Marco sat in the silence of the tense classroom, deep in his own mind. Deeply entrenched in the mystery of a simple message seemingly written in a time of mental lucidity. A time when other aspects-- other planes, of their world could become accessible. Is that what she'd done? Is that what spurred the young woman into writing such a simple yet ominous message? Could her hand have been guided by outside forces, much like his own? Maybe.
He didn't like that word. Maybe. Not when absolutes existed, he'd get his answers.
"Y-Yes…Mr. Mihos?" Mr. Westover replied to his raised hand, pulling him from his thoughts and back into his uncomfortable reality. The chairs really did suck for someone of his size...
"I need to use the bathroom." He lied.
Mr. Westover looked like he wanted to shrink into his sweat-soaked sweater and khakis as he nervously laughed, "Hehe….Usually it's one student at a t–"
"It's an emergency." Marco persisted.
The class flinched and quieted. Students that whispered abandoned speech altogether, the louder of the bunches panicked and followed suit as if something terrible would begin if they didn't.
Mr. Westover wasn't exempt from the tension that rode through the classroom like a murderer on horseback. He succumbed to the pressure with ease, eager to let Marco leave. "V-Very well. You may go. Take your time."
Marco was up before Mr. Westover could finish speaking, eager to escape the undersized chair and suffocating classroom to find Lydia. He needed to know what she meant– what she knew.
Why tonight?
When he closed the door behind himself, he felt the classroom let out a collective sigh. Something that was more of a physical response than a vocal one.
He wasn't used to being around so many humans. He wondered if he'd always had such an effect. Or if it was a product of one of his….new developments. Then again– maybe the pretty american teens were simply too sheltered in their small town of pretty forests and strip malls.
Whatever the reason. It didn't matter at the moment.
The slim red lockers lining the pale walls passed his peripheral vision in a blur as his long legs carried him faster– following the scent of Lydia's gaudy and loud perfume.
All of the other hundred or more scents lingering through the hallway like ghosts faded as he honed in on the only one that mattered. One scent– one sound, one focus. The bathroom was just around the corner– he could hear her breaths. Smell her true scent, the one behind her poorly crafted persona.
Hopefully he'd find the same in her ominous message for what she planned for the night. Hopefully he'd hear from the real her.
The lockers at the sides of his vision faded. The corner gave way to a wider hallway with the bathroom entrances at the end.
He weaved his way through a pack of Police Officers smelling of gun oil and outside air that met him at the corner. Their dark shades adding an edge of grimness to their hardened features as they whispered to each-other. Marco turned to listen as he walked past them.
"For now, Isaac's our prime suspect but since we've got nothing on him. We've got twenty-four hours to hold him until we find something. A man's dead– let's get the culprit." The leading Officer whispered to his compatriots.
"Interesting…" Marco thought to himself, remembering hearing the reports of a man found dead last night. It seemed the one named Isaac was connected. He continued listening.
"Do you want us to up the security? You know how it gets on nights like this, Sheriff…."
"Nights like what?" The Sheriff asked, sounding slightly aggravated.
"Full Moons…."
More footsteps...
"Oh come o–"
"Ouf!"
Marco– in his intense focus, missed the second wave of people rounding the corner and met them head on in an awkward collision.
Two thick heads mashed into his chest and chin, both parties equally as stunned as if they all were on their own sort of informational hunt.
Marco took a step backward, prepared to issue an apology until a certain smell hit his nose. A smell he'd been smelling faintly all day. A smell that hung on Lydia's hair and jacket and lingered in a number of classrooms….especially the Boys Locker Room.
Two male students.
One on the shorter side by a couple inches at five eleven and well muscled. Built like a high caliber athlete. His tanned skin matched with and placed his features as half parts European and Hispanic. Wariness, determination and surprise wore his face like a well fit suit– as if he'd held the expression often recently, stretching his crooked jawed face with the slight opening of his mouth. The expression was often accompanied by another scent that didn't come from the student at all. No fear.
The other was on the taller side. Six three at most. And his lengthy limbs strapped with cord-like wiry muscle made him seem even taller. He looked like he could move. Deadly fast– but he also looked like he lacked the power the other clearly held. Even if they were both clumsy as all hell. He was in the midst of running a slender fingered hand over his buzzed head as if the collision hurt when the scent hit him.
Both of their eyes glimmered in varying shades of yellow. The feral glow of two Canine Shifters. But that was it. No further high-speed shift, no deadly growls, no bone-chilling howl in the distance...a little underwhelming considering what he'd heard about the feral WereWolves of the North. Maybe they just had experience and control– like himself. Even on this day of all days.
But– even with the control he'd cultivated over years of hard work and strife. His true being clawed and scratched it's way to the surface as well, shown in the matching glow of his eyes. A similar shade of feral golden-yellow.
Similarity. They could smell it– feel that the three of them were more alike than they were to the rest of the beings in the entire highschool. But they could also smell his difference. A different world, a different life, a different origin. Shown clearly when his pupils lengthened and shifted into feline slits.
"Ohhh my god– I told you, Scott— Wait…." The taller of the two began.
The one Marco learned went by, Scott, finished the taller Shifter's words, "They're not blue…"
By the time the realization hit the two students, their eyes were back to normal. Little semblances of what they were left remaining, other than the smells they reeked of.
"Stiles….it's not him." Scott said.
Stiles looked like he wanted to speak to Marco. But, before any words could escape his non-existent lips, Marco advanced. He needed answers, from where he stood, they weren't coming from the two male students who looked to be on their own mission.
"Excuse me." Marco said with a nod aimed behind them before letting his massive bulk split them as he headed towards the woman's bathroom. The question came to his mind again as he split further and further from the young WereWolf…and the other.
"Lydia…why will you scream tonight? What does the Full Moon mean for you?"