Temptation. I taste it in my mouth, bittersweet and beckoning.
He’s rich, judgeing entirely on how he walks. His head towers above the mal-fed crowd, and as I pull closer, I see that he’s wearing a suit. Definately rich. He’s almost ceartainly not carrying any cash, but still.
I tag along anyways.
D’arvit. He’s heading back to the airport. I have failed. Unless… no. Cannibalisim is not an option.
Later, on the plane. This is a really nice crate. I could snach it and- again, no. They want dinner, not housing.
And yet I feel that the rich kid has more to offer. I can’t follow him around for weeks, so.
Kidnap? Well, I’m certainly not against it.
I’m brilliant. Insert evil laugh here.
Later, in some street after an hour or two. Off the plane. Insert colorfull swear word here.
Heh. This is not working out. A huge man greeted Mr.Fancy-Pants Kid as he stepped off the plane, and hasn’t left. Having lived on the streets my whole life, I’m not that bright, but I can tell he’s not leaving anytime soon.
So what do I do?
This will take some explaining.
You see, I’m not your average teenage she-stalker/hobo. I’m a werewolf teenage she-stalker/hobo.
So I transform and pounce, ‘cuz I’m one of those cool modern ones that can transform whenever they want, and don’t look like Hollywood major screw-ups.
That was stupid. Big Guy has guns. I would fight back; I’d love to bite him. There’s that stupid tepmtation again. But that would curse him, and he’d probably rampage the town. See, I’m nice! I knock an interfering teen girl out of the way. Shame; she knew what she was doing.
I don’t know how it happens. Some how I knock Fancy Pants out. It was just a swift knock on the head. But here’s the thing: I’m not shot yet. I don’t look, just run. I have to get out of here. I’m lost, yes, but wolves have good homing instincts.