The Local Dog Population

IC Time: Early Evening
Location: The Smoke House
Synopsis: One dog tracks another, and pursues an interrogation in the form of amicable conversation.
Submitted by: Steve

Even with it being the day before a major holiday the Smoke House is still somewhat busy it would seem. So busy in fact that had to call in Abbey to help out with the bar, so much for sleeping, which is all she wanted to do today as she's still healing after a certain fight with a few vampires. At the moment she is sitting behind the bar, unlit cigarette tucked between her fingers while she works on finding her lighter, which she is rather sure one of the boozers a few tables away borrowed and never gave back. Her clothing tonight is a simple black tshirt, the short sleeves not hiding the tattoos across her arms at all, dark blue jeans and a pair sturdy boots finsh the outfit off.

Upon walking into the Smoke House, it's immediately obvious that Steve isn't entirely a regular. Though the jacket he's pulled on to guard against the chill of late-fall is a battered brown leather that has obviously seen years of use, beneath that would be rather conservative grey slacks, a white shirt, and even a tie though it hangs loose around his neck. Shy looking and unremarkable, Steve takes with him the scents of cigarette smoke, acrid and not quite enough to veil the earthier smell of— forest. Dirt, leaf, water. It seems unlikely, but it clings to him as if he'd just walked out from such a setting and into the Smoke House directly.

The scent of food is tested in the air, before he's making instead for the bar, weariness shown in light shadows under his eyes but that doesn't stop him from shining a smile towards the woman who sits there. Watching her search, the executive werewolf locates a plastic lighter from an inner pocket, bright green. He doesn't have the audacity to offer to light up for her, just places it on the bar and slides it over.

Abbey doesn't bother lifting her gaze as the door opens an another walks in, after all many are coming and going. The one thing that gets her attention is the scent of another wolf thought. Her pale gaze drifts upwards slightly and she peers curiously at the one who sits at the bar. One she's not met before, not that its a real surprize. She tilts her head to gaze at the lighter and hums a moment before picking it up and lights the cigarette. As she takes a drag from it she offers the lighter back. "Thanks." Is offered with a friendly tone and nod before she leans against the counter. Her movements a bit slow as injuries on her person still hurt. "Can I get you a drink?" Is soon questioned after a moment, thick irish accent ringing through. Well she is the bar tender so its not a strange question.

Sitting up on the stool by the at the bar, Steve isn't really looking at her as he takes out his wallet and flicks through its contents. "A whisky, thanks, on ice," he says, distracted, nose rankling some at the smell of beer and cigarettes. Bars make for pungent scents, especially in contrast to the errands he's undergone today. Taking the necessary bills, including a generous tip, he slides it across the bar in the manner he'd offered he lighter, taking back the little tool once she hands it off with a nod of thanks. A beat, and then, a little quizzical as to her uncertain movements, "Are you okay?"

Abbey hums faintly and nods while a bit of the pale smoke curls into the air while she picks up a glass and sets it on the bar after putting ice in it. "I'm fine, just a few scrapes and brusies." This said while she takes hold of the whiskey bottle and opens it pouring the drink into the glass. Its actually rather painful, though being who and what she is its not that bad actually. "You new around here I take it?" This questioned while she pushes the glass over to him.

Steve's hand comes to spider over the glass, tilting his head in response. "If being down this way for the past few weeks counts as being new. I came up from New York." His accent suggests it, at the barest tinges, although it's hard to hear in all the generia American. A pack of cigarettes is place upon the counter, free hand fidgeting with it though making no moves to light it up now. Still distracted, watching her, as if there were something he were trying to place although not reaching any true conclusions. "Got any advice for a newcomer?"

Abbey hums softly while tilting her head and watches him. A faint ah escapes her while she takes the cigarette from her lips and flicks the ash into a small tray upon the bar top. "Well.. Try to keep out of trouble would be the best thing I could possibly tell you." Her pale gaze rests on him curiously as he watches her, pondering it seems why he is watching her to start with.

"I'm terrible at that," says the guy in the tie and the shirt with a breast pocket, smile a little crooked before he's finally taking a measured sip of whisky. Certainly not a hard drinker by any means — perhaps it acts more like a common talking point than a true desire for sustenance. Still, when Steve goes for his cigarettes, that seems to be more or less genuine. "I might have followed you. That's probably really creepy." He clamps the cigarette in his teeth, sets about lighting up in brisk movements. "Your scent, though, is what I mean." He draws in some smoke as he considers his own words, and concedes, with a sigh, "Probably still creepy. I'm sorry."

Abbey looks amused as she watches him, a soft chuckle escaping her while she takes another drag from her cigarette. "Its alright.. Its not all that creepy really." She says with an amused tone while. "After all where somewhat different then the average human." This said with a soft tone. Most of the ones around are drunk to start with so she's not that worried about them hearing some of the coversation. "Well, you followed me.. Are you looking for something paticular that deals with me by chance?"

"Got an ash tray?" …is not actually why Steve followed her, to be honest, but it's safer territory and gives him a moment to come up with an answer that isn't minutely sleazy. Taking another sip of booze, Steve ducks a glance around the bar as he leans against its edge. "I guess I'm curious about the local stray dog population. It's nothing I've ever heard of before, but it seems like if I wander around long enough…" He gestures the embery tip of the cigarette in her general direction.

Abbey hums faintly while pushing the ash tray over to him. "If anyone wanders long enough there bound to find what there looking for I suppose." She shifts backwards and settles back against her chair, a faint hiss escaping her at the movement and she soon mutters while letting her gaze drift. "How long have you been around here anyway?"

