair with his head on his arm so he doesn't knock over the Sprite which he's already rather covered with. The sugar buzzes nicely in his veins and he holds a conversation with her that doesn't exist, and sleeps, and is, and it's nice.

She was reminded again of the puppy metaphor, which for a werewolf means something slightly different than it might for a human. The meaning is almost maternal, tempered by the human 'Awww' reaction. Her smile turned gentle, an open expression that she never would have allowed herself if he had been awake.

But the hearing has gone away again, thankfully, so she ate, keeping a weather eye on her erstwhile dining companion. They'd be going to school together, at least. She'd see him again. Sometime, someday, she'd be able to ask him what he meant by that. Until then, she'd wonder.
ooc: I'd like to continue the plotline, though. :tilt:

((H'okay!))