Flashback A tornado and a blizzard walk into a bar...

Hollow glade

Muted
Benefactor
Pronouns
They/them
Location
The Den
Short of literally kicking her out of his living room, since he didn't have a spare bedroom, Salem was finding a bit more struggle than he had anticipated with Ziessel. With getting her to leave the house every so often, especially. They'd kept in contact through mail, telephone and eventually, chat messages for the last couple of decades. Life this, life that. The pack is doing well, or isn't. She would include tidbits about her more domestic life in Tiranoth when she could. About her growing children, every day more rebellious than the last. He didn't share anything risky or confidential, Matis would've had his head if he was so careless. He also wouldn't be where he is, or what he is, either. It had all seemed like it was going relatively well. Ziessel had always planned to return once her very human husband passed away, but she was expecting to have another 20 years or so, at least. Her kids would've been a bit more self-sufficient then. Might have resented her a bit less for leaving them behind in such a hurry. He suspected there was something more that she hadn't told him there. He had asked, and she had started to tell him a few times. But then the words had gotten... what, lodged in her throat? and she went quiet and didn't talk to him, again, for hours. It was a bit like having a ghost as a housemate, one that sometimes made terrible food but also paid rent. She didn't have to for the first couple of months but she insisted.

"We're going out, get dressed. Casual." He told her, since she had asked about the dresscode every other time. He tended to dress business-casual anyway, or outright formal, for a pack member. She didn't answer but she got dressed. Then he dropped her off at the Den because he had other things to do and couldn't she come along? She could, but she had a different task today. Talk to the pack, damnit. He wasn't going to shove her in anyone's direction in particular. But he would leave her there to see what she managed to do after a month and a half of isolation, apathy and silence. The rest of the wolves were good people, in general. And the ones that weren't she could probably fend off. But being alone and thinking about death and its closest relatives wasn't doing her any good. He couldn't help her on his own, nobody could, because nobody was going to bring him back from the grave.

So Ziessel, more than a bit pissed off about this new strategy of Salem's to get her to mingle, walked into the Den and sat at the bar. She used to have a fiery temper, but she had learned to cool it over the years. So instead of stomping and fuming, she was quiet and did her best not to look at anyone else. Most of them she had met before she arrived, and she saw them here and there when she did jobs for the pack. But she wasn't familiar with any of them, and sure as hell didn't remember their names. Maybe she'd get drunk, finally, tonight. Or get back on top of her physical training. It had never stopped, but she was rusty in fighting and keeping up with other werewolves instead of humans or sand bags.
 
Huh. She's not here often.

Ziessel Geiger, who'd been reintroduced to the pack about six weeks ago. Apparently she had been a member ages ago, before Rhetta had existed, and then she'd gone and gotten married and fucked off to Tiranoth to raise a family or something. Unfathomable, really. But she was Pack, and that was that - or it would have been, except she'd hardly been around at all, mostly hiding out with Salem. Presumably Mathis knew more about it, and was handling the situation. Not Rhetta's problem, and if it were Mathis's problem, well, he had enforcers for that. Some day she was going to be one of them, but she had to prove she was ready for that first.

She would. Rhetta had absolutely no doubt of that. She'd known since she was a toddler, after all.

This being the Den and Rhetta being a Bloodstone, she just walked behind the bar to the little refrigerator that was back there, retrieving the carton of orange juice inside. The bar reliably had the kind that didn't have any pulp in it, she had learned. Once upon a time, she had felt very important drinking orange juice from a shot glass, until she had realized that the tiny glass was to keep her from drinking too much of it.

Today she grabbed a tumbler instead, scooping in a few ice cubes and pouring a little juice over it, mixing in nothing else. She didn't really like getting drunk. Jacques had made sure she knew what it felt like, a while back, so she wouldn't run into trouble she wasn't expecting, but she didn't like not feeling alert. Maybe when she got to enforcer she'd change her mind, maybe not.

"You want something?"
 
