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Haákon stepped out of his truck, shutting the door and locking it behind him. His suitcase was still inside with his sword safely tucked inside. He didn't go unarmed, oh no. Doing so would be tempting the fates, he never went anywhere without his sizeable dagger hidden in his boot. He hadn't had to use it in a few years, he didn't intend to use it, but he wasn't about to go without it. He didn't like that this oh so mysterious Council was trying to shove him back into a pack. He hadn't been in one since he gave his alpha title to his sister some 280 years ago. He wasn't used to it, as he had grown accustomed to living life as a rogue and fighting in different wars and battles. Certainly the customs had changed, since the world had changed. Unfortunately he had to change along with it, something he didn't enjoy doing at all. He didn't want to go straight to the pack house the Council had listed, he figured that if the Council were able to track him down in Texas, then they had to have been able to track down many others, chances are most of them had flocked to the pack house immediately. He didn’t want to overwhelm them, so he decided to just hole up in a little motel for the night.

He entered the café, seeing the inside was cozy and small, but not too crowded. It seemed that the only customers besides him, were two she wolves-- one wearing all black with vibrant red hair, the other with black hair and caramel skin-- a vampiress dressed as a goth in purple and black, and a ginger haired human male. ‘Poor kid, probably doesn’t realize the company he keeps.’ He notices something familiar about the human’s scent, but he couldn’t exactly place it. He nods to the three women and crosses to the ordering counter where a young teenage girl stands at the cash register. “Hi, welcome to the Little Café, what can I get you?” He examines the contents of the case next to the register. “Hi, can I have a turkey sandwich, a slice of that strawberry cheesecake, one of those large chocolate chip cookies and a cup of coffee?” When he speaks, his voice is deeply rich with a slight accent to it, an old one that is hard to place, the cashier practically melts at his voice. He watches as she composes herself and asks, “And what is the name for that order?” He considers giving her his real name, but he’d probably have to undergo the process of trying to spell it for her and explain the origin. “Eli,” He goes with the name he’d used to enlist in the army a few years ago. He chooses a table by the window, close enough to hear the trio of supernaturals and the human, but far away enough that it wouldn’t be suspicious.

He pulls out his sketchbook, a hobby he’d acquired long ago, and begins to sketch his favorite thing, Lilja. In this one she is smiling softly, wisps of hair fall out from her bun, softening the harshness of the uniform his father made all of the servants wear,making it more casual. He smiled as he drew her. She always managed to coax a smile out of him, no matter what. Carefully, he shaded in her dark hair and filled in the shadows. He did his best to capture the exact slope of her plump lips. Oh how he missed kissing them. With practiced precision, he gave soft strokes to replicate her almond shaped eyes. He loved to gaze into them, seeing the laughter and happiness that resided inside them. "I've been jumping from job to job for a while now, but currently I'm trying out hunting. I seem to be a natural when it comes to shooting thanks to lessons my dad gave me when I was young, so I figure this is my best bet. Biggest problem I've found has just been trying to find anything," The human male’s voice sounded, at the word ‘hunting’ he looked up sharply, his amber eyes narrowing and nostrils flaring as he traced his scent back to his memory. Obvious B.O., no tell-tale signs of a werewolf hunter, but he was still on edge, he could either be a normal huntsman, or a werewolf hunter. Instantly an image flashed into his mind, one of a hunter, but not just any hunter, a werewolf hunter. He pushed the image aside, the human didn't have the smell of werewolves on him, actually he didn't have a smell of any dead animals at all. ‘If he isn't a normal hunter that means that the pack could be in danger, but then again, he could just be a normal hunter. If he were, than that could lessen the amount of prey left available for the pack. Either way, he would be someone to keep an eye on.'

He was so deep in thought, that he hadn’t heard the waitress trying to get his attention. He snapped out of his memories and turned his attention to her. “Oh, sorry I didn’t hear you, I was thinking about something.” She smiles and hands him everything he ordered. “Thank you, sorry again.” He says politely. He notices her looking him over, she soon asked. “Those are dog tags, did you serve in the military?” He pulls out his dog tags, letting his pendent stay hidden under his shirt. “Why yes, I served in the American Military for a few years. I had three tours.” He says before she could ask more. He puts sugar and creamer into his coffee and senses her still standing over him. “That’s a pretty drawing. Who is it? A girlfriend perhaps?” The waitress asked, possibly trying to get information on whether or not he was single. He looked down at his drawing and his voice becomes tight with annoyance. “Yes, she was my fiancé, she died a few years ago. If you don’t mind, I’d like to enjoy my meal.” He looks up at her to see her blushing with embarrassment. She mumbles an apology and scurries off, earning a sigh from him. He tucks into the meal while keeping his ears pricked, listening for more information. The little waitress had distracted him and now the café was silent, with tension hanging in the air.

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@zoelle
Zia Archipelago
Zara Bancroft
Ryan Thompson