undergrounds | Never a new beginning

Totally screwed over

She stands alone in the middle of London, a battered duffel bag by her feet and an oversized khaki jacket on her back. Fucking perfect. She's got to go round the long bloody way to get to the safe zones unless she tries her luck in vamp territory. But Johanna's not stupid. She's not going there unarmed.

She crosses Trafalgar square quickly, keeping her head up, her eyes flicking in every which direction and ducking through the crowds as quickly as she can. Which right now, isn't exactly as quickly as she would like. She walks stiffly, the bruises all over her body causing her more pain than she would ever care to admit. Teeth gritted though, she barrels on. That is, until her path is blocked by someone. Johanna scowls.

"I would move if I were you."

Not like the rest of you.

She's not really got anywhere to go, even once she reaches the East End. She heads for Waltham Forest for no other reason than the reference to the woods. Once there, she treads the streets until she finds herself a park. A tree is much like any other tree, but to Johanna at least, they remind her of home. She reaches up to swing herself into the lower branches of one quite far into the park: she growls in annoyance when her grip fails and she falls on her backside with a thump. She tries again though, and again and again, until at last she gives up and kicks the trunk hard out of her sheer frustration.

"Fuck you!" she screams out, her voice hoarse and cracking.

The only result is her toe hurting now too, a specific pain, unlike the dull ache that floats through the rest of her body.
Is it a good excuse to take an extra tablet now? She flings herself down under the tree, her back resting against it. And then she realises that someone's coming towards her, and she groans again.

"What do you want?"

A bit of rain never hurt nobody

She realised too late, of course, that her plan for sleeping in a tree would do only as long as the weather held. It wasn't the cold that bothered her in the slightest, but rather the rain.

June in England is wet. This year, it's uncharacteristically wet. At first, Johanna tries to ignore it, and just pulls her sleeping bag above her head. But still, she can feel - she can almost hear - the steady drip, drip, drip of raindrops splashing down onto her forehead. It's almost exactly like where he made her - NO!

No, she refuses to think, but the damage is done, and she can't stay here any more. Not in the rain.

She doesn't bother to pack, but simply bundles the sleeping bag over her shoulders and her face, an extra layer of protection from the water. With her bag over her shoulder, she runs, quickly scaling the fence that surrounds the locked park. But where to go? She's spent her time in London so far watching people. She's cottoned on to a few of the werewolves, though she hasn't directly approached them. She has followed them though, noted their comings and goings, looked out for their homes. For now she's got no choice. She'll have to go there.

She groans as she turns on her heel and runs to the nearest residence. A hammering on the door will hopefully wake the occupant, not quite sure what she'll say when the door is eventually opened.

For now though, she presses into the doorway as close as she can, away from the rain.

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"Piss off." She replies, but she laughs. The cat's got balls. At least it calls it like it sees it.

"What do you care? I'm not planning on a kennel, if that's where this is going."

Hmm. She could just be messing around. He'll never understand werewolves. The cat pads a little closer, treading lightly through the leaf litter.

"I don't much like lone wolves in the wood. Seems like an accident waiting to happen, don't you think?"

There's no venom in his tone; if anything, he's curious. What is she doing out here?

"What do you think i'm gonna do? Ram a stick up your arse and roast you on a fire?" Johanna cackles. "Don't flatter yourself. I prefer my meat lean."

She shakes her head and leans back against the tree, breathing in the damp, rotting smell of the earth. It's not as strong as Delemere, but it's going to have to do.

She's crude but not unfriendly, surprisingly. He flicks his ears, amused. "I suppose I should be relieved. And what about your pack? Seems an unusual night for a hunt."

Direct questions aren't getting much out of her. Perhaps a less direct approach will satisfy his curiosity.

"What pack?" Johanna's eyes close. She doesn't even want to acknowledge the fact that she ought to be part of a pack, even if only for her own safety.

"Do I look like I'm fucking hunting?" She doesn't move. "PC bloody Plod took my damn axe. Looks like I'm going veggie for a bit till I get a new one. Oh yay." She sounds absolutely, positively thrilled by the sound of her words.

"No," he replies, giving her a critical look. "You look like you've been abandoned. This is East End Pack territory. If you're not one of them and they find you trespassing, they won't be too pleased."

