cottoncandypink | Showing Clay Around

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Showing Clay Around

The door opens into a bustling TV news station. Nobody seems to even notice that Wilford has stepped out of the conference room with someone who doesn't belong. There's a heated argument about frogs taking place somewhere across the room, and just a general sense of chaos.

"You packing?" Wilford asks as he quickly checks his phone for the time.

Not that it matters. In the light, his black eye is more than obvious, and he won't be going in front of a camera until it clears up enough to cover with makeup.

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She shakes her head without even looking at it. "You've never bailed on the check, as far as I know," she says.

"Once," Wilford defends.

"Three times."

Wilford looks momentarily confused. He doesn't remember bailing the other two times.

Clay nods. She is correct.

He points ,"I'll have this" he points randomly and its a chicken dish.

Once the waitress finally gives Wilford her attention again, he rattles off an order in what just might be the world's worst Chinese.

It's even worse than his Korean, but he at last has the excuse of not being Chinese.

"Separate checks?" the server asks.

Wilford glances at Clay, and then nods. "Yeah."

The server quickly vanishes to put in their order and take care of customers she doesn't already hate.

""Your Chinese food smells like the Chinese food in my world." so there is that at least.

"Why do you need a gun if you aren't going to hunt?"

Wilford wasn't aware Chinese food might smell different on another world.

"In case someone messes with me," he says.

A small group of men in expensive suits gets shown to a nearby table. They're immediately loud, like the kind of people who come out to restaurants like this to seem cultured. They seem to want everyone to know all about the big deal they just closed on, and are celebrating now.

"That how you hunt your Mutts? I would have thought you'd go in for a good, old-fashioned dog fight."

This is the first time Clay has traveled to a different world so he didn't know what to expect.

Shaking his head, "No, not unless needed. We hunt them in human form. I have fought Mutt who knew I was coming and had time to Change first." Clearly the Mutt didn't win.

It's really hard for Wilford to not just launch into full-on reporter mode right now. Werewolves hunting other werewolves isn't something he's ever come across before. And now he's wondering why nobody does it.

"You'd want to take a bazooka with you if you do something like that around here," Wilford says.

Because the people he'd be hunting might have bazookas of their own. Naturally.

"Wouldn't a Bazooka be conspicuous?" fire arms are more Jeremy's hobby.

"Just don't shoot at a cop."

Wilford hasn't really been one for bazookas, just because they're too damn loud.

"How did your world get this way?" the anthropologist in him.

And he will probably pass on the bazooka.

"I'd like to know the same thing about everywhere else," Wilford says.

Clay hasn't even seen things get real exciting yet.

The server comes back with their drinks, while the other table confines to be loud and obnoxious.

"That is only natural. It's why I study anthropology." wondering that is what he does for a living. At least as far as humans know.

Clay is doing his best ignore the men. But they are hurting his sensitive hearing.

He gives the server a polite nod.

"There's some irony in there somewhere," Wilford says. He can't quite dig it all the way out, though.

"Need something?" the server asks.

Wilford hates the business men too, but he's mostly learned to ignore them.

"If I ever get like that, shoot me in the head," Wilford says.

"Why wait?" the server asks.

"He's my way home" Clay informs the server. He doesn't want to be stuck in this world.

Clay offers Wilford, "I'll make it quick" completely serious. If that is what Wilford wants Clay will do so.

Wilford waves the server away, sick of getting picked on.

"What, shooting me in the head?" he asks.

"I would probably break your neck." more his style. "If that's what you want. In the event of becoming like them." nodding in the direction of the 'business' men.

"Just don't fuck it up," Wilford says, probably joking, but maybe not. "You do it all the way, and you just get to lie there, feeling yourself slowly suffocating."

"I'm very experienced." he promises Wilford. "You wouldn't feel a thing." completely serious.

"Oh, good. I've had people fuck it up before, and it is not fun."

Then again, he's also had people fuck up shooting him in the head, so he can't really be surprised that breaking a neck would take a decent amount of skill.

"You've had your neck broken or you've seen other peoples neck broken before?"

And Clay might miss if he uses a firearm.

"Both, actually."

He says this casually, as if it's a perfectly normal topic of conversation.

Clay gives him a look that says INTERESTING and HOW?

Huh. Wilford would have thought after last week, everyone would have known his little secret.

Unless Security did jack shit all about Jim blowing him up out in the woods. Which, Wilford only now realises, is exactly what happened. Jim wasn't in jail a few days later when he brought the dog back.

"Were you around when some moron tried to blow up the forest?"

Clay heard the explosion but never learned the source of it. "I hear the explosion, I take it you were there."

"Some stupid fucker thought it would be funny to blow me up with a landmine or something."

Actually, in retrospect, it is kind of funny. Because honestly who uses a landmine? Wilford even laughs a little bit.

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psychowolf - 2017-06-01 17:24 (UTC) - Expand

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cottoncandypink - 2017-06-01 17:27 (UTC) - Expand

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