Feb 23, 2020 10:58 PM
Yvette is dropped in Beacon Hills
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Yvette has finished her latest novel a bit earlier than she expected (she ended up skimming it because the author spent far too many words on purple prose for the love interest), and there's nothing good on TV to fill the gap, wasting time arguing with people on the internet doesn't appeal, and she actually still really wants to spend time with a story, okay. Just - a better one. One that does not have a meandering mess of a plot and a romantic plot tumor that's completely devoid of personality in either member, or literally any chemistry between them whatsoever. She needs to wash away the icky book with a better one.

She has a bike route to the nearest library memorized for exactly this reason. She calls to her mom where she's going, and then out she goes, to return this waste of a perfectly good tree and see if she can replace it with something that's actually interesting.

While browsing the shelves, something catches her eye. She turns, and thinks she spots a book that has some kind of strange shimmery cover that changes when the viewer moves. Huh. Okay, bit gimmicky for her taste, but she has to at least look at it to scoff at it properly. Her fingers only brush the spine of the book for half a heartbeat before they pass through the book entirely. It, and everything else, fades to black, and the part of Yvette's mind that is not devoted to wondering whether or not this means she has to be admitted to the emergency room notices that the inky black is lit with stars. Something - twists, like someone has reached into her chest and grabbed hold of her heart and twisted, pulling it in a direction it wasn't meant to go. It doesn't hurt, though maybe it should.

The only sensible reaction to this is to open her mouth to scream. So she starts on that. As she does, the stars fade and the black lightens and gravity twists. She has the comfort of managing to get out a scream before she hits the ground. The same observational part of her mind that noted the stars discerns that the ground feels like concrete instead of cheap, easy-to-clean carpet. What?

She pushes herself up, and tries to figure out where she fell and if anyone is nearby to maybe get her to a hospital, because this is not okay.

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The boy strapped to the table seems to agree that this is not okay.

He is screaming in pain.

He also seems to be making a face.

 

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It's a very disturbing face.

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The woman standing above him lifts her gaze sharply.

"Honestly, you'd think Allison could pick better friends," she says, sighing.

 

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"What," says Yvette. "Are you doing to him?!"

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"Don't worry, dear. I'll get to you in a minute. Lydia, wasn't it?"

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"Don't touch her!"

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She is briefly distracted from going to her phone by 'Lydia.'

"What? No. Who's Lydia?"

But not very distracted. Phone: dial 911...?

"Did I just get kidnapped by a crazy serial killer, I feel very much like I just got kidnapped by a crazy serial killer."

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"I didn't know you were such a good actress. Appearing out of thin air just screams supernatural, which means you are a threat to this town. And that means it falls to me to deal with you."

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C'mon, 911. Be dialed already. She couldn't have dialed it wrong, surely? She tries again.

"... Okay, explain to me what you saw, because what I know is I was at the library and poked a book and had a, a, dizzy spell of some sort, blacked out, and then I am falling out of the air here and I am terrible confused and very alarmed by the guy you have strapped to the table!"

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The guy strapped to the table seems to be feeling quiet.

Now that she's less disoriented, Yvette can see that the metal walls, the lamp behind the crazy serial killer, and the vaporizer, resting on a small table next to the chair that Ms. Serial Killer may have been using. Or she was trying to murder it. Who knows.

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"This guy is a werewolf. He will kill you and me if given the chance. You also look remarkably like one of my daughter's only friends in this godforsaken town, and I don't believe in coincidences."

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"A werewolf," says Yvette blankly.

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A werewolf, apparently.

A very drowsy one.

"Vapor..." he mumbles.

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"Yes, a werewolf. I understand that you are new here, but now is not the time to explain this to you. I am a hunter. I protect people from these monsters. Any more questions?"

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"You seem awfully sure he's a monster, when earlier, when you threatened to hurt me, he said, quote, 'don't touch her.' Doesn't seem super monstrous to me, even if he's a bit fluffy."

Vapor, okay. So the vapor thing is some kind of drug that's hurting the - apparent werewolf? If this were - she doesn't know, some kind of fiction, she is talking to a misguided werewolf hunter that has the good-but-misunderstood werewolf at her mercy. So she needs to get the vapor thing away from the werewolf, and, what? Run away into the sunset? ... She'll figure something out that's better than that, surely.

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"He has been taking advantage of my daughter for months!"

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The boy isn't doing much talking, or moving, now.

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Okay. Noted. Also noted: her cellphone is not able to dial 911. What the hell, cellphone, she trusted you. Clearly she has to do something that is not the sensible thing, because the apparently-werewolf seems to be having some trouble. So far, he has displayed more good character traits in two sentences than this woman has managed in all of her monologuing, and seems to be dying or at least isn't the aggressor. She'll fall on his side.

"Taking advantage in what sort of -"

And then, because no one expects someone to interrupt themselves, she throws her useless cellphone at the woman's face and lunges for the vapor thingy that she would surely be able to name if she did literally any drugs.

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The woman reacts gracefully, but she's not as fast as the werewolf.

By the time the drug paraphernalia hits the floor, he's ripping apart the bindings around his hands and feet. 

His eyes flash yellow, though his face has returned to a more human state.

"Run!"

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"Yep!" she agrees, and she turns and bolts.

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The woman stays behind, clutching her hair.

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"Scott! What's going on? Derek and his pack are circling the building, we have to go!"

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"Oh, hey Lydia! Hi, I'm just here, hanging out. What's up?"

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She shoots him a brief confused look, before the sensible part of her head says that asking the universe why people keep calling her Lydia is Not Helpful.

"Werewolf hunter had your friend strapped to a table with a depowering smoke thingy, I broke it, and now we are running - who is Derek and how scared should I be of him, I am out of cellphones to throw at people -"

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"Okay. You are not Lydia, so I want to know who you are, but that's probably not what's first. Scott, scale of Peter to Deaton?"

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