He takes another step forward while her eyes are closed, sniffing the air. She doesn't smell all that pretty, to be frank. And that's not just normal werewolf stink. Why on earth was she ever carrying an axe?

"Fucking brilliant,"

She's dragged herself over half of London to end up in another dog fight. She cackles an exasperated laugh.

"I mean, it's just poetic, isn't it? God knows how many years locked up killing bloody pitbulls, and as soon as I'm dumped in the damn safe place, I get murdered by a load of wolves."

She stops laughing as suddenly as she started. "Whatever. Let them come."

...He's starting to think she might have a screw loose.

"You escaped from somewhere?"

He stares at her, torn between wanting to hear more and cutting his losses. He doesn't care about some lone werewolf. The only potential opportunity here is if she is truly lacking a pack and could be convinced to accept help from elsewhere instead. But if her current attitude is anything to judge by, it's probably not worth it.

"You ask a lot of questions for a cat." Johanna picks a blade of grass, and runs it under her nose. She fiddles with it as she sits herself up properly and actually looks at Mogget properly.

"So what are you? A witch's pet?" Not that there's any dishonour in being trapped as a pet. Johanna can sympathise all too well. "Minion sent to do the bidding of the big guys?"

Mogget meanwhile takes another step forward now that she really doesn't seem to be hostile, his white fur gleaming in the gloom of the wood.

"I am but a servant of the witches," he replies. "I go where they may not. Occasionally I find a soul in need of aid that only a witch can offer."

Mostly, he's spying in enemy territory. But he doesn't need to say that outright.

"You think I'd want to join the witches?" Johanna snorts. "Keep walking, fleabag! Not a fucking chance."

She's silent for a moment.

"Why do you stay? Why do you do as they ask you?"

She can't even contemplate staying as a servant voluntarily. Snow held her family over her, kept her drugged to make her compliant. In her right mind? No, not a chance would she ever do anyone's bidding.

"I am NOT joining a faction. Screw it all."

Well, he can't claim that she doesn't make her opinions clear. And that's not a question he particularly wants to answer. Mogget pads over to the tree and sits up on his hind paws, using it as a scratching post.

"Stay alone and friendless, then. I can see how splendidly you're doing with that."

Losing her temper with a tree. She doesn't seem like she's got much going for her, but what does he know?

"So what? Being chained to a witch is any better?" Johanna shifts herself so that she can still see Mogget.

"You're a bigger idiot than you look if you think being a pet is the answer."

She swallows. Alone and friendless. That about sums her up, doesn't it? Team Johanna, party of one. She forces a laugh.

"Fucking idiotic cat. Why wouldn't I go to the wolves if I wanted a damn faction to fight for?"

He can see he's struck a nerve. It's not hard to see with this one, she's not exactly trying to hide how she's feeling.

"That I don't know," the cat replies, dropping back down to the ground. "But I don't recall saying anything about pets. What is your name?"

He's not a pet, for the record. Far from it.

"What else would a witch want from a werewolf?"

Johanna's not been a human for a long time. Seeing herself as something other than a games piece is difficult for her. It's not that she doesn't see any value in her life, but she is certain that no one else does.

"Johanna. Mason." She adds her surname as an after thought. "And yours?"

That's cynical. Not entirely wrong but cynical. His eyes are fixed on her when she introduces herself.

"Mogget." He'll remember her name. "Try a different question. What would a werewolf want from a witch? If your answer is nothing, I shall leave you alone."

He's not entirely writing her off, as he had almost done earlier. But whether she's a potential ally or foe, at least now he's aware of her. Though if she continues to be stubborn about it, he can't imagine her lasting too long in these woods.

What would she want from the witches? That makes Johanna smile. For a girl who has nothing, there's an awful lot she could want. But, moonlight jewellery would come top of that list. Perhaps Mogget can see the sudden flash of desire in her eyes even as she shrugs.

"I'm not an idiot. It'd cost me to even ask, and somehow, Fleabag, I don't think they're gonna be interested in trading for a pair of boots."

He gives a feline shrug. "As you wish. Enjoy your tree."

The cat turns away to leave. Yes, he saw that flash of desire in her eyes. Maybe if she is truly alone out here a few more days will make her reconsider the wisdom of going it alone. London is not a friendly place for strays. A quick temper and sharp teeth won't put food in her mouth either.

Never a new beginning

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