It took Ziessel a moment to remember who she was looking at. Margaret “Rhetta” Merin. Very likely, and hopefully given her strengths, a future enforcer. At least according to Salem. Who should be here now facing his fate instead of being a treacherous coward of a man. She was probably here often, well, supposedly everyone was here often. This was the common meeting point for pretty much anyone in the pack.

“Sure, whatever you’re having is fine.” She said, not really in the mood to come up with anything fancy for herself to drink. Beer was fucking gross, too, and she didn’t want alcohol. Not when she was angry.

“You’re…” Not Margaret. That was written somewhere in very bold letters. And because it took virtually no effort to call someone by their preferred or chosen name, Ziessel did. “Rhetta, right?, how old are you?” Because she looked sixteen, maybe seventeen. From what Ziessel had seen she wasn’t trying to like drink anything dangerous. And she wasn’t the fun police to keep a teen from having a sneaky beer even if she had tried. She wasn’t her daughter. Fuck. Sonia was older than this girl, had already sent a myriad of angry texts and calls at the radio silence, the same as her siblings. Ziessel didn’t have the heart to stay, because if she did she was going to try to turn them all into her little wolves so she didn’t have to go through more disgusting losses. And then she might kill them while trying, because the whole idea was as selfish as it was stupid. And she was well aware. Selfish and stupid were words that described her pretty well right now.
 
Just juice, interesting. Was that an actually something simple would be great or was it an I don't think she can mix drinks? It could have also been both. Mixing drinks was easy, though, it was just a matter of pouring in the things that smelled like they were supposed to.

For the time being, she just poured out another glass of juice, handing it over and putting away the rest of the container, before deigning to move back around to the front of the bad and take a seat perched on one of the stools. Just a little bit sideways, making sure that her foot was planted on the crossbar - just in case she needed to get up in a hurry. She was a Bloodstone, and that meant being always ready for anything.

Even if what she actually needed to be ready for in this particular case was the how old are you question, which Rhetta usually only got from the new prospects. Anyone who'd been around for a while knew who she was. It'd been like that for a while, though, and she was used to it. Her dad had been particularly good at mastering the tone of saying 'she's nine' in such a way that implied that said nine-year-old could definitely kick the inquisitor's dumb ass, and would they like a demonstration or did they want to sit down and learn something.

"Seventeen." A one-word answer, with maybe a little hint that following this answer up with questions about why Mathis gave a seventeen year old a patch would, perhaps, be followed up by finding out exactly why Mathis had done that. Rhetta had been after him for it for almost three years before it had finally happened. She was still young for it, but she'd been Pack since she was born, and it had been bound to happen eventually, even if her fourteen-year-old self had been convinced it was taking far too long.

She drank a little orange juice, swirling the ice cubes so they clinked against the glass. "It's a long way from Tiranoth just to sit in Salem's apartment all the time."
 
Seventeen, she was so fucking young. She seemed, to her, feisty and judgy, like any teenager. Who Ziessel couldn't slap back with not knowing about loss, because she did. Not the same kind, but it never was. Nobody experienced it the same way. It was a little bit funny to have her sitting nearby, acting like a gangster with their whiskey and making awkward conversation. She might have laughed, another time. So she just smiled and answered honestly.

"Yes, a very long way. And everywhere feels a bit too big and stifling right now except the bedroom I'm occupying as his place." But he had had enough of her morose attitude, it seemed. And now she was nervously talking to a girl who could probably kick her ass. She was in shape, but not with combat. Maybe she should stop talking and ask for lessons from someone less than half her age. Swallowing whatever remained of her pride was one of many ways to begin her new life. Which she had put on standby for too long.
 
"Hm." It was a little sound, but one that seemed to be tinted with genuine consideration, and the silence that followed seemed to be assessing the situation. It sounded a bit like a trauma response, from what Rhetta could tell, maybe something in the vein of agoraphobia or claustrophobia - probably temporary based on the situation, but that didn't mean it didn't need to be worked through. That was probably why Salem had been letting her stay there without nudging her for a while, and probably why he'd decided to give her a little push today.

