Tuesday Night, March 7th.
Another day passed. After a night of violence and survival pulled from a war by the collective closeness and might of their teeth. The Shifters of Beacon Hills survived. Overcoming an assault the western world hasn't seen since the creation of the camera... or developed laws.
And with that survival, a realization hit them all. In particular it hit Marco. It hit him like a bomb. Each metaphorical piece of shrapnel, a new idea, a new level of understandings over what had become his new set of circumstances.
A Canima was in Beacon Hills. Fully Evolved. And possible empowered by Warlock Runes. Even worse. Marco was almost positive, that very creature was the one that destroyed his people on that horrific night.
He thought about it all day. He obsessed over it— as he did most things these days. As a result, school was simply an outside stimulus that never reached his active mind. It seemed that way for the others as well. Scott, Stiles, Alison. After the all-nighter they pulled, they looked like roadkill made human. Dark eyes, pale skin, exhaustion in their movements.
He was sure they were sleeping the second they got home. Not that he cared... unfortunately he was beginning to think he'd have to soon. For reasons beyond his control.
Beyond control. Many things felt that way. It enraged Marco in ways he couldn't properly enunciate.
So. He worked. He couldn't sleep. He was more comfortable pillow talking with his punching bag anyway...
"Hey— you're hitting pretty hard there, Marco? Everything ok?" Kat said from her side of the joined backyards as she worked out with him.
Well. Maybe he'd have multiple beings to pillow talk with. Just maybe.
"I'm fine. Just thinking." Marco said in a stifled growl as he backed from the bag and began twisting and flipping, unleashing powerful copoeira styled kicks on the bag.
After he began to smell Kat's fear from the gunshot sounding impacts, he got back on his feet and simply boxed. He'd just got back on talking terms with her. No need to ruin it again.
"So. How was school? Try any sports yet?" Kat said while doing a set of goblet squats with a sixty pound dumbbell. When he first arrived she could barely do thirty. Impressive.
"Boring. Lunch was shit and I'm having an existential crisis." Marco growled while practicing feints leading into heavy hits on the bag. His dreads swung and flew about his face in response to the blurring movements.
Kat laughed, "Ahahah! Teenagers and your drama— I mean no offense but it's funny as hell sometimes. I think that's why they make shows like Pretty Little Liars….."
"Pretty Little Liars is a jumbled mess of a murder mystery with questionable male romantic interests. American shows make my head hurt." Marco replied, finishing his words with a heavy punch that loosened the bag from where it hung.
Kat froze in the deepest portion of her squat and looked over at him. Beads of sweat dripped off her round chin and glistened her tan exposed skin. "Don't tell me you watch shows like Pretty Little Liars…? Marco— HELLO!?!?"
"Never judge a book by its cover."
Kat rose up from her squat, the muscles in her legs stretching and shifting against her grey leggings. She dropped the weight and shrugged as she walked over to him, the moonlight above gave her a heavenly glow she would never be aware of as she shrugged, "Well. I can't see covers so fuck it."
Marco found himself smiling as he punched the bag, "Yea. Fuck it."
He could feel Kat leaned over the fence that split their homes as she pretended to watch him.
"You know— school lunch is terrible. If I remember correctly."
"You do." Marco replied flatly.
"That's no way to treat a foreigner, you know? American hospitality is better than that."
"...Because this is the melting pot?" Marco guessed where she was going.
He could practically feel her smile creating the small dimples in her cheeks and raising her goofy round glasses, "Exactly!"
As she said it, Marco lunged forward and sunk his clawed hand into the punching bag.
It was ripped off it's hanger and left to hang against Marco's hand.
He stood in the silence holding the bag up before quickly taking his hand out and carrying it off to the spot where all the other destroyed bags remained. He didn't grab another, instead settling with turning to face Kat.
In his partially transformed state he could see her perfectly despite the darkness.
She smiled in his direction, she flustered and shook her head as if she could feel him staring. She had random moments where he thought she could see often. She was just being weird.
"Anyway—" she continued, "One of these weekends I'm gonna have to take you out to one of our diners— show you good food. It's a shame you have to go straight to processed school garbage, man."
Marco grunted.
"What!? Is that a bad idea?.....Yea you just don't want to expose your pallet to the great American tastes….. will it ruin your godly physique if you become as obsessed with Glazed Donuts as I am, Marco?"
"And you know I'm built this way because…?" Marco asked as he crossed his arms over his exposed chest.
"I can hear your muscles stretch your skin... sometimes I can hear it tearing— if that's even possible."
Marco froze momentarily. This whole time, she'd been hearing him transform. And she had no idea.
It was his turn to change the subject.
"Anyway. That isn't why... I'm a big eater anyway."
"Then what is holding you back from true cuisine?" Kat inquired, leaning further over the gate with no real idea of how she was presenting herself. It was rather suggestive.
"We'd look like a mess out in public. I don't appreciate being stared at."
Kat laughed out loud again, uncaring of the night others used to sleep, "AHAHA! The musclebound heavy hitter is scared of stares. What a turn of events, truly."
"Not scared. Irritated." Marco checked his watch. It was time to check on his mother. He began cleaning up his area. Kat continued to watch blindly.
She waved off his words, "Ah, I think we'd look badass. You sound big and scary, it would contrast perfectly with me."
"And you are…?" Marco asked dryly as he picked up a one hundred pound dumbbell like it was made of paper.
"I'm the sightless suntanned princess from the north. You could be like my grumpy stoic bodyguard! If you don't go out to eat with me then we have to hang for Halloween." Kat explained, excitement clear in her voice despite the preposterous nature of her words.
"You read too many fantasy romance novels." Marco explained.
"Maybe….. that seems to be the only place I can find a good man though."
Marco shrugged, "Sounds about right."
He concluded his clean up and approached Kat. She still leaned over his gate and watched. Sweat gave a cool glow to her skin, highlighting and contours of muscle and slowly developing curves around her hips and calves. Her cheeks held a rosy edge that spoke of how many times she'd smiled and laughed in the past hour. Her eyes as pure white as her teeth seemed to be watching something beyond him.
"Hey." Marco said as he lightly tapped her forehead.
"AH—" Kat jumped, causing her messy bun of brown hair to jump on her head, "How do I not hear you moving in grass?"
"I'm secretly a Lion that can speak the human language." Marco said flatly.
Kat viewed him in confusion, "Did you just try a joke?"
"Yes."
"I give it a three out of ten because you're nice." Kat said with a shrug.
"I don't remember asking for a ranking on my comedic prowess."
"Sure you don't, tough guy."
She chuckled in the silence for a moment before Marco continued. Sometimes it was nice to see a smile.
"It's late." He said.
Kat dropped her head with a sigh, "Yea it is…"
"Go shower and get some sleep."
Kat nodded and said her good nights.
As Marco walked away to return to the dark confines of his home, Kat called out to him a final time.
"You know— I was serious about the sports. It could do you some good to have more friends than the blind girl next door. Especially in the joke department…..ERHM."
"Right." Marco replied before stepping into his home.
In that moment, Kat didn't understand how possibly correct she was. For reasons he hoped she'd never know….
***
An hour had passed in a blur. Marco showered, replaced the bandaging around his arm and put his dreads up into a braid that kept the thick twisted tendrils out of his face. As he viewed himself in the mirror, he noted a shave was needed. He was beginning to look like his father.
The memory made him want to gag. He left the bathroom in a rush, putting on a pair of shorts and a tank top as he approached his mothers room.
The smells, the feelings— the sounds. All the same. Upon entering, a cool sweat covered his freshly washed skin.
He lit the candles his godly statues held and bowed to them both. Saying his mantra's, wishing for guidance and power in his pursuit of many things. Then he was cleaning his mothers wounds. Replacing her bandages and checking that she was stable.
Another night of mental scarring. Another night of….. possibly more.
Under her massive blankets— with her gaunt leathery dark skin and massive fangs. She looked like equal parts elder goddess and feral entity. She looked at peace in moments. He hated to ruin it.
"Mother…."
She jumped, "Oooh—….. my babies….. I- I feel you…"
Her arm exploded from beneath the blankets at blinding speeds and grabbed his bandaged arm.
"I feel your presence…." She whispered.
"Not exactly, mother." He replied.
She continued mumbling to herself.
Marco continued as well, "Things have changed, Mother. I've found it. The one you all saw in the sky on that night. I found the one who ruined us."
His Mother quieted.
"I found our killer."
"..."
Marco's eyes glowed with the rising of his anger, "I fought it, Mother. I made it bleed, I ripped off—….."
He stopped himself for many reasons. Settling with the important bits.
The rage faded, replaced by shame, "It got away. It overpowered me. I think it will continue to if I stay as I am….. even the Blue-Eyed Beast lacked the strength."
He could've sworn he saw his mother nod.
"It's powerful, Mother. It's something our world has never seen. That's rare... considering what is normal for us. And it's powerful— I think the Warlocks are discovering how to build its strength. Despite the power I've been given as a last resort to avenge us... I am not strong enough. I don't have enough control over this power."
As Marco spoke, he looked down at his bandaged arm, the mountain ash within pressed against his skin. "Not enough.... Not enough alone."
His mother jolted.
"I can only change so many before I completely disgrace our kind. The people here are weak— controlled by the trivial impulses of human life. They couldn't take what we are."
"..."
"But there are others, Mother. Wolves of the North." As he said it, irritation turned his voice into a growl.
"They are pathetic excuses of Shifters….. whiny, inexperienced, weak, judgmental, morally confused assholes. But they are Shifters. And I think I'll have to train them— awaken their shifting potential, as you once did for me and my sisters. I don't know if I can make them Fully Synthesize with the Beast within, but there's a War happening here, Mother. I need Soldiers as much as I need to avenge us."
His mothers grip on his arm loosened and ended with a pat on his bandaged hand. Then she was deep asleep. Seemingly content with his answer.
He nodded, "Goodnight Mother."
Finally, he was beginning to feel tired. Among many other things….