"Not long." Dead ash is tapped into the glass tray, Steve glancing her up and down with searching black eyes again at that small expression of pain, head tilted, but he says nothing. If a werewolf is complaining of pain, it certainly can't be just a few bruises and scratches, but as much as it's obvious that he's cynical as to her response, he doesn't pry. "I've been moving around for some time, with me and one other. We'll run into dogs here and there, but never— what, two in a row in the space of a week, so far? And I've been one for a long time."

Abbey is quiet as she lisitons to him, the pain stopping once she is still sitting once more. "I see.. Well this area is thick with supernatural things.. Though not to many dogs. Not all the ones around here are the same after all." She watches him curiously and tilts her head. "A long time?.. Funny I know how that is."

Steve offers a small smile at that, forgetting his whisky some more as he takes another drag of smoke, sighing it out between teeth and knocking off some more loose, dead ash. "I heard something about that. The dogs, not being all the same. What about you?" His back straightens as he nods to her, picking up his whisky glass once more and waving it in her direction. "Are you my kind, or their kind?" He still keeps his voice low - only those with their kind of hearing would pick it up, and by then, it wouldn't much matter.

Abbey hums faintly and looks amused while she watches him. "Can't you tell?" She questions softly. "I'm like you." This said while she grins a moment. "There kind are mostly Native American, they was born into that its in there genes. Not like us where it comes from a bite." She says with a soft amused tone, which is but a mere whisper.

Something clicks into place, for Steve, like a puzzle piece retrieved with its placement discovered. "Ah ha." Amusement makes the lines at his eyes slightly deeper, finishing off his drink and setting the glass aside. A shake of his head indicates that he doesn't desire a refill, should she try to ask. "No— no, I can tell you're one of— what we are." A vague hand wave that trails cigarette smoke through the air, contributing to the haze above their heads, curling and collecting against the low ceiling.

"From what I've been hearing, the wisest course of action would be to get out of Forks." Steve leaves it at that for a pause, an inquiring look at her before he adds; "Due to those other supernaturals you mentioned. I caught the scent of one out in the open not a week ago."

Abbey hums faintly at this while a faint shrug is seen. "True.." She murmurs out softly at the thought. "But, they seem to be able to find us anywhere so I'm unsure of where else any of us could possible go." A faint ah escapes her. "Yes.. I've ran into a few of those not so friendly ones a few days ago." Which is why she is such a mess at the moment actually.

"That's what I tell my— " Steve hesitates, squinting a little as he flicks through his own vocab, before settles on— "colleague. Dog, too. That it won't matter where we'll go, they'll track us down. I heard they're getting kind of impatient." He shrugs with a rustle of leather, glancing back towards the rest of the building, a smear of dirt visible at the angle of his jaw in the movement before he regards Abbey again. "Good job. For living through it. How many of them are around, do you know?"

Abbey peers curiously at Steve, collegue dog there is a new turn on the whole pack thing. "How many dogs or how many of the others?" She questions curiously while snuffing the cigarette into the ash tray. "I had a little help in the living through part. I have my own collegue's actually." "As to the leeches there's too many of them around the area to count anymore."

He gives a mild wince at this. While one vampire is already too many, Steve can recognise when someone isn't being glib. "It's just me and one other," he finds himself— assuring? As if sensing that bringing in numbers would make things complicated, but God knows, truly. "Rick. Might tell you his name is— Harold or whatever, more paranoid than I am. He's not harm except to the local cat population. Will us being around be any kind of a problem?"

Abbey takes in a faint breath and shakes her head. "Naw.. Your fine with me being here.. But the problem is the leeches are playing for keeps now." She offers softly while lowering her gaze slightly, a slight sigh escaping her. "The.. Volturi are in Port Angles though." This is said in a low tone once more, her gaze drifting back to him. "There the ones that caused all the problems, but its sorta hard to take them out." A faint smirk is offered before she clears her throat. "Only thing to do now is try to stay alive.."

"I guess." That sounds like a miserable existence, but it's certainly one Steve knows. His tone is almost casual, even, rounded shoulders shrugging beneath worn leather and crisp white cotton as he crushes out his cigarette. "Thanks for— allowing me to stalk and then interrogate you. If you want anything in return, well, I could do your taxes," he announces, lightly, as his hands go up to fix and secure his tie, a flash of a smile at the— supposedly younger woman.

Abbey shrugs slightly while she watches him curiously. "Never done them.." She says with an amused tone. An she still doesn't do them thank you. "The name is Abbey Wallace by the way."

"Really?" The accountant sees mildly disturbed at this concept, but he shrugs it off once more, and picks his wallet back off the bar, folding it as he says, "I'm Steve Rickson." A pause of consideration, opening his wallet once more and extracting a pristine white business card. "No idea why you'd want this, but if you've met and lost as many people as I have— " There are no personal details on it, just a landline and the bank branch he apparently works for. "Not that it's easy to get lost in this town. All the same." He offers out the card.

Abbey chuckles softly. "Perhaps I'll tell you why sometime." She says still amused with herself on that. One can't do taxes if there considered dead after all, and with as many fake names and information she has she never needs to worry. A hand lifts an she takes hold of the card, glancing over it before nodding. "Nice to meet you Steve.. An I'll keep the card. I work part time here and live up in Port Angles, full-time at the docks if your ever looking for me." There's a pause. "If you should need any help with the leeches let me know. Are type needs to stick together after all." The only way she feels there be able to beat out this new war.

"Got it. Thank you," he says, with a little relief, as if she'd said exactly what he'd been hoping for - whether that's confirmation of keeping the card, or an extension of help if he needs it. "It was nice meeting you too. Heal well." And with that, Steve offers a still kind of wave, and makes his meandering way towards the door.

Abbey smiles a moment and nods while she pockets the card, see she's really keeping it. "Thanks.." The way she feels at the moment she'll take all the good words she can get. "See you around."

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