ᴍᴀʟɪᴀ “ᴏʜ ʜᴀʟᴇ ɴᴏ” ᴛᴀᴛᴇ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tippytoes) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2015-06-20 09:30 pm
tippytoes) wrote in undergrounds2015-06-20 09:30 pm
Entry tags:
they used to sing about the birds and the bees;
dirty paws and furry coat; (a)
It’s easier, now, to be human. Now that she has something like a pack. It doesn’t mean she prefers it by any means. Being human is still difficult, still something she doesn’t ‘get’. It might be easier to blend into the streets of London as a human, but Malia’s never really cared about easy.
Which is why she’s back to old habits, trotting around an area with multiple coffee shops, looking for breakfast. Or lunch. It’s late enough in the day to be either, at this point. It’s a particularly busy one that’s she decided to poke her face into the dumpster for, and she’s just managed to catch them after their morning rush, which means a lot of half eaten scones or donuts or toast or some kind of breakfast sandwich.
Her back paws are scrambling on the side of the dumpster as she tries to climb inside, and she finally does with a loud ‘Oof’. With that, she starts tearing through the bags.
After she’s eaten, she sticks to the shadows as best as she can as she makes her way around the city, doing her best to stay out of the way of people. She’s really not in the mood to deal with animal control now, thanks.
she ran down the forest slope; (b)
Sometimes, she remains human, because it’s the right thing to do. She has to learn eventually to navigate her way through this space. She can’t stay an animal forever. It helps having a family, even if it’s a small one. The gaping wound in her heart is still there, but it’s slowly starting to scab over.
She really hates having to pay for things, though. Malia may have found a family, but she has no income to speak of, and absolutely no job. She probably couldn’t get one even if she wanted one; she never went to school, still doesn’t go, and she has no credentials that she knows where to find them.
Malia’s standing outside that same coffee shop she was at for breakfast, now at the front door instead of the back. She’s got her arms crossed and she’s glaring at it like it’s personally offended her. It smells great, and her stomach is growling and she’d like to go inside, but--
But she can’t buy anything. And she’s sincerely contemplating just turning into a coyote and snagging lunch that way.
Ugh. Humanity.
the forest of the talking trees; (closed to derek hale)
Malia wasn’t going to argue that she probably needed a phone. Allying herself with her cousin’s pack meant that they were going to need a way to communicate with one another when they weren’t close by that wasn’t a series of complicated howls.
She was seated in the passenger side of his car, wrinkling her nose a little at the plastic smell of it.
“You really don’t have to do this,” she says, fastening her belt. Even though she knows that, yes, he kind of does. There was just some vague memory of her mother teaching her to be polite when it came to expensive gifts, and maybe still a little bit of wariness because of who Derek shared a surname with. She knows enough about Peter to know he probably won’t be an issue. It doesn’t keep her skin from crawling when she thinks about it.
( brackets or prose is fine, and if you have a different idea for a thread you'd like to use, feel free to leave it as a starter!! )
It’s easier, now, to be human. Now that she has something like a pack. It doesn’t mean she prefers it by any means. Being human is still difficult, still something she doesn’t ‘get’. It might be easier to blend into the streets of London as a human, but Malia’s never really cared about easy.
Which is why she’s back to old habits, trotting around an area with multiple coffee shops, looking for breakfast. Or lunch. It’s late enough in the day to be either, at this point. It’s a particularly busy one that’s she decided to poke her face into the dumpster for, and she’s just managed to catch them after their morning rush, which means a lot of half eaten scones or donuts or toast or some kind of breakfast sandwich.
Her back paws are scrambling on the side of the dumpster as she tries to climb inside, and she finally does with a loud ‘Oof’. With that, she starts tearing through the bags.
After she’s eaten, she sticks to the shadows as best as she can as she makes her way around the city, doing her best to stay out of the way of people. She’s really not in the mood to deal with animal control now, thanks.
she ran down the forest slope; (b)
Sometimes, she remains human, because it’s the right thing to do. She has to learn eventually to navigate her way through this space. She can’t stay an animal forever. It helps having a family, even if it’s a small one. The gaping wound in her heart is still there, but it’s slowly starting to scab over.
She really hates having to pay for things, though. Malia may have found a family, but she has no income to speak of, and absolutely no job. She probably couldn’t get one even if she wanted one; she never went to school, still doesn’t go, and she has no credentials that she knows where to find them.
Malia’s standing outside that same coffee shop she was at for breakfast, now at the front door instead of the back. She’s got her arms crossed and she’s glaring at it like it’s personally offended her. It smells great, and her stomach is growling and she’d like to go inside, but--
But she can’t buy anything. And she’s sincerely contemplating just turning into a coyote and snagging lunch that way.
Ugh. Humanity.
the forest of the talking trees; (closed to derek hale)
Malia wasn’t going to argue that she probably needed a phone. Allying herself with her cousin’s pack meant that they were going to need a way to communicate with one another when they weren’t close by that wasn’t a series of complicated howls.
She was seated in the passenger side of his car, wrinkling her nose a little at the plastic smell of it.
“You really don’t have to do this,” she says, fastening her belt. Even though she knows that, yes, he kind of does. There was just some vague memory of her mother teaching her to be polite when it came to expensive gifts, and maybe still a little bit of wariness because of who Derek shared a surname with. She knows enough about Peter to know he probably won’t be an issue. It doesn’t keep her skin from crawling when she thinks about it.
( brackets or prose is fine, and if you have a different idea for a thread you'd like to use, feel free to leave it as a starter!! )
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