"Are all rooms equally bad, or does it help if they're smaller? Is the city bad? Outside, I mean. The streets, and the buildings." There were a lot of buildings here. Rhetta didn't know what things had been like in whatever part of Tiranoth Ziessel had been in, but it was entirely possible it hadn't been like this.

"Have you tried going up on the roof? So things aren't so close. Might help. Or might freak you out more." There was no real way of knowing how any one person would respond, after all. Rhetta's mother had made sure she'd known that just as much as she'd made sure Rhetta knew all the other things she had taught her. Not that Rhetta was planning on following in her footsteps any time soon - or ever - but it was still worth it to know a few things, here and there. There was no telling what might be useful, some day.
 
The insightful questions surprised Ziessel again, caught her off guard. She sipped her orange juice, remembering that she wasn't actually a huge fan of it when it wasn't a mimosa. One or two never got her drunk anyway. But she didn't make a face and just thought about what Rhetta had told her instead.

"The city is definitely part of it. I think it's... I was used to being surrounded by familiar smells. My home, my family. The things we liked to do, a long road of memories. Here, Salem's the only familiar scent I know... for now" She said, resting an elbow on the bar. "But he's probably pushing me to get familiar with the rest of you, and he's right. But I'm still going to give him a piece of my mind later." She growled, fully intending on making use of strong words to make her point.

"What about you though, how are you doing?" She asked, ready to change the topic to something other than herself.
 
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"Me? I'm great." Evasion noted, but Rhetta wasn't the type to allow it. "Only Salem? Sounds to me like the problem isn't that you need to get out more right now, it's that you never got out in the first place. Didn't you ever talk to James? Or Draaven? Or Ragenard? Or Mathis?" Those names were just off the top of her head, but there were plenty of people who would have been around twenty-five years ago and were still around besides Salem.

"Maybe your problem is you're shy. Are you shy?" She was teasing, but why not? Sometimes the best distraction from a problem was to focus on a different one, especially if it was kind of funny. "You don't have to worry about the Pack, Ziessel Geiger. If the other wolves are mean to you, I'll go have a talk with them for you. And I am fucking eloquent, I assure you."

She was definitely amused, and her tone was way more silly than serious - except there had been a sharpness in her eye for just a moment that implied that, yes, actually, she was both prepared to back that statement up and considered herself capable of doing it.
 
Back to her. Ziessel sighed and sipped her juice. Didn't she talk to them? Sure, over two decades ago. She didn't know them now, didn't know who they were at all. And neither did they know her.

"I feel a bit like an unearthed plant right now, I think. I just don't know... The soil." That metaphor wasn't going anywhere and she groaned. "I'm not shy. Not... I'm reserved." She wasn't scared of people damnit. Gabe used to say she was, a little bit. Scared in the bark at them way, instead of the running away-way.

"But thank you for the offer anyway, I will keep it in mind." She added, because you never knew when you might need a fucking eloquent child to go yell at someone for you. Or kick their face in. Speaking of kicking...

"Anyway, I'm told you're a great fighter. And that you'll be an enforcer soon." She said, changing the topic again. Salem hadn't said it in those exact words, because he didn't like to get wet. He didn't make promises he couldn't keep or lie. Generally. Unless he had an agenda. Like today.
 
Definitely shy. This time, when Ziessel changed the subject, she decided to let it happen.

"'Soon,' huh?" Rhetta sipped her juice, amused. "Salem probably thinks 'soon' is anything less than three decades." It had felt like it had taken an eternity just to get her patch - and now that she was there... now that she was there, she didn't want to rush it. She'd get there some day, when Mathis thought she was ready for it, but being an enforcer wasn't about how loyal you were - it was about whether you could do the job that needed to be done. When she made it, it was going to be because she'd earned it.

