to awake and avenge the dead

[Corona Lykoi]

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Sprawled out on the floor of the library with books scattered around her, Corona was deeply engrossed in reading about things that she had little knowledge over. Though she had been trained in her time in France to be a skilled apothecary, knowing how to heal superficial wounds didn't interest her that much. Albeit, learning how to amputate things was a bit more than superficial, it wasn't anything like the inner workings of the mind. The books, though written for the human, could easily be decided upon for the Luperci as well; they had become more and more human like over the last couple of decades. Part of her was deeply interested in why an area with the right tools, goods, and so on, would not begin to rebuild like so many of the places around them and oceans away. Was it depression that held them back? Or mental disorders that crawled out of the woodwork?



Turning a page with a sigh, the oil lamp that she had ganked from a table still had a good wick in it. It still had oil in it, and through finding things to make fire with, she had gotten it lit. Not only was it a source of light in the dark, dank library, but also a form of heat. Just because she was more wolf than coyote didn't mean squat to her genes; Corona lacked for the most part, a decent grow-in winter coat. Canada, was unfortunately, not exactly a very warm place in late-October. Wundt, Pavlov, all of them were interesting men. Dead men, but they had interesting theories to go off of, nonetheless. Folding an arm underneath her as she read on by the flicker light, Corona was also listening for other things. Paranoia was her best friend in the dark, and her tail gave a interested flick to the quiet air. It was almost too quiet for her tastes.

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[Poe D'Angelo]

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If life had taken a different turn somewhere along the line, Poe very well might have become a sort of wanna-be scholar. From the earliest days of comprehension, the D’Angelo had been utterly mesmerized by the books Misery left in the corners of the den, and later, the stacks in this very library. For a sheltered girl, books were a great resource for knowledge, opening worlds that would have been well beyond her reach and mind otherwise. But when that shelter was enveloped by a flaming pyre, she ran and never came back to it. At least not in the same way, as was evident by the train of thought running through her as she moved between the shelves. She appreciated the works, and was not immune to their draw, but life itself had proven to be a much more effective teacher, and until recently, had not given her a long enough weekend to pick something else up. Without the duties of a pack, or the companionship to seduce her into nights of music, wine and endless conversation, (not to mention the chilling weather) she began to crave the tales that came from between two paper covers. Like many of her adventures found, the source of this interest was not terribly far from her home in the city, and it took her only an hour to walk to this building. With a slowly shrinking candle to guide her between paper towers, she scanned the spines for something to snag her attention. Treasure Island did just that, also sneaking a smile across her lips and distracting her just long enough for a hot roll of wax to dribble the short distance of flame to thumb, leaking under her black nail. “Gyeh!” she shouted in the shock of pain, tossing the stick to the ground, and rather inconveniently at an open book on the floor. “Shit!” she shouted just as abruptly, waving her burnt hand fervently at her side as she reached for the book she had been admiring with her right. Down it slammed on the flame with enough force to create an echo through the dark laneways, and splatter wet wax across the carpet and splatter a couple of book spines. “Asshat…” she muttered from a scrunched up face, stepping and poking at the very brief site of chaos with ratty-heeled stocking feet in a sort of regretful triumph. Could have been a brilliant scholar, really.

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[Corona Lykoi]

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The manner in which the floorboards creaked as one would walk across them did catch her attention. Her blue eyes had almost lazily moved away from the paragraph of text she was reading to look around, but things had gone eerily silent again. But only for a moment, because a voice rang out of the surrounding darkness enough that Corona had rose to her feet quickly and quietly, nimbly moving around the bookcases after the source. Perhaps the voice should have been familiar through the mutterings she had heard, but it did not ring a bell.



The skinny, gold-green eyed figure that emerged from the black abyss as she turned around a corner, however, did strike her with familiarity. Leaning against a partition of shelving, Corona folded her arms and regarded the D'Angelo momentarily. The smashed candle, and the waxy book were only clues to what happened. “Get burned did you?” she inquired, trying to recall the other female's name on the spot. Corona had deduced that they had met once or twice before, tops. Of course, she had to be a D'Angelo because the way she looked rang distant bells to an ever quickly-ageing Misery. “Good thing you didn't burn down the whole library with that candle.”

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