"I will admit that I am unsure about the black blood, otherwise: try me."

"Whatever's happening, you don't want any part in it. Go."

"Pretty sure you don't get to decide that for me," Jay says sharply. "But you know what, if you're going to be a dick about it, fine."

She turns as if to leave. "...Dear god. This town. If this is related to those 'animal attacks'..." She looks back over her shoulder, looking for a reaction.

He flinches, but says nothing.

The flow of blood seems to have stopped now. He washes his face.

She shakes her head, sighs and leaves, muttering something that might be: "Fucking werewolves," under her breath, but it's not very distinct.

And now, she supposes, she had better go and do the whole class thing again.

In which case, she has class.

Yay. Class. (Feel the enthusiasm.)

She will split her attention between trying to concentrate on the work and trying to figure out if any of her other classmates are acting weird. (Or rather, weirder than high school people on general seem to act.)

Her classmates seem quite ordinary. Besides the obvious exception or two.

Well then, she'll try and find a seat relatively near to one of those exceptions, because she's here to get information, and it might be nothing, but it's worth a shot.

She does have a class with the local mean girl/basket case.

Who she's pretty sure she got on the wrong side of yesterday. But she's also pretty sure was attacked by a werewolf.

Eh, she's not going to be here for long anyway. She makes her way over there. "Mornin'," she fakes a convincing yawn as she drops into a seat.

"Oh, it's you. How are you liking this place so far?"

"S'quiet," she says after a moment's thought. "And simultaneously very hard for anyone to keep secrets it seems," she adds, almost as an afterthought. "Could be a lot worse, though, I suppose. Anything interesting to do when we're not in this particular prison?"

"We don't have much of a nightlife. There's one bar which doesn't serve minors, obviously. That would be wrong."

"Of course it would," she agrees blandly. But there's something knowing in her eyes, a thought about teenagers always finding a way to do the things adults told them were 'wrong'. "I suppose I'll just have to get used to being bored then."

"I'm sure you'll find something to do," she says, looking Jay up and down.

"Any special skills?"

"Define 'special skills'. Are we talking 'I speak several languages' or are we talking something else?"

"There are a lot of things a girl can use her mouth for. I don't much care if they're social or intellectual, as long as you have some."

"Good outlook," she agrees. "You meet too many girls content with being airheaded idiots."

"There's a certain utility to it, as long as you aren't pretending to everyone. I can giggle with the best of them, but my teachers see my grades, they know how dedicated I am."

"Being underestimated by the masses is definitely not a bad thing," Jay agrees. (That what she tends to want people to underestimate is combat skills not intellect is neither here not there.)

"So? Any special skills?"

"Mostly geared at physical stuff," she admits. "Good at climbing, accidentally got myself a try out for the swim team. Have won a couple of junior rifle competitions," that's safe enough to admit to. "And I have a guardian who is totally willing to provide an alibi if people want to go somewhere their parents won't approve of. Not so sure that's a skill though..."

"Cooperative parents are a resource, at the very least. How do junior rifle competitions work? Does that generalize much?"

"Give me a projectile weapon and a target and I can probably hit it?" Jay gives a quiet chuckle. "Focusing, blocking out distractions, complex maths in your head depending on the range you're shooting at."