Guns and Coffee
+Guns and Coffee
Both werewolf and animator stood silently next to each other, watching the girl disappear. Anita’s eyes were narrowed. It was no easy feat to slip past an alpha werewolf, even one hiding what he was and the tiny blonde had done it. She’d moved too fast.
She couldn’t be a vampire. The sun was high and bright in the sky. She couldn’t be a human servant because Anita would have been able to feel her then, shielding or not. A lycanthrope? Unlikely. Richard was the most powerful werewolf around for many square miles. He would have felt it. But what was she then? What was faster than a shifter but showed no other outward signs of being anything more than human? Except….
“Richard?” she asked, still staring down the street.
“Did you ever see her roots show?”
The Executioner turned to face her ex with an annoyed expression on her face that faded somewhat when she noticed his honestly confused expression. “Her hair,” she elaborated, "did you ever see her roots show under all that blonde?”
It wasn’t something men usually paid any attention to, but it was worth a shot. Finally the Ulfric shook his head. “I don’t know but I heard a bunch of cheerleaders talk about her hair. They were sure it had to be natural. But who under eighty has hair like that?”
Anita shrugged, “People who had their life force drained at one point.”
Richard opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. This was getting more complicated every time he thought he’d get some answers. Why was it again that he wanted to figure his student out so badly?
Sometimes Anita really loved her job. As an animator, she worked nights, usually from sunset to shortly after midnight. It gave her plenty of time during the day to do whatever she chose. In this case, brood over her ex-fiancé’s rebellious student #1 with the strange hair.
Unfortunately, she had been at it for almost an hour, was out of coffee and no nearer to figuring out just what was going on with Elisabeth Summers. She’d gotten Richard to tell her everything Summers had said to him and it still didn’t help.
With a frustrated sigh she got up from the kitchen table and dug through a couple of drawers until she found what she was looking for, a pen and a notepad. She sat back down and wrote a big fat I. on top of the page. God, the last time she’d done this she had still been in high school herself. Then she wrote: White hair – life force drained?
. She considered writing more, but decided to keep to the facts for now. In the next line she added, fast
, followed by predatory air
and shifter friends – does she know?
After a moment’s hesitation she put social outcast – ‘cultivating rebel image’
. The line had stuck with her as Richard had recounted his first conversation with the blonde. If she was playing at being something she was not, that meant she was hiding something, right?
Flinging the pen down Anita got up to get more coffee. She wasn’t any good at the psychoanalysis thing, no matter what her current object of obsession thought. She was good at shoot and hit. Not ask and interpret. People had a tendency to simply piss her off as soon as they opened their mouths. Trying to actually make sense of what they said was so not her cup of strong, black, hot, sweet coffee.
Minutes later she sat back down, reading through her makeshift list of Strange Things Concerning Elisabeth Summers. It was pretty short, she had to admit. But she was sure that somehow, these things fit together. There was just a piece missing to link them all. If only she could figure out the piece, she’d know what the hell the teenager was.
She was tempted to go and find out her usual way but if the girl was harmless after all, Dolph would have her ass for harassing a teenager and it was likely to draw attention to Richard. No-one wanted that. So, waving a gun and asking some tough questions was out of the question. Why was she helping Richard again?
Finally she took a long sip of her coffee and came to a decision. Grabbing the pen she circled the last addition to her list, social outcast
, several times before putting down her mug and grabbing the phone.
She dialled Richard’s number, still knowing it by heart after so long apart, and waited for him to pick up. After the fourth ring there was still no response. Only the answering machine picking up and cheerily informing her that Mister Zeeman was currently not at home. Well, thanks a lot for that.
“Richard,” she finally told the machine, “I just can’t figure that girl out. But the next time you see her, ask her what she meant by ‘cultivating a rebel image’ okay? It just…it doesn’t fit everything you told me about her. Just a gut feeling. And…” She hesitated before…, ”Have a nice weekend. Bye.”
She hung up, staring at the notepad for a long moment before snatching it up and slapping it shut. Sooner or later, she’d figure this out and if the girl was dangerous, she’d get to shoot her for causing her such frustration. And that was that.