ooc: If Mari still wants to, reserved.
ic: It was the first weekend after the opening of Keaton for the fall semester, and the students had started a new tradition: everyone of legal (or not so legal, perhaps) drinking age who wanted to flooded the Warehouse, meeting, greeting, and getting hammered. Oh, and some dancing. The place was packed, with hardly enough room to fall down in a drugged stupor, though from Beth's angle it looked like some of them had already managed it, and it wasn't that late yet.

Beth didn't like this place, but the pack of her peers had come, so she had too. Being a werewolf tended to sway her towards popular opinion even more than she had previously to the change. The loud lighting and pounding music was unpleasant, especially to her sensitive ears, but she was slowly tuning them out, with the help of a dab of alcohol. Just a dab.

She's out of place, here, sitting on a hardwon stool by the bar, though she made the effort. Her top is emerald green, long sleeved, her jeans lowslung about her hips, her shoes shiny black heels. The touch of lavender scent she's wearing definitely helped to distract her from the smell of too many people in a small space. As usual, her hair is brown with hints of sunblond, a sandy sort of color. Her eyes, which are hard to see with the lighting, are the same unnatural yellowgreen as always. She looks tense, but the alcohol is slowly wearing down that nerviness.

Duck doesn't have nerves. Not if he can help it. There are days when he doesn't feel his skin at all - and that's where the nerves live, isn't it? If he can't feel them they aren't there, and even if he doesn't have anything to escape from it doesn't mean he wants to stay. Here.

But right now here is okay. He can taste the lights, anyway, and that's as good a definition as any of 'okay'. He can taste the lights and the smells and he can smell the tastes, which are mostly wet earthish things with salt and alcohol. And he can taste lavender, which tastes like it smells and looks like a girl he thinks maybe he's seen before, who's sitting alone and her skin cries out so he follows it. Always the hero. Saving skin in danger of.. something.

"Hi."

Not just a word but an entire life philosophy and he's grinning, wide, covered in clean sweat and glitter, the gaudiness of bright colours and old jeans, gel in his hair, rings on his fingers. They aren't his. He doesn't remember whose they are. Maybe they're hers. He smiles, again, and wider, and he can feel the soft insides of her just by inhaling the lavender.

Duck was something familiar, in a sea of unknown qualities. Beth was not so sure of herself as to cling to it, him, but she was also not so much the wolf that she pushed it, him, away.

Actually the wolf would rather interact than not. Being two social animals at once eliminated ‘loner’ as an option. Poor Beth, stuck with her life. Still, that’s what happens to all of us- might as well get on with it.

She didn’t smile, but her eyes lightened, brightened, at the sight of… “Duck, wasn’t it? I didn’t see you come in….” The lass had a problem with insecurity, as you probably guessed. She remembered his name clearly- just didn’t want to assume she was right, because it would be embarrassing if she was wrong. Beth had a lot of habits like that to reduce risk in social situations.

Oh, and. "Hello." Those really should have been in reverse order. Oh well.... She glanced down, away, embarrassed for a moment, but only a moment.