"I do all right. I rely too heavily on unanticipated counterattacks and my ability to push through and heal up later. I'm very good in a short-term skirmish but I fall off quickly in a prolonged fight. I'm good at knowing when I can take a hit, but I need to be better at figuring out when I don't have to."

It was a fairly detailed analysis, for seventeen, but you didn't get to be an enforcer unless you could identify what you needed to do to improve and act on it. Rhetta didn't make the mistake of thinking she was perfect. That sort of thing got people killed when they didn't need to be.
 
It was an interesting self analysis for anyone, really. For someone this young, Rhetta could probably pull off being a personal trainer if she wanted to. Ignoring the comment on Salem's age that she didn't appreciate, because she never liked it when others pointed out how old someone else was, she hummed and inclined her head.

"Hm, It's good to be self aware." If there was something that made you worthy of respect, It was the self awareness that you weren't perfect. So Ziessel's gaze changed a little as she watched Rhetta.

"Speaking of self awareness... My fighting is rusty at best. I've always been on top of my exercise routines, but sparring and hand to hand didn't come up too often in a human style marriage." She said finishing her orange juice. "Maybe you could help me. We both get practice out of it." She said, pointing out the advantage even though she doubted Rhetta would deny her help. Or deny herself the opportunity to get more practice in and be a bit closer to her goal.
 
Rhetta shifted a little bit, her eyes traveling over Ziessel, adding up all the little things. Clothing - the white tank top just barely visible under the cut was easy to replace, unremarkable - but again, not really visible. The pants were better quality, form-fitting like she'd probably worn them before. That made it easy enough to glance over the musculature under them and get an idea of what sorts of muscles she favored, which led to some guesses about exercise patterns. The boots were good boots, not new. Lace-up, too, which meant she wasn't planning to shift, or at least wasn't planning to shift her feet enough to need to replace them. Now, that didn't mean that she would wear the same thing to a fight, but the fact that she wasn't prepared to fight at any moment was also information.

All the little things always added up to something. Rhetta liked taking notes on the details. Sometimes her notes ended up going nowhere, but sometimes she could come up with conjectures that panned out.

"Yeah, all right." Whatever else Ziessel was, she was a Bloodstone, and Rhetta wasn't going to turn down a request for help from one of the Pack. "But just basics if it's just us. I don't know you well enough to do anything serious without a spotter." If Rhetta was going to fight someone for real, she wanted someone else there just in case - someone who could step in and stop things, before they got too far. It was different with some of the others that she'd been sparring with for years already - she knew where the limits were, and they adapted to each other just like a Pack should. For an unknown, though, especially with no idea of Ziessel's regeneration capabilities - no, there was no way Rhetta was going all in without an outside party keeping an eye on things.
 
Ziessel nodded, refusing to squirm under the young woman's analytical gaze. It was a bit uncanny, but everyone here had their interests. For a young enforcer to be, this wasn't out of the ordinary.

"Works for me, I should stick to basics for a bit anyway. Until I'm ready to work it up to more intense routines." And wouldn't it be fun to get Salem in on it, since he had had the great idea of bringing her in the first place?. She snorted, amused at the idea, and she got off of her stool. They wouldn't be fighting at the bar, would they? They could go somewhere else, like the basement or outside. She wasn't sure where they could go outside though. So she'd be content to follow Rhetta.
 
"Good. Get your confidence back." That was the central point of all this, wasn't it? The hiding in Salem's apartment, the reluctance to engage with the rest of the pack. Ziessel had gone off and done her thing for a while, and now she was back, but she didn't really know how to be back. She hadn't spent a lot of time among wolves for a while, and everything was probably different. Maybe she'd forgotten how to be whoever she'd been before she fucked off to Tiranoth. Maybe Rhetta was reading too much in to the situation. That could happen as well.

Still, a little physical stuff would be good for her. The first step to getting comfortable in your place was getting comfortable in your body, and the best way to do that was to find out what you could do with it.

"Come on. I know some spots where it'll be quiet